I’m heading back along the freeway towards The Regent and calling Quinn before I’ve given any consideration to what I’m going to say, or what the hell I’m thinking about.
“We talking again?” I sigh, still not entirely sure we are, but needing him nonetheless.
“Fuck you. I need your help to find someone.”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Why?” he eventually asks.
“I’ve got unfinished business with her.” I hear the breaths pull in on the line, the steady click of his dice biting my nerves as he weighs up that option. He’s trying to work out if me being fucked up over a woman is detrimental to the company or not. It’s a damn good point, one I’m trying to get my own head around.
“What’s her name?”
“Gabby.”
He chuckles lightly. “That it?”
“Yeah.” I sigh at that, too. That’s all I’ve got. All the shit we did together, all the fun and laughter, and all I’ve got is a first name. Jesus. “Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
More silence, both of us probably knowing exactly what needs to be said but neither of us saying it. Let it go and move on. Get your head back in the game regardless of what’s happened. I know it, and so does he.
Cane must move on.
“Better get your head straight, brother. You’ll be needed back soon.” I frown and nod at the phone, hand steering me round the corners and up to the front of the casino.
“Yeah. I know.”
He ends the call without any goodbyes just as I pull to a stop, and the concierge is by my side in eight seconds flat, fingers pulling the door to the car open before I’ve taken a damn breath.
I glare at him, not ready to go in there and fuck her out of me. I know it needs doing. I need to find my whores and enjoy them until I forget the dream with Gabby. One night and it’ll disappear from memory. One night with my dick stuffed inside something else and I’ll be able to level my thoughts back to the control this business needs from me.
Home. Cane. Business. That’s it. That’s my life.
It’s all I’ve got.
Damn her and her running.
The walk through the casino doesn’t conjure up anything new. Same people, same faces. Same whores. I scan around, noting some of Marco’s minions hanging by the bar. That doesn’t surprise me either. Since we aligned, Quinn has half our people in Mortoni’s places, too, as if we’re all constantly second guessing how aligned we actually are.
We’re not. Not completely.
Even I know that, regardless of Quinn saying I know nothing.
Marco Mortoni’s always been out for his own deals. It’s the reason he let Quinn kill his father after all. But I nod at one of them anyway for congeniality’s sake, and cross to the other bar, not interested in discussing anything other than the fucking I need. I’m not ready for business yet. I’ve got to get her gone, out of my mind. I’ll be useless at conversational acumen until I’ve rid myself of the dream she ran away from.
Cold is what I need in here. Cold and deliberate. Planned and ordered. Three steps ahead of Quinn at least, so I can counter wherever he’s heading for, and I can’t do any of it with Gabby in my mind.
It only takes a few minutes for Jenna to arrive by my side as I’m lighting up a smoke. I look up from my seat and blow out, reaching for my drink. She’s as pretty as she always is, hair and makeup painted on like she’s a doll.
“Hey, baby,” she says, her finger running down my arm as she moves to sit on the arm of my chair. “We missed you round here.” I bet she has. Her paycheck’s probably been halved for the last month. As has Loretta’s. I gaze at her as she approaches, too, watching the way her Latino hips swing to the rhythm of the noise the casino creates. It only fuels more images of Gabby, her hips rocking against mine as we danced at that damn beach bar.
“Where you been, baby?” she asks, turning her ass to me and dropping down into my lap. I half smile at the pair of them and wonder where I have been. Not here in this elaborate hole of dishonesty. Dreaming, stupidly.
