Chapter one
Blake
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.
The bass rattles through my chest, vibrating the floor beneath me. It’s loud as hell in here—thick with bodies, neon lights flashing, and the air is a mix of sweat, expensive perfume, and top-shelf liquor.
The Aurora Hotel’s club,Sin City, is heaving. It’s one of those places where the music never stops, the drinks keep coming, and bad decisions are made on a nightly basis.
McAvoy and Thumper are shoving each other like a couple of kids, laughing too hard for whatever shot they just threw back. Peters is shit-talking Bishy over God knows what, and I’ve lost track of how many rounds we’ve had.
Doesn’t matter. It’s that kind of night—booze, adrenaline, and nothing but time to kill.
Then, all at once, the energy shifts.
The guys go still. Heads turn. The conversations around us fade into background noise.
I glance toward the entrance and, yeah. I get it.
She moves through the entrance, completely unfazed by the packed room, the pounding bass, or the fact that every single guy with a pulse just lost track of whatever they were doing.
Long legs. Golden-blonde hair. A body poured into a skinny black dress that should probably require a permit. She’s young, early twenties at most, but carries herself like she’s seen it all before.
Like nothing in this place could possibly impress her. That kind of confidence? It either comes from money, experience or knowing damn well every man in a ten-foot radius is trying not to stare. Probably all three.
But it’s not just the dress, or the body, or the way she moves. It’s her face. Delicate features, high cheekbones, and a perfect oval shape, like something pulled straight out of an old Hollywood film.
The sleek updo isn’t helping. It makes her look even more put together, like she walked off a red carpet and somehow ended up in the middle of a Vegas club.
And those eyes, damn! Sharp and expressive, like they’ve already sized up the room and found it lacking. There’s something else in them, too. Just a flicker. A challenge. A little bit of mystery, just enough to make a guy want to dig deeper.
Hell. Now she’s smiling. Bright. Devastating. The kind that doesn’t just happen, it’s deliberate. A weapon she obviously knows exactly how to use.
Riley, our Vegas Aces Player Media Liaison, is with her, which probably means she’s someone important. That doesn’t stop every hot-blooded idiot in the room from staring, me included.
“Jesus Christ…” I let out a low breath. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of that.”
Bishy barks out a laugh and, because he’s an asshole, rakes a hand through my hair like I’m a goddamn child.
“Not a chance,” he snorts. “She’s way out of your league.”
I shove him off, glaring, but he just grins. I’m trying not to stare at her, I really am, but my eyes keep tracking her in my peripheral vision.
She walks straight to the end of the bar with Riley and orders a drink as if she doesn’t have half the club drooling in her direction.
And for the briefest second, I'm sure she looks right at me.
It’s quick. Barely anything. A flick of her gaze before she turns away.
Still, it’s enough.
I smirk, rolling my shoulders. “Watch this,” I shout over the music. “I’ll show you how the master does it.”
I’m just about to push off the bar when Bishy grabs my arm, stopping me.
“Five hundred bucks says you can’t get her.”
I don’t even hesitate. I turn back, spit in my palm, and hold it out.
