Nieves Romero. My brother’s old flame who I just happened to fuck a couple weeks ago when she showed up in New York.
Not my finest moment.
But damn, she was hot. Rock had given her the brush-off, so she’d been ripe for the picking.
What the hell did she want? Then again, what did it matter?
I could use a good fuck.
Sure. I’m staying at Wolfe Premiere. Meet me in the bar in a half hour.
You got it, hot stuff.
How did she know I was here? Maybe I could also get some information out of her. She and her sister, Leta, seemed to be involved in this mystery somehow, but how? And why? They had no connection to my father.
Not that we knew of, anyway.
The limo dropped me back at the hotel. I checked my phone for the time. I had fifteen minutes before Nieves showed up in the bar. Time for a few games of blackjack. I was a whiz at the game.
The high-stakes tables called to me. I found a spot and laid a thousand dollars on the table for some chips. Then I laid all the chips out for the next deal.
The rush of gambling had been my downfall when I was younger, until my father taught me how to control the urge. He taught me never to leave too much to chance and to stay in control of every situation. If the table wasn’t cooperating, leave.
Lose two games in a row, get up and walk away, was his motto.
It hadn’t failed me yet. Sure, I lost sometimes, but more often than not, I left richer than I started.
Funny. My father was an asshole extraordinaire, but he taught me the ins and outs of business and pleasure.
I was fucking lucky he hadn’t drawn me into his hunting games. Had that been his plan?
I’d never know, thank God.
What would I have done?
Didn’t matter. I washed the thought away as the dealer dealt me a jack and then an ace.
Fucking blackjack!
I gathered my two and a half thousand dollars’ worth of chips, tipped the dealer a couple hundred, and then cashed out.
After a drink and quick fuck with Nieves, I’d be back at this table.
I didn’t need more than four hours of sleep a night. Another weird trait I’d inherited from Derek Wolfe. He’d slept even less, and his brain was always at a hundred and ten percent.
Fuck. I’d always known he was a master of manipulation, but even I never imagined everything he was capable of.
Nieves was sitting at the bar, dressed in a green mini dress and black stilettos. Her long, dark hair and fair skin were an intoxicating combination, as was the tat on her shoulder. A scarlet rose and a skull. Like light meeting dark. I loved my sister-in-law, and she was certainly beautiful in a white picket fence kind of way. Nieves, though? Hot. As. Fuck.
“I took the liberty of ordering you a Macallan,” Nieves said in her smoky voice. “Neat, with a touch of water to release the bouquet.”
Macallan. My favorite Scotch, and what I’d drunk the last time we were together. She remembered my order in its entirety. Since then, I’d grown accustomed to Pappy Van Winkle’s fifteen-year bourbon, but Nieves had no way of knowing that.
I smiled. “On my tab, of course.”
She laughed. “Of course.”
I took a sip of the scotch. Smooth and peaty. Nice. Again, it was Derek Wolfe who taught me that just a touch of water released the fragrances and flavors tenfold.
Damn.
I owed so much to that man. That man I hated to the marrow in my bones.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked Nieves.
“A little bird told me.”
Another sip of scotch. “Oh?”
She batted her eyes. Yes, she seriously did. I wasn’t going to get an answer out of her, and I didn’t care, anyway. She had information I needed, and if I could get laid in the process? Even better.
“Did you know Rock is still here?” I asked her.
“He’s an old married man now,” she said.
“True.”
“What’s he see in that uptight attorney?” she asked.
He sees someone who isn’t you. Yeah, Nieves was hot as fuck, but she was also a manipulative little cunt. Great in the sack, though.
“Lacey’s a great woman,” I said. “Smart, too.”
“Yeah, but how is she in bed?”
I tool another sip of my scotch. “He hasn’t divulged those details to me.”
“Rock is a fucking master in bed.” Nieves sipped her dirty martini. “But even he doesn’t equal your talent.”
Nice touch. I doubted my brother had been celibate all those years in Montana, but already I knew I’d had more women. Hell, I’d had more women than most billionaire playboys in Manhattan. They didn’t call me the Wolfe of Manhattan for nothing.
“Thank you for the compliment,” I said.
“Tell me,” she said. “What’s your whole family doing here in Sin City?”
“Business.”
“Not pleasure?”
“Business. But I always find time for pleasure.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“First, though”—I cleared my throat—“what are you doing here in Sin City?”
She took another sip of her drink and smirked. “I just love sin.”
Oh, she was good. And I was happy to bed her. But first, I needed some intel.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked. “Have you talked to your sister lately?”
“Leta or Ciara?”
She had another sister? News to me. “Leta, I guess.”
She shook her head. “Not since she talked to your brother in Helena.” She polished off her drink.
“Let me get you another.” I signaled the bartender. “Another dirty martini for the lady.”
“Sapphire, remember?” Nieves added with a wink. “And make that extra dirty.”
The young bartender blushed at the double entendre.
“Where are you staying?” I asked Nieves.
She touched her bottom lip coyly. “With you.”
Oh, she was good. Too good, really.
But not as good as I was.
“We’ll see about that,” I said.
The barkeep slid a fresh martini in front of her.
She gave him another wink. “Yes, we certainly will.”
I sipped my scotch slowly. Not that I was a lightweight or anything, but tonight was about getting information. It was also about a good
