Broken Saint by E.M. Gayle

2

Rock

Six weeks ago

Sitting in the dark corner of a casino bar on a Saturday night was not my idea of fun. But it was what the job called for, and I was nothing if not dedicated to my work. A deep sigh filled my chest. The woman I'd been waiting for had yet to show, and it looked like, for the first time in weeks, she was going to break her pattern and not come in for her nightly drink.

Which meant I could have gone home to my shitty apartment hours ago with some fucking takeout and a beer or three. When exactly was the last time I'd gotten home before midnight?

I didn't want to actually state the answer because in truth, it had been a long damn time. The sex trafficking case I'd finally resolved a few months ago had consumed my life for years, and I'd forgotten what my normal life was supposed to be.

Taking down one crime family out of Seattle and their foreign counterpart hadn't changed much though. Being a mob hunter was pretty much like playing a sick and twisted game of whack-a-mole. You take one down and two more just like them pop back up, and so and so on. That was never going to make for a "normal" life.

I should have taken a fucking vacation.

A trip to some tropical island where I could have found a hot chick in a bikini to ride my dick for a couple of weeks might have been nice. Or maybe taken a face plant into some pussy and gorged after a long drought. I'd certainly deserved it.

What had I done instead?

Picked up a new case the next morning. This one seemingly revolved around a mafia boss right here in Vegas. This town had no shortage of those fuckers. Couldn't walk down the street without tripping over one or two of them.

Anthony Cullotta. He made Frank Mazzeo almost look like a choir boy. His transgressions were a mile long, and getting longer every day, after an apparent truce between his family and the Rossi family in Italy. Something big was brewing, and it made everyone nervous, from top brass down to the field agents.

My network of confidential informants weren't always the most reliable, so I had to take a lot of the information I received with a grain of salt. But the FBI had eyes and ears everywhere so it wasn't too difficult to piece together a decent picture of how the network worked. Proving it all in a court of law, however, was an entirely different story.

Which is how I ended up sitting in this overpriced bar in this particular hotel. Romeo Rossi's son had taken up at least part-time residence in The Sinclair, a luxury boutique hotel that catered to a lot of the world's elite, including those right here in Vegas. As for Vincent, Romeo's secret son, he claimed he was nothing more than a boxer, but if rumors of his upcoming retirement from the sport were true, there was a good chance he'd be moving into the family biz any day now.

And I intended to be here for the show.

With my thoughts circling that dark drain, my glass empty, and no waitress in sight to remedy the situation, that was when she finally walked into the lounge and made her way across the room.

Known simply as Nova, she led a very public life, and it didn't take much to learn everything about her. From her meteoric rise as a new clothing designer in New York to her arrival in Las Vegas to open an exclusive store in the brand new Sinclair hotel and casino. He could only imagine how lucrative a partnership like that would be.

If that wasn't enough, she had throngs of fans across social media who couldn't seem to wait to see what she wore anytime she left her top floor suite. Her outfit of the day posts were viewed, liked, and shared hundreds of thousands of times per day.

While I got the effect of social media on her life, it wasn't what drew me to the woman or why I looked at her pictures. I enjoyed a woman in nice clothing as much as the next guy, but clothes weren't usually high on my radar. Unless those details somehow intersected with my work, I rarely noticed.

Tonight, she wore a short black dress that matched the color of her long inky hair. She'd chosen to leave it down, and the long tresses floated down her back to her waist like some kind of fucking veil. The dress, though, it was hard to tear my eyes off it. Not when it fit her so tight there wasn't a chance in hell I, and every other fucker in this place, wouldn't notice every single curve of her perfect body. And they were luscious. Since the first night I'd seen her, those curves had given me all sorts of ideas. Especially when it came to how my hands would grip her as I pulled her tight against me. Every memory of her became instant spank bank material.

That dress alone pulled a low groan from me that couldn't be contained.

Not to mention the fact she absolutely could not be wearing a bra with that thing.

Which left me no choice but to imagine her nipples rubbing against the fabric with each step she took. And the idea that those little gems were as rock hard as my cock nearly did me in.

That dress stopped well above her knees, showcasing the strong, tan legs that carried her across the room to a stool at the bar. Her favorite spot to sit and people watch, since she never actually met anyone here. Men and women alike approached her, some even asked for a picture. But none were ever invited to stay.

And did I mention the strappy gold heels that would look good in the air and draped over my shoulders as I fucked into her?

I scrubbed my face to relieve some tension. Her presence had an effect on me I couldn't explain. If she was just a beautiful woman, I might have seen her differently—this town had plenty of those—but this woman had a complexity to her that not many did. It made for an even more enticing allure.

The dread of coming here tonight flipped instantly to something else. Excitement? Yes. Desire? Fuck yes. More importantly though... Knowledge.

As she bent her head to the bartender to order her drink — a martini, dry, no olives — I made up my mind. Tonight would be a night neither of us ever forgot.

Asking her out on a date appealed on a strangely surreal level. Mostly because I didn't date. Small talk and flirtation were not my forte nor did they interest me. You needed a man broken in an interview? I was your guy. You needed someone to dig deep to uncover the darkest secrets a man possessed? Also me.

In my book, attraction meant only one thing. Scratching an itch and then moving on.

However, when she adjusted on that damned leather seat and turned to take in the rest of the room, I saw her eyes land on me and take me in. The jolt from that simple look made my next move solidify.

I might be lost and on my way to hell, but damned if I wasn't going to take her with me.

Tonight, I was going to drink her in and drown. Fuck the code I was about to violate.

That woman was about to be mine.

First, I needed to make my move. She wouldn't be here more than thirty minutes, and it would be a fraction of that time before men began approaching. I didn't want to watch that. The mood I was in tonight, it might not bode well for them.

I stood up, threw a few bills on the table, and walked across the crowded bar. The Sinclair might be a bit more upscale than the average casino on the Strip, but it was still on the Strip, giving it a steady stream of customers who came and went at all hours of the night.

For a public person like her, it had to be part of what drew her here. She could people watch and collect content for her social media to her heart's content. Yes, I had stalked her. From the first night I'd seen her, I'd been curious to know everything I could. The more the better.

I settled into the seat next to hers, and I nearly groaned when the scent of vanilla hit me. Vanilla and something else...whatever it was, it gave off dark vibes and it made my entire body tighten up.

Thank fuck I was sitting at a bar and not standing in front of her, so I could hide my traitorous dick that had gone from a solid half-hard chub to fucking stone.

I motioned to the bartender, "I'll take a Guinness when you get a chance."

"We don't have that on tap. Is that okay?"

"Sure." I didn't care. The quality of beer was the last thing I had on my mind.

"You got it," he said, before turning to the waitress who'd come up behind him.

I'd decided, no more scotch tonight. Whatever happened next, I wanted to be fully lucid for it. If I was going to make a bad decision there'd be nothing to blame but my own poor choices. I didn't believe in making excuses or bullshitting my way through any consequences.

I'd take whatever came my way, and fuck everything else.

I accepted the beer and chilled glass set in front of me a few minutes later and I slowly poured it into the glass. The swirl of dark liquid and cream-colored foam mesmerized me for a moment. Neither of us had said anything yet, but I got the impression she was waiting for it.

As far as I was concerned, the darkness I sensed could have represented either one of us, but a little more me than her I'd guess. I might be a federal agent, but my soul was far from clean. From a young age, I'd learned the hard way—to get things done, you often had to ride outside the lines. And boy did I.

I'd been raised by my father, who was the co-president of an outlaw motorcycle club, and my mother, who loved two men and refused to decide between them. That had eventually led to her death. My life at home had gone downhill long before that, but that had been the final nail in the coffin, so to say, on ever having a normal life. In other words, I lived in what I considered a constant darkness.

One man went to jail, while the other buried his head in the sand so deep, he could no longer see up.

Anger, fear, and resentment were my childhood companions, and although my father thought I was some sort of Boy Scout, he couldn't have been more wrong.

I shook my head and cleared my thoughts of the past. They had no business here. As I took the first sip, and the dark beer mixed with the creamy foam, I again thought of her. She had light and dark in her as well. I’d seen it more than once in her eyes.

And there was something about that which drew me like a moth to an irresistible flame. I knew it would burn me in the end, but in the moment, I didn't fucking care.

I had to know more about her.

That was the difference in her sweet scent. I could easily detect the vanilla at first, but it was the darker, earthier musk underneath that lingered and made me need to solve the puzzle. I wanted more of whatever it was, and tonight would be the night I got my first taste.

My gut told me it would be the best fucking thing in the world, and I would never be the same again.

However, before I could start a conversation, another woman came up to the bar and sat on the other side of Nova. They greeted each other excitedly and then the other woman proceeded to order food to go.

Zia. That was her name. She was reportedly about to open a restaurant here in The Sinclair, but more important to me, I’d seen her with Vincent Cabrini, the man I had originally tagged as my diamond thief, and presumed they were dating.

They chatted and while I didn’t intentionally listen in on their conversation, it was hard not to hear at least some of it. It sounded like they were close. When Zia’s gaze turned to me and she whispered toward Nova, I inwardly smiled. I guess my attention had not gone unnoticed.

Moments later, Zia left with what looked like Vincent’s driver, and for a moment I considered following them. Her posture had grown stiff, and she didn’t look one hundred percent comfortable, but Nova was smiling after her friend so I was going to assume I didn’t have a situation on my hands. At least not with Zia. Nova, however? I had no intention of letting her get away…

I turned to her, and our eyes met again. The electric shock from across the room was nothing compared to the impact I felt now. I'd just been hit with the full force of a ninety mile per hour bullet straight to the heart.

And when she smiled...

I realized this moment might also be the beginning of the end.