I lean against the bar, scanning the room. High-limit tables hum behind me. A few suits talk too loudly over overpriced scotch. But no one stares. No one lingers.
Still, my instincts itch. This place wears its opulence like a mask—and I know exactly what kind of monsters hide behind masks.
Frustration burns in my gut as I stand up to leave. This was a long shot, but I needed to do something. Needed to feel like I was making progress instead of twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the next fucking disaster to happen.
I slam my glass down harder than intended, drawing a few curious glances. The frustration is building, making my skin feel too tight for my body. What the fuck was I expecting? That these assholes would just be hanging around waiting for me to find them?
Movement outside catches my eye through the bar's expansive windows. The glass walls frame a perfect view of the resort's center, where an elevated restaurant sits nestled between the outdoor pools and the casino's east entrance. It'sone of those upscale places—all glass and modern furniture, designed so rich people can eat overpriced food while watching the peasants below.
Something about it pulls my attention. The place is a fishbowl—three-hundred-sixty-degree visibility with floor-to-ceiling windows. Anyone sitting there would have a commanding view of the entire resort complex. The pools, the casino entrances, the hotel lobby. All visible from those tables.
A perfect surveillance position.
My pulse quickens as the realization hits. If I were hunting someone at this resort, that's exactly where I'd position myself. I head for the exit, moving with purpose now. The restaurant is accessible through an escalator from the main floor, designed to make rich folks feel like they're ascending into something better than the gambling masses below.
Two minutes later, I'm standing at the host podium. The place reeks of money—white tablecloths, crystal glasses, waitstaff in pressed black uniforms. A woman with a tight smile and tighter bun looks me up and down.
“Table for one?” Her tone suggests I've wandered into the wrong establishment.
“Yeah.” I flash what passes for my charming smile, “By the window, facing the walkway.”
She hesitates, glancing at her reservation book. “Those tables are typically reserved for?—”
I pull out my wallet, slide a hundred-dollar bill across the podium. “I appreciate your help.”
Her fingers close over the bill with practiced discretion. “Of course, sir. Right this way.”
She leads me to a prime spot, exactly what I wanted. A clear view of the main walkway connecting the hotel towers, the casino entrance, and the pool area. From here, I can seethree different entry points to the resort. Anyone watching for Charlotte would have a perfect vantage point.
“Your server will be with you shortly,” the hostess says, leaving me alone.
A waiter approaches and takes my order without much interaction. As I wait for my food to arrive, I watch my surroundings. The waiter returns ten minutes later with my steak. I barely notice when he sets it in front of me. I start to cut into it when I notice two men walking past the restaurant window. A young woman barely standing on her own between them.
The men have their arms around her, casual to anyone watching, but I recognize the hold—one that looks supportive but actually controls movement. The woman's head lolls slightly, her steps uncoordinated. Drugged. Just like Charlotte was.
“Motherfucker,” I growl. I slide out of my seat, abandoning my untouched meal and dropping cash on the table. I move with purpose toward the escalator, never letting the group leave my sight. They're heading toward the hotel towers, away from the casino floor, away from witnesses.
I pull my phone out. The woman stumbles, nearly falls, and one of the men laughs like it's some big fucking joke. My blood boils as I hit V's number.
“Miss me already?” V answers on the first ring.
“Shut up and listen,” I growl, keeping my voice low as I trail the group at a safe distance. “I've got a visual on who I think are two of our guys. Same MO. They've got a girl who can barely stand heading toward the hotel towers.”
“Shit. You sure?”
“No, but it's too similar to ignore. One's wearing a blue button-down, the other's got a black polo. Both white, mid-thirties. Girl's blonde, red dress.”
I hear V's fingers flying across a keyboard. “I just left the airport.”
I quicken my pace as they disappear around a corner. “Track my location and meet me here. These fuckers aren't getting away this time.”
“On it. Five minutes out.”
I end the call and slip the phone back into my pocket, adrenaline sharpening my focus. The corridor opens into a small lobby with four elevators. I hang back, watching as they guide the woman into an elevator. She's definitely not with them willingly. Her movements are jerky.
The elevator doors close with a soft ding, and I curse under my breath. I sprint toward the bank of elevators, watching the floor indicator climb. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth. It stops at seven.
My phone buzzes with a text from V.
