you from a random perv?”
Laurel straightens up, pushes her hair over her shoulder. “Just wait until the next challenge, Sutton,” she announces. “I’m going to kick your butt.”
“We’ll see about that,” I say, leaning forward to order my drink. Tonight is just the beginning of my lucky streak. And the beginning of the end for my sister.
8
GIRLS GONE WILD
After the casino, the four of us decide to get some air and walk down the strip. I have no idea where Garrett has gone—he’s not answering his phone—but maybe that’s okay. It’s probably better if he blows off some steam on his own.
My phone buzzes in my bag, and my heart leaps. Maybe it’s Garrett—or Thayer. But when I slip it out of my clutch, it’s just my mom, texting to check in. I swallow my disappointment. I haven’t heard one word from Thayer. Nothing since I hung up on him at the spa. No worried text about the “friend” I was with. Does he just not care anymore? Are we truly . . . done?
As we walk down the outdoor overpass of the Venetian’s breathtaking man-made canal, I soak in the carnival of Las Vegas at night and try to revel in my victory, but I’m just cranky and annoyed. Forget about Thayer, I tell myself over and over, but it’s not really that easy.
Next to me, Mads is quiet, too. The stack of slim gold bangles on her wrist brushes against my hips as we move. She stares blankly at the New York-New York Roller Coaster as we pass.
“What’s up?” I ask her, low enough that Charlotte and Laurel, who are ahead of us, watching a street performer who randomly transforms from a roller-skating robot into a monster truck, can’t hear.
She casts her gaze toward the sidewalk. “Nothing.”
“Come on.”
She looks at me. “I’m just thinking about Thayer. I hope that wherever he is, he’s okay.”
Guilt smothers me like a blanket. I hate that Thayer has even put me in this position. “I’m sure he is,” I say.
“How can you know for sure?” she asks. She gazes at me, her eyes searching my face.
I open my mouth to reply but don’t know what to say. Before I can figure it out, Charlotte signals from up ahead. “Come on, guys!”
I pat Madeline’s shoulder. “Thayer’s okay. I can just feel it. Come on.”
Madeline nods and runs toward Char and Laurel. I watch her hair bouncing against her back, getting another pang. When I hear from Thayer again—if I hear from Thayer again—I’m going to tell him he has to get in touch with Madeline and let her know he’s okay.
We turn a corner to a side street, and instantly the steady pulse of deep bass echoes in my ears. Up ahead is a length of wine-colored velvet rope in front of a door. A long line snakes down the sidewalk. There’s no name over the door, though. No indication of where we are.
Charlotte stops and takes in the scene. “What do you think that is?”
We all stop to consider. A horde of girls huddle, smiling widely, like MTV is holding an open casting for a new reality show. They’re all model-gorgeous and clad in sky-high heels and sparkling minidresses, with curtains of smooth, shiny hair swinging in perfectly flat-ironed sheets down their backs. Next to them stand lacquered men in creaseless button-down shirts and gleaming Prada loafers.
From around the opposite corner, a tall African American woman with a killer body and close-cropped hair appears. She wears a black fedora, an electric-blue leather jumpsuit that fits like a second skin, and a pair of violet-studded peep-toe platforms that I know from last month’s Vogue are limited-edition Louboutins. She’s flocked by three burly men, the tallest of whom wears an earpiece and scowls menacingly at anyone who happens to catch his eye. The men push through the sea of eager club-hoppers. The throng fans out in two directions, revealing a small staircase to a glowing blue grotto one level down.
Leather Jumpsuit tips her fedora down over one eye and sweeps out of sight. The model wannabes chatter excitedly in her wake.
“Guys, do you know who that was?” Charlotte’s eyes are wide. “Rihanna!”
“Really?” Laurel looks awed.
Char nods. “Which means that club”—she points to the descending staircase—“must be Saucy!”
Laurel fixes her with a blank expression. “What’s Saucy?”
I burst out laughing. To my relief, Mads does, too. “Um, were you not listening to me the whole car ride here?” she asks haughtily. “Saucy. The most exclusive club