as hell. “We’ve got plans for the night that start, like, now.”
“What happens in Vegas . . .” Drake lifts an eyebrow before standing up to head in.
I do the same and fight the urge to yawn as exhaustion sweeps over me.
Once back inside the suite, I let my gaze slide through the room, taking in all the booze, drugs, and money that are cast around like part of the décor. Confirmation that my little brother has been pulled deeper and deeper into the world his immoral leader had created.
Jayden has his nose practically buried in a mound of white power while Birdman sorts through small square tabs, bagging them in Ziplocs the size of a quarter.
Drake’s dad had a horrible reputation in our town. He was accused of everything from robbery to assault with a deadly weapon, but none of it ever seemed to stick. Our mom tried to get Drake’s dad to be part of his life, but he wasn’t interested until shortly before my brother’s seventeenth birthday when his Dad had lured him into his world of corruption and God knows what else.
I school my expression so they can’t see the look of disgust, disappointment, and worry that I’m feeling. The sound of a doorbell rings through the room.
Harrison jumps up from the couch. “I think the entertainment just got here.” His eyes light and he rushes to the door.
“Looks like Pops hooked us up with this sick-ass suite and female companionship for the night.” Drake leans in, blowing pot smoke in my face. Another joint? Fuckin’ hell. I hold my breath, knowing that if a drug test picks up even a trace of that shit, Cameron will kick my ass, rip up my contract, and sprinkle it over my bloodied body.
He lifts one eyebrow and grins through his higher-than-Sputnik expression. “And you wonder why I’m in this business.” With a shrug, he slouches deeper into the couch as if his point has been proven.
“Helllllo, boys . . .” The soft female voice purrs, and when I turn, I’m met with a pair of violet eyes.
No fuckin’ way. “We meet again.”
Her bright eyes turn feral. “You.”
“Looks like I made an impression.”
Trix
That arrogant son of a prick!
After the way he treated me in the lobby, he has the nerve to try to be charming? That slanted smile and glare, a wicked combo of primal masculinity, won’t work with me, buster. Nope. He wants to exercise his magnetism; he’s barking up the wrong dancer.
All that blond hair, tan skin, and impressive build, he thinks he can push girls around and we’re just going to fall to our knees reaching for his zipper. Ha! Not likely. No way. I’m a damn professional; restraining myself against the pull of attraction is my job.
But really, what is he doing here? What are the chances?
Shake it off, Trix. It’s all about the job.
It actually hurts. The glare I’m aiming at this damn man is making my head ache and my eye twitch. I’m not at all surprised that he’s pinning me with a similar scowl that only manages to piss me off more.
Handsome men think they can win women over on looks alone. All good-looking guys are just that—good to look at. Then they open their mouths, and I’m reminded that God seemed to give up on making real men about twenty-two years ago. Instead, he’s created stuck-up, self-serving, prima donnas who wouldn’t know how to take care of a woman if their wieners depended on it.
I pinch closed my eyes, immediately feeling guilty for my blasphemous rant. Sorry, God. You know I don’t mean that.
I shift my eyes from the icy-blue stare of this Abercrombie-model-looking jerk and settle on Angel. She’s already plopped down on the lap of a big guy with a strong roman nose and a goofy smile.
It takes all of five seconds to do a quick assessment of the type of men we’re dealing with. They’re rough, but not scary. Sure they’ve got the tattoos, one even has a scar, but everything else about them softens all that. Tan skin seems to make all their eyes appear light, and even the brown eyes look tawny in comparison. Sun-bleached blond and brown hair adds sweetness to their wannabe hard looks.
“We’ve been hired to keep you guys company tonight,” Angel says, addressing the room. “This is Vegas, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have rules. You boys keep it respectful, and we won’t have to get Santos over there to feed