Gluttony

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, knowing he wouldn’t understand what she was apologizing for.

“It’s not you.” He wouldn’t look at her. “It’s nothing.”

When they first met, he had talked about Kaia nonstop. But something had changed-Beth never knew what, never wanted to ask. Reed had kissed her and, after that, never spoken of Kaia again. There were moments when his voice drifted off and his eyes stared at something very far away, and she knew, then, that he was wishing for something he couldn’t have. But he never said it out loud.

And, though she knew she shouldn’t be, Beth was glad. Because the only way she could be with Reed was to force herself to forget. Kaia had died because of her-no, phrasing it that way avoided the truth. She had killed Kaia. Accidentally, maybe, but killed nonetheless. And now, reluctantly, guiltily, but undeniably, Beth had taken her place.

She wrapped her fingers around Reed’s, half fearing he would pull away. He didn’t-but he still wouldn’t meet her eves. “Let’s go find the pool,” she murmured. He nodded, and she squeezed his hand. He felt so solid, and so safe. He wouldn’t disappear, she reassured herself. He would never leave her alone.

Unless he found out the truth.

Then he would be gone forever.

“Down to business,” Kane said, rubbing his palms together in anticipation. “How should we kick things off? Blackjack? Poker?”

As Harper and Adam began bickering about where to start-Adam voted blackjack, so Harper, obviously, voted roulette-Miranda lagged behind. She didn’t want to admit that she didn’t know how to play any of the standard casino games-though she had a vague idea, courtesy of Ocean’s Eleven, that roulette wouldn’t actually require anything other than choosing a color. She’d rented the DVD in anticipation of the big trip, but had been too distracted by George Clooney to glean much more information than that.

She would have been happy enough to spend the whole weekend without coming face-to-face with a dealer, since surely they’d take one look at her height (or lack thereof) and sallow babyface and show her the door. Or whatever it was they did in Vegas when they busted you for a fake ID.

But she didn’t want to seem timid or clueless, not in front of Kane-and especially not when he was giving her that anything-goes smile-so she shut up. She was trying to be on her best behavior this weekend. Or rather, her most mature, most carefree, most badass, most Kane-appropriate behavior-especially now that she knew they’d be sharing a room. Okay, so there were two beds and two other people. And Vegas was filled with girls who were much more his type. Maybe it was a statistical impossibility that anything would happen. But Miranda couldn’t help letting her imagination have a little fun.

This was, after all, Vegas, where anything could happen… which meant that, despite the odds, something might.

In the end, they compromised, deciding to start slow, with the slots.

All the action was over at the tables-the slot machines seemed solely the territory of the blue-haired ladies and a few caved-in old men with bad toupees, waiting for the big payoff. Miranda dug into her pocket and pulled out a fistful of quarters, plugging them into a rain-forest-themed machine that touted itself as the Green Monster. She put her hand on the long, silver lever, then sucked in her breath as a warm, strong grip closed over hers.

“Feeling lucky, beautiful?” Kane murmured from behind her.

Miranda bit down on the corners of her mouth in a pointless attempt to suppress a smile. Was he too thinking about the last time they’d been in a casino together, the last time-the only time-they’d kissed?

Doubtful. For Miranda, it had been the culmination of five years of hoping, dreaming, waiting; for Kane, she knew, it had just been a fast way to liven up a slow afternoon.

Still, he was here, so close that she could feel his chest just grazing her back, and she knew that all she’d have to do was step backward and she would be in his arms.

She stayed where she was, and pulled the lever.

Too late, Miranda thought to wonder: What if she hit the jackpot? If the movies were any guide-and, really, if the movies weren’t an accurate guide to life, she was totally screwed, since they were pretty much her sole source of information-sirens would blare. Coins would pour out. People would cheer and stare. And the security guards would sweep her away before she could touch a dime.

There was no siren, no jackpot, no cash-and the man who lurched toward her, his breath reeking of gin and his meaty hands grabbing at her chest, was no security guard.

“You’re a liar!” he slurred, his hand tightening around Miranda’s shoulder as he staggered against her.

“Get the hell off,” Kane snapped, shoving himself against the drunk, who squeezed even tighter, nearly pulling Miranda down with him as he stumbled to the floor. For a moment that lasted too long, she was falling, stubby fingers biting into her skin, a leering smile spreading across the man’s scarred face. She tugged, she pulled, but his grasp only tightened, and though she tried to scream, her breath caught in her throat, and he was still pulling her down, still grinning, would never let go, and she was powerless, weak-alone.

And then, just in time, Kane ripped her arm free. Miranda shook him off too, and crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing tight and trying to catch her breath. She told herself that nothing had actually happened. No reason to panic, she was fine.

Too out of it to pull himself up, the guy writhed on his back like a crab, pointing at Miranda and howling, “Liar!” She couldn’t look away. “You’re all liars!”

“Can we get a little help here?” Kane called, waving down a swarm of security guards.

Miranda was dimly aware that Harper and Adam had joined her on either side, that Adam’s hand was pressing down firmly, protectively on her shoulder-that she was shaking. But none of it really registered.

“It’s all going to come out,” the drunk moaned, as the guards hauled him off the floor. “No more secrets,” he hissed. “Not here.” The guards grabbed his arms and began to drag him away, slicing through the crowd of gamblers and disappearing behind the glittering slot machines. A moment later, his howls faded away. There was only giddy laughter, clanging machines, canned jazz, and the occasional hoot of victory. The sounds of Vegas. Like nothing had ever happened.

“You okay?” they all asked Miranda, who nodded like she was.

She forced a smile. “What an asshole, right?”

Crisis averted, Kane’s smirk reappeared. “He’s right, you know. About Vegas. Everyone here’s a liar, but…” He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in an exaggerated scowl. “It takes a damn good liar to beat Vegas. This is the city of truth.”

Adam dropped his hand from Miranda’s shoulder and stepped quickly away, and she wondered whether he was thinking the same thing she was. Their secret-one drunken night together, a hookup she barely remembered, a memory they’d both agreed to forget, to bury forever-could ruin everything. And there was no reason for anyone to ever find out-no reason for Harper to find out.

Unless Kane was right. Unless there was something here, something in the air, in the oversize drinks or the adrenaline rush, something that forced secrets into the light… Miranda stole a glance at Harper, whose face was ghostly pale, her eyes darting back and forth between Miranda and Adam, her lip trembling.

And Miranda had a horrible thought. She’d worried for weeks that Harper would find out what had happened, would misinterpret an innocent, unimportant, drunken mistake as something more than it was. Something unforgivable.

But what if all that worrying had been a waste-what if Harper already knew?

All she had wanted was an escape. A return to normalcy.