High Card: A Billionaire Shifter Novel (Lions of Las Vegas Book 1) (14 page)

“Okay, okay,” Landon hisses, his perfect lips inches from mine. There’s an unfocused look in his eyes, his cheeks flushed with more than anger and suddenly I want to get out of this desert very badly, want to have this gorgeous man in my arms, feel his lips on mine, his weight pinning me down while his cock—

“Okay what?”

“You win. I’ll come with you.”

“Bullshit.”

Quickly, before I can stop him, Landon leans down and kisses me hard on the lips. He tastes exquisite, but he’s using the kiss to overpower me, shut me up. I bite his lower lip and get a knee into his groin. He rakes his fingernails across my tits in retaliation and holy shit
fingernails
…it feels like he’s scratching me, the stinging pain across my ultra-sensitive, pebbled nipples making me gasp. My pussy’s soaked for him and all I want is these goddamned jeans off—

I struggle against him, manage to tear my mouth free.

“You fucking bastard,” I breathe, staring up at him. “Get
off
me.”

Landon’s eyes are all pupil. A thin trickle of blood leaks down his chin from his cut lip. He flashes me a cocky smile. Doesn’t say a word, only reaches up and slips his hand beneath my tank-top, paws roughly at my right breast, wraps his thumb and forefinger around my nipple. I buck against him as he teases me, leans his loins against mine, grinds his hard cock against my tingling clit. My insides flood with electric pleasure.

I lift my head to him. Open my mouth slightly. “You get everything you want?”

Landon squeezes my wrist with one hand and runs his other down over my pussy. “Always.”

His lips meet mine. He tastes delicious. Salty. Crisp. And there’s another layer, something beneath the purely physical. Landon Stone tastes of promise. Potential, and suddenly I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anything—
 

My entire body’s aching with need, but I force myself to break off our kiss. Look him in the eye. “Okay then. Get in the truck with me.”

He’s about to say something when I see motion over his shoulder.

“Look out!” I scream, too late.

A crushing weight slams into Landon’s back.

Foul breath fills the cab, then a burst of bloodthirsty snarls.
 

Landon’s eyes widen and he release me, no, he’s
torn
from me and then the wolves have him, two on his back, their brutal jaws snapping at his shoulders and neck. Landon staggers away, punching at the wolves, blood flooding from his wounds as he stumbles to his knees, dragged down by the wolves’ weight.

He’s screaming, but I can’t hear him.
 

The world’s gone silent.
 

I’m frozen, lying half in and half out of the Rover, the desire of only moments ago now an icy pit in my gut—

A third wolf slams into Landon’s knee. His skin opens to reveal a shock of white bone. Landon’s face twists in agony. He falls to the ground and the wolves pile onto him, biting and snapping and I can’t hear anything except a maddening high-pitched keening, the sound of a mind driven over the edge with panic and horror.
 

Landon’s on the ground now, his arms over his head, trying to protect his face and neck but its useless, the wolves are natural predators, hunters on a feed, they’re ripping into him, tossing him forward and back—

The keening wail’s getting louder.
 

I cover my hands with my ears, trying to block out the sound. My teeth are vibrating. The few unbroken windows in the Rover crack and shatter. The sound feels like it’s centered in my chest, my bones, like it’s tearing me apart—

The wolf closest to me jerks his head up.
 

Snarls. Takes a step to the side.
 

Stares at me with something like fear. I’m swatting at the air, trying to sit up straight, trying to make the whistling-wailing noise stop—

The wolf begins to convulse. It turns to run, falls, tries to stand, falls again and this time it stays down, but it raises its head at me, its piercing red eyes filled with hatred.
 

Blood leaks from the corners of the wolf’s eyes and then like someone flicked a switch its head thumps to the sand and one by one the other wolves die, their eyes bleeding as their brains crack and shatter like glass—

Then the sound’s gone.

Only rain pounding down and thunder echoing over the mountains.
 

I slump out of the Rover and land on my knees.
 

Lean to the side,
almost
have the strength to pull my hair back, retch, then fall face-first—

***

I wake in the passenger seat of Landon’s Range Rover, curled in a tight ball. Opening my eyes a fraction, I see Landon driving. I slam my eyes closed before he notices I’m awake.
 

I’m not ready to face him.
 

My skin feels feverish. I’m sweating buckets, but I’m freezing. The Rover’s weird-ass electric engine isn’t making any noise, but I can tell we’re driving fast by how the wind’s rushing through the broken windshield and into the cab. That must be why I’m so cold. I’m soaked. Not to mention exhausted. But the thing that hurts the most?

My goddamned broken pinkie. Thing must not be healing right—
 

I can’t even remember…wolves?

Blake’s jaws swollen with vicious teeth.
 

Yeah. Shit’s getting weird. I lick my lips.
 

Landon getting mauled.

Wildwolves
.

Cautiously, not really wanting to know the answer to the question forming in my foggy mind, I look at Landon again. From the position I’m lying in it’s his legs and hips I see first. The compound fracture above his knee? I saw the wolf slam into him.
Saw
the bone split out of skin—

No. There’s no bone. He’s…healed.
 

Sure. Healed. In a few hours. Uh-huh.
 

I’m right fucked up is all.
 

Maybe I had a psychotic break.

That’s it.
 

I went out into the desert to confront whoever sent me those photos. Stressed as all hell. Landon was there. He was hurt somehow. Then…someone must’ve snuck up on me. Smoked me on the head with…a baseball bat or a lead pipe. Knocked me unconscious. All that shit about giant wolves and Landon and me and that high-pitched dog-whistle sound that seemed to be coming from my throat?
 

Yeah. Dreamed all that.

The thought’s
very
comforting.

That’s why Landon’s healed.
 

He wasn’t mauled in the first place.

So here I am. A nasty coppery taste in my mouth, feverish and shivering, but otherwise unhurt. See? The stress’ll do that. Wore down my immune system. Then I just kind of…snapped.

I allow myself a moment of relief. I dreamed it all. Now time to return to my
real world
problems. My moms. Parole. Money.
 

I shift a little on the seat and am about to lift my head when a stabbing pain radiates from my right forearm.

Where the wolf bit me.
 

No way.

Must be another explanation.
 

That’s from falling when I was attacked.
 

Smacked my arm against some sharp rocks.

But I can still feel the wolf’s fangs sinking into my skin. His bright red eyes mad with the urge to feed. The stink of his cold breath in my face—

Maybe there was one wolf?

“Shit,” I mutter before I remember I’m supposed to be passed out.

“You awake?”

Landon.

I keep my eyes closed. “No.”

Landon laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard his laugh. It’s beautiful, genuine and rolling, but with a hint of reserve, like he doesn’t laugh often—

I find myself smiling. Super-shit.
 

“I’m not ready to sit up yet.”

We have to speak loud over the rushing wind. It’s even louder than being in a convertible.

“You don’t have sit up. Rest.”

“I’m not ready to see you.”

“Fine. Good.”

I listen to the wind whistle for a moment. Then I say, “You’re alive?”

“Still kickin’.”
 

“Kickin’? You don’t talk like a billionaire businessman.”

“How does a billionaire businessman talk?”

I keep my eyes closed. I decide I like talking to him like this. Just hearing his voice without all the visual distraction. His voice kind of rumbles through me. Like bass at a concert. Makes my ribs tingle.
 

“Are you really a billionaire?”

Landon sighs.
 

“Okay. None of my business. I just thought you’d talk…you know…”

“Like a stuck-up British WASP? Or his butler?” There’s a hint of irritation in Landon’s voice.
 

He thinks I’m being judgmental. Maybe I am.

“WASP?” I ask.

“White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. You know? The half-dead old men who rule the world? Skull and Bones? Secret societies?”

“Only one thing rules my world. Money. And how to get it.”

“That makes me…that’s kind of sad.”

“Really? You’re a suit. Aren’t suits all about the money?”

I gulp down my anger. He’s not meaning to be patronizing. He just has no clue. “Anyway. About how you talk? Yeah. I guess I expected you to sound like any other—”

“I wasn’t born rich.”

Huh. I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to continue, but when he doesn’t I finally open my eyes and sit up. Every muscle in my body’s sore, like after a bad round of flu. We’re cruising down a two-lane road. We’ve been driving for a while. It’s almost dark. “How long was I out?”

Landon looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Maybe six hours?”

“Six
hours
?” No wonder I’m so thirsty. “Do you have any water?”

Before he can answer I slap my hand on my forehead. “Oh, shit!”

“What?”

“I have to work tonight. Oh, man. Like…hours ago.”

“You’re not going to make that.”

The way he says it makes me shiver, but I dig through my bag anyway, find my phone and flick it on. Messages galore. I sigh. Sometimes I want to throw the thing out the window, but I check my texts first. A lot are from Alfie. He’s hitting the panic button. I send him a quick message saying I’m alive. I almost type ‘and safe,’ but think better of it. Instead I say I’ll get back with more details later.
 

The rest of the messages are from my boss. Mr. Delaney. By the third message his usual happy-go lucky demeanor is wearing thin, and on the fourth he tells me not to bother coming in. Ever.

I slip the phone in my bag. Lean my head back and stare out the window. Watch the desert roll by. I needed that job.
 

“Something the matter?”

“Thirteen bucks an hour. It wasn’t much. But it helped.”

“You got fired.”

“Yup.”

“That’s shit. I’m sorry.”

I think about saying he should be. He’s the one who dragged me out here. But instead I say, “We’ve been driving the entire time?”

A shadow flickers across Landon’s face. “Need to put some distance between us and…”

“The nightmare wolves that nearly ate you alive?”

“Yeah. Them.”

We fall into a heavy silence. There’s a car crash of thoughts in my head. About how I felt kissing Landon. About the wolves and the awful wailing sound I made. About how he looks healed. About my job and my mom and my parole meeting tomorrow morning. It’s enough to make my head hurt, and suddenly everything seems broken beyond repair. I always knew my life was unstable. Vulnerable. I mean, shit, half the time I don’t even know where my next meal’s coming from. But now?
 

It feels like everything’s been blown wide open—

“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?” Landon asks.

I think about that for a moment. Decide it doesn’t matter. Not now. “As long as I get back by tomorrow morning, I’m good.”

“What’s keeping you in Vegas?”

I think about what to say. I don’t trust him. Not by a long shot. I’m not even sure I like him. You don’t have to like everyone you want to fuck. In fact it’s definitely better if I
don’t
like him. I’m a white trash thief and he’s a billionaire casino owner. I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago—

“My mom,” I tell him.

“Yeah. She’s unwell, right?”

“I guess you know that. Since you planted cameras in my fucking apartment. Stick one in the toilet, too? You perv on piss? Got a webcam set up—”

“I needed you to know I’m serious.”

“Oh, I see. That makes it better.”

I hug my backpack to my chest, suddenly freezing again. Then I remember something and reach inside. “Where’s Layla?”

“Who?”

“My Ruger.”

“Oh. In the glove.”

I take her out, pop the cartridge, sight down the barrel. “Never come between a girl and her gun.”

“That is a beauty.”

“You surprised? That a poor girl like me has a gun like this? I didn’t steal her, if that’s what you think.”

“No?”

“You assume a lot, you know that? You have your file on me, fine. Like all the other pigs and tools. But it’s what’s between the lines in that file that counts.”

“Not to the pigs and tools,” Landon says quietly.

I slip Layla into my backpack. “She was a gift from my father. He died when I was three.”

“I’m sorry, Summer.”
 

“I saw how you held her. I was talking shit when I said you don’t know how to shoot. Where’d you learn?”

“Like I said, I wasn’t born rich.”

“Bank robber?”

Landon flashes me a quick smile. Shit. It’s like someone turned on the heater in the truck. Even that little bit of connection makes me warm al over. But not giddy. I will not use the word giddy to describe how Landon Stone makes me feel—

“No. Trains.”

“Oh, awesome. Six shooters? Horses?”

“You got it.”

I settle back into my seat, unhappy with how the conversation’s going. We’ve fallen into a pattern of parry and deflect. Hit and block. Our questions are real enough, but our answers barely skim the surface. It doesn’t feel genuine. In fact it feels shit. Especially since I remember how he felt—