Page 4 of King of Ruin

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Page 4 of King of Ruin

“I’m not going to be shady.” He doesn’t meet my eye as he leans casually against the wall.

“Bullshit.” Luke is the king of looking carefree and charming. It’s an act.

“Ok, I’m not going to get caught. Besides, we both know a woman like that does not have an alarm or cameras.”

I shake my head, knowing I’m going to regret this as the elevator stops at the garage and we walk toward Luke’s Ferrari.

The drive is short, her small parcel right in the heart of the city. How she’s kept it for this long without selling is rather impressive. She must have had lots of offers as new Vegas has built up around her. Why not cash out?

We get out of the car, the flickering streetlights only making me more certain I’ve made a mistake. The alcohol is taking effect, and my senses are dulled as I survey the street. We’re on the back side of several casinos where traffic is lighter.

But it’s late and it’s a good spot for trouble.

I turn back to look at the lot. The property is protected by six-foot-high brick walls, not that Luke cares.

Before I’ve said a word, he takes a three-step running leap and vaults over the top. “You’re a billionaire who wears a suit most days. What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m a man who gets the job done,” he calls from the other side of the wall. “And we both know I like wearing jeans way more than I like suits.”

Several birds squawk in response and I roll my eyes. “What you’re doing is your best to get arrested.”

But I stop talking, letting him do his thing as I watch the street.

I do manage to note that the walled yard is attached to a stucco building that looks like it might be a two-family residence. Another Vegas oddity.

No lights are on inside, but I have this moment of unease. Does Madison live there? Is that why she won’t sell?

I cock my head to the side. “Luke,” I rumble out in a rough whisper. I’m liking this less and less.

He hops back over the wall. “She’s got about thirty birds and a few squirrels. That’s what’s holding up our billion-dollar project. A few parakeets.”

“Parakeets don’t fly into buildings, they live inside them around here,” I answer automatically, not even looking at him. Something isn’t right. I can feel it.

“Seriously, though. Why won’t she sell?”

That’s when I see the headlights coming around the corner. I step back into the shadow of the wall, my arm flinging out, to push Luke back too.

“Fuck,” he mutters as the car not only comes toward us but stops right in front of the house.

“You packing?” I ask, realizing that I’m not.

“No,” he spits. “Shit. I ditched my gun at the office.”

We’re hidden but his car is in plain view, parked just in front of the Maserati that just pulled up.

The driver, a large muscular man, gets out of the car and opens the rear door behind him, helping another person from the car.

There is something familiar about the guy, and I lean closer. If I’d skipped the scotch, I’m sure I’d already know what’s making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I eye the second, smaller person. Even in this light, I catch the flash of long blonde hair as the man slips a hand around her waist, walking her toward the door.

“Fuck me, that’s Vigo Vendetti,” Luke mutters.

The passenger door opens, and when the streetlight catches the second man, I know that Luke is correct. It’s Vigo’s brother, Vincent Vendetti, who steps out onto the sidewalk. He takes a long look at Luke’s car, before he starts walking straight toward us.

This is bad.

The Vendettis are the unhinged nephews of the man we killed today. And if they realize that the Ferrari is Luke’s, they’ve got us right where they want us…




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