Page 59 of The Alpha's Gamble
Dec. Fucking save me. I turned to look at Declan, who had an odd expression on his face, somewhere between uncomfortable and tolerantly amused. Well, the fucker should be uncomfortable, and not only because of the dumb nickname. I’d just found out more about his acquisition of his family’s casino and about Walter and their relationship to one another from twenty seconds of Mark’s babbling than I had in a month of living in his fucking pocket.
Because Declan had wanted it that way. He’d kept me separate, and now he probably didn’t even want that anymore.
That sensation of needing to move, to get away, to get the fuck out of there, intensified abruptly to an almost painful pitch. My chest felt like it might crack in two, and the sweat might even be visible on my hairline now.
Declan was saying something to Mark, but I couldn’t hear it. Just the dinging, and the buzz of chatter, and the clinking of glassware.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I muttered, and slipped away. Declan and Mark both said something from behind me, probably about where they’d be or where I’d find the restrooms, but I ignored them and weaved my way through the crowd, not quite shouldering people aside but picking up speed as I went.
Out. I had to get out. Away from Declan, justout.
A doorway with a dimly lit exit sign led out of the corner of the ballroom. I made my way there, finding a hallway with both restrooms and a plain door with a stairway emblem next to it.
Perfect, thank gods.
I shoved the door open and rattled my way down three flights, my panting breaths echoing off the concrete walls. It felt like being trapped in a tomb. I couldn’t, I couldn’t…and then I reached the bottom and pushed open another door, all but falling through and letting it slam behind me.
The nighttime exhaust-tinged air of Vegas slapped me in the face, barely cool enough to soothe my burning cheeks and make my sweaty scalp tingle. I sucked in deep breaths, my heart slowing slightly but still tripping in an unsteady rhythm. The door had let me out in a sort of service alley, with a loading dock at one end and what looked like an entrance to a street—not the Strip, but I had no idea what side of the building I was on otherwise—down at the other.
I headed that way, hating the enclosure of the tall utilitarian walls all around me.
The alley let out onto a side street, still bright with neon lights and busy with drunken pedestrians, but not quite as chaotic as the Strip. My heart started beating faster again. And my cock was hard. Why the fuck did I have an erection? But I did, and I stared down at my own fly for a second in confusion. A group of stumbling, laughing tourists passed by, and when they were gone I saw a man standing by an SUV parked right across the sidewalk from me.
It was the guy who’d been watching me in the casino on the day I’d tried to convince Declan I had a stalker. His face hadn’t made much of an impression, but his stance was the same, and the blond hair cut in a boring scruff, and he even had almost the same outfit on: pleated khakis and a button-down, this time black.
He smiled at me. It didn’t reach his eyes.
And a bolt of pure lust shot straight down into the pit of my stomach, so crippling I nearly doubled over.
I knew damn well it wasn’t real. I knew I didn’t want him, I wanted Declan. Why the fuck was this guy even here? How did he know where I’d be, when I hadn’t even known where I’d be? I wanted to demand answers, but more than anything, I desperately wanted to hightail it down the street, back around to the front of the casino, and race inside to the security of Declan’s presence.
Instead, as if someone had me on a string, I stepped forward. And then again. My vision blurred. I needed to be closer.
Too late, far, far too late, it hit me so hard I almost staggered: this was the same as the night I’d left the suite and Walter had ambushed me behind the casino. And the day I’d seen my stalker, when I’d been desperate to get outside, itchy and panicky and irrational.
The smell. The smell on my luggage, the same smell on the tux. Spell bags, or some other warlock contrivance I’d never have thought of. Walter. Stupid, stupid, stupid, that I hadn’t realized. He’d done this to me, and I needed to resist, to run away, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead, my limbs weren’t responding to me, I couldn’t…
I walked right up to the man who stood waiting for me, wrapped my arms around his waist, and kissed him. It felt wrong, cold and fake, but my lips moved and my tongue slipped out to taste him, and I wanted to gag, but I kept kissing him, and he kissed me back with his hands on my hips pulling me in. I rubbed against him, kissing him, shoving our bodies together.
One of the doors of the SUV opened. The guy drew me toward it, hands still locked on my hips, and he turned us so that I was climbing into the back seat before him.
He followed, letting go enough that he could reach back and pull the door shut behind us.
My chest felt like it was going to explode with the force of the scream I couldn’t form. His body on mine was fucked up and wrong and vile, and I wanted to buck him off, tear out his throat…
He lifted his head and broke the kiss. “We’re good to go,” he said, and the matter-of-factness of his tone hit me like a dash of cold water. I turned my head and looked up, shocked and frozen.
Walter smiled at me from the front passenger seat. “Good. Time to take a nap, Blake.”
Everything went black.
Chapter 19
My Life Mattered
When I woke up, the SUV was moving—but I couldn’t shift so much as a muscle. My head had gotten crammed against the door and my neck ached like a bitch. My arms lay limp, one dangling to the floor of the car and the other on my leg. I tried to twitch a finger.
No go.
