His Kingdom (Owning Vegas Book 1)

She’s coming back. She will come back for me. My mom. She always comes back for me. I don’t know how long she’s been gone now. My stomach hurts. I’m hungry. But I don’t dare move from this spot, because I need to be here when she comes back.

“Stay right there, Louie. I’ll be back as soon as I finish work and then we can go and get the biggest burger and fries,” Mom said.

I think about that burger. I wonder if Mom will get me a milkshake too? I won’t ask for it, though. My mom gets sad when I ask for things and she can’t buy them. One day, I’m going to have enough money to buy her everything, so she never has to be sad again.

A flashlight shines over the end of the dark alley. I huddle myself farther back. My mom left me between two dumpsters. She said I’d be warmer if I stayed out of the wind. Las Vegas is in the desert. Which means it’s always warm during the day and cool at night.

Heavy footsteps get closer and closer until the beam of light is blinding me, and my eyes scrunch closed.

“It’s okay. You can come out. We’re here to help you,” a man’s voice says.

Mom told me I should never trust any man but myself. She said they’re all liars and cheats. So I don’t move.

“It’s okay. Come on out, little man. Let’s get you something to eat.” A lady’s voice has me opening my eyes. I can trust a lady, right? Mom didn’t say not to trust ladies. Just men.

“I can’t leave. My mom is coming back for me,” I reply.

“Do you know your mom’s name? We can help you look for her,” the lady says.

“It’s Maria. And I don’t have to look because she’s coming back.”

“Okay, let me take you down to the station and we can look for your mom.” The lady doesn’t seem to understand.

“Will my mom be in trouble?” Police mean trouble. They don’t always help. I know that. I’ve seen lots of Mom’s friends get taken away by the police.

“No, she’s not going to be in trouble.”

I push myself to my feet and walk towards the lady. I’m weak. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I kept falling asleep and waking up.

“Good boy. Let’s get you warm, and then we can get you something to eat,” the lady tells me.

I wake up from the recurring nightmare. Hungry. Starving actually. Just like I was that day, and many days after it. So I get up out of bed and head into the kitchen. The fridge is full of ready-made fresh meals. My housekeeper ensures it’s always fully stocked.

I made a promise to myself the moment I found out my mother was never coming back for me that I was going to one day have so much money, my own house, and my own fridge full of food. I promised myself I’d never go hungry again. And still, every fucking day, I wake up starving, as if I haven’t eaten in a week.

I pull out a container of pasta and throw it in the microwave. While it’s heating up, I walk back into my room and retrieve my phone. I open the app that controls the blinds and hit the button that lets the light flow into the penthouse. It’s three in the afternoon. But when you work nights, you sleep days. Or at least try to sleep anyway.

The microwave dings, and I grab the pasta and set it on the counter as I delete the first few messages that aren’t important. I don’t have time to waste on bullshit. Running this city takes all of my time. Being a king isn’t for the weak—that’s for fucking sure. And in this city, Las Vegas, the city of sin, I am the king.

I rule with an iron fist too. Nothing happens that I don’t know about. I worked my ass off to reach the top of the food chain, and I don’t plan on letting anyone kick me off my throne.

I open a message from Sammie; he’s one of the two men I let close enough to call friends. After all, a king doesn’t reign alone. He always has his court, and just like any good ruler, I have carefully chosen the men who work for me.

Sammie:

Bossman, a delivery just came in for you.

My lips tip up as I read his message. When Sammie has a delivery for me at Wild Card, it usually means he’s got a bunch of women holed up in the VIP room. I own three casinos here on the strip: Royal Flush, Wild Card, and Aces High. Sammie runs the Wild Card and Carlo, the other lucky bastard I let into my circle, handles Aces High.

Me:

A delivery? Did you pay for it?

I laugh, counting down the seconds for Sammie’s reply. He has a thing about paying for pussy, says he never has and never will. I don’t know what his hangup with prostitutes is, but he can’t stand them.

Sammie:

Fuck no. I don’t need to pay for pussy.

Me:

I got a few things to tie up here. Be over in an hour.

Standing up, I pocket my phone, grab my wallet and keys from the desk, and reach a hand around my back until my fingers run over my pistol. I know it’s there, but checking is just like breathing at this point. Then I walk out of my office and head down to the casino floor. I make it a habit to walk the floor every night. It’s good to be seen by my staff. It helps them maintain the fear of god. Because to them, that’s exactly who I am. Their god.

It takes me almost an hour to make my way through the high rollers, stopping to talk to regulars and business associates. As much as I have my feet in the underworld of Vegas, I also have a solid interest in the legitimate workings of the business. Playing both sides of the coin is crucial… and fucking exhausting. It’s why at least once a week, I allow myself a few hours to sink into some hot, willing pussy. Which is exactly what I plan to do tonight.

I don’t usually pay too much attention to the general area of the casino, but something catches my eye—or more like someone. I stop walking as I take her in. Fucking gorgeous. Long, brown curls hang loose over her shoulders. A skintight black lace dress hugs all of her curves. The kind of curves I could get lost in for days. Then there’s the face. Angelic. Thick lips and big, round eyes that have the saddest look in them. But it’s not just sadness. It’s loneliness. I recognize it, because I feel it every fucking day I wake up.

My feet move before I realize what I’m doing. Stepping towards her. I stop one of the drink girls. “How long has she been sitting there?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the woman.

“I don’t know. She was there when I clocked in four hours ago. You need anything, boss?” the girl says.

“Yeah, bring me a whiskey and whatever she’s been drinking.”

“Water. She’s been drinking water,” the girl tells me before walking off.

The woman startles when I sit in the seat opposite her. She’s in a booth, at the back of one of the main floor bars. I bet she was thinking she wouldn’t be seen in this dark corner. The thing with me, though, is I live in the dark. Thrive in it. And an angel like this does not belong here with me.

“Was this seat taken?” I ask her.

She glances from side to side, as if she’s looking for someone else I could be talking to. “No,” she finally says, peering back in my direction. And when her eyes connect with mine, I see so much hurt. Pain that I want to erase from her. Which is fucking weird. I don’t even know this chick’s name.

“I’m Louie. You are?” I hold out my hand to her.

“Charlotte,” she says quietly as she places her palm in mine. The moment my skin touches hers, I get hit with jolts of electricity running up my arm. Charlotte snatches her hand back, staring down at it with wonder.

Yeah, I felt that too, I think to myself.

“So, what brings you to Sin City, Charlotte?” I ask, loving how her name rolls off my tongue.

“I’m in mourning,” she says with a slight southern twang.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell her. Everyone deals with grief differently, but not many come to Vegas to do it.

“Don’t be. It’s probably for the best.”

“Mind if I ask who you’re mourning?”

“Does it matter?” she counters.

“Well, kind of, yeah. You see, if it was someone close like a spouse, child, parent, or sibling… that calls for some deep mourning, and that shit takes time. If it was a distant relative or a friend, that calls for getting drunk and honoring their memory,” I tell her.

Charlotte looks at me, unblinking for a minute and a half. I know because I count the seconds. “What if it’s a fiancé and a sister?” she finally asks.

“You lost your fiancé and your sister?” No wonder she’s so fucking sad. “What happened?”

“The word lost… It means something is gone, taken, unrecoverable.” She looks away for a moment and I wait. When she looks back at me, it’s with so much hurt that I feel her pain. “My fiancé took my sister from me.”

“What do you mean?” I keep my voice calm. I’m ready to blow the head off whoever the fuck hurt this girl.

“I mean, I walked in on my fiancé and sister fucking yesterday,” Charlotte says. “He could have picked anyone, any girl, and he picked my sister. Why would he do that?” Her question is genuine, as if I have the answers she so desperately needs.

“Any man who cheated on you, sweetheart, is a fucking idiot,” I say, because if I had a woman like her, no way would I stray.

“I was supposed to get married today. Right now, I should be at the reception dinner my father paid a small fortune for. Instead, I’m hiding because I can’t face the truth.”

“Well, you’re not very good at hiding, sweetheart. I found you.”

“Boss, whiskey and water.” The drink girl comes up and sets the glasses down in front of me.

“Thank you.” I hand her a hundred, and she walks away. I push the water towards Charlotte and hold up my own glass. “I am sorry for what you’re feeling. But there’s always another side to the coin, sweetheart. By finding them before you signed up for life, you dodged a bullet. You could have spent the next ten years not knowing the person you were married to. Now, you get to start over. Find happiness. Find someone who deserves you.”

“Boss? Why did she call you boss?” Charlotte questions.

“I own this place.” I wave a hand around the bar.noveldrama

“The bar? That’s cool. Must be exciting work.”

“The casino. What do you do?” I ask, and Charlotte laughs.

“I was a personal assistant. I quit my job. Two weeks ago. Owen wanted to start a family right away. He wanted me to be at home.”

“Owen sounds like a tool,” I grunt.

Charlotte’s eyes water. She’s fighting hard not to cry. “You really own this whole casino? Does that mean you can, like, grant me access to the roof pool even though it’s shut?”

“You wanna go swimming? I can make that happen.”

“I want to drown in the water instead of the hurt,” she whispers, and I can only hope she doesn’t mean literally.

I quickly down the rest of my whiskey, push to my feet, and hold out my hand. “Come on, I’ll take you swimming, but I’m not letting you drown. In water or hurt.”