Lady Luck Page 3

  His eyes moved from the car into the diner. Lexie was at their table, paying the waitress while smiling at her.

  He took in that smile.

  The bitch had a fantastic smile. Nearly as good as her tits, not as good as her ass and nowhere near as good as her legs, still, it was good.

  She finished paying and walked toward the doors, hitching her purse strap up on her shoulder with one hand, her other hand going into her hair at her forehead, pulling the thick, shining, waving dark mass back, lifting a huge bunch of it at the back of her head and shaking it a couple of times before dropping it only for it to fall into and around her face again, settling on her shoulders and streaming down her back.

  He felt his cock twitch.

  Fucking magnificent.

  Shift chose well. Who knew that useless, piece of shit motherfucker had the likes of Lexie on tap? It was a miracle.

  He watched her move and noticed she walked in those shoes like she was barefoot, her hips swayed with her strut, the lifting of her arms moved her tits and, when he could tear his eyes off her, he saw the two men sitting at stools at the counter watched her every move, swiveling around so they wouldn’t lose track of her.

  Looking back at her he noticed she was oblivious. Completely.

  Walker had not said no to Shift sending a girl in his stable but he had said no junkies but considering Shift was a useless, piece of shit motherfucker, Walker expected he’d have to take what he got or, if she was unacceptable, scrape her off and find someone who would serve his purposes. It would be a frustrating delay. He had work to do.

  But she had to be right.

  And it went without saying Lexie Berry was right.

  It didn’t sit well with him that she was on Shift’s hook and how she was on it. In fact, what she said to him at the table he still felt like it clogged his throat. She had no love for Shift, just fear he’d fuck up her life or worse and obviously she knew him enough because that useless, piece of shit motherfucker would do it and before he did it, he wouldn’t blink.

  What he didn’t get was how she ever got connected to Shift. No light shined in the world of Duane Martinez and light shone off Lexie Berry like a beacon.

  But he’d find out or, more accurately, Tate would do it for him.

  He would have preferred one of Shift’s whores who would know her place and do what she was told. Walker had a feeling Lexie Berry was not going to do that. Clearly, the sass she was holding in check when she met him had broken through if the attitude she threw at him and her Mr. Humongo comment was anything to go by. But Walker knew he, like the vast majority of the human population who happened to have dicks, would put up with a whole fuck of a lot from Lexie Berry and he happened to have a dick.

  Just as long as she did what she was told in the end, even if she gave him shit before doing it.

  And there was no denying the cover Lexie Berry could provide was a far sight better than one of the girls in Shift’s stable, considering the few he’d seen. Fuller would look into her, Walker had no doubt. But if she was a whore, there would be little question now that Ty Walker would accept whatever he could get. Pussy was pussy, Walker had always liked his pussy and everyone knew that. Too much, it would turn out. But now, his future limited in a way he’d never have foreseen just because he liked his cunt, he’d have to take what he could get.

  So Lexie Berry was definitely a miracle.

  As she made it to the door, she’d been looking down, digging into her purse and when she pushed through, she lifted her head and came out into the sunshine squinting her eyes but pulling out a pair of shades. She flicked the arms out with a practiced movement of her wrist and shoved them on her nose.

  There it was. The shades, the purse, the shoes, they all said buyer for a mid-to-upscale department store. The tank and the shorts she could get anywhere but those shades, that purse and those fucking shoes said class.

  Yeah, Lexie Berry was a miracle.

  Her shades hit him, her head tilting back for them to do so and when she got close, she asked, “Ready?”

  As answer, he beeped the locks, opened the door and folded into her sweet ride.

  Chapter Two

  Be Happy

  “Mr. and Mrs. Walker, king-size bed, not by an elevator or any fuckin’ vending machines.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep quiet.

  We were in Vegas, the slot and video poker machines ringing behind us as we stood at the reception desk and Walker checked us in.

  It was very early morning. The sun was shining and it was already so hot out there, I broke into an instant sweat the minute I unfolded out of my Charger and this happened even though we were under an awning so the sun wasn’t directly hitting me. Luckily, we only stood out there for long enough for Walker to grab the huge-ass, black duffle Shift had put in my trunk and warned me not to open or “hell would be paid” and then heft out my roller bag and drop it to its wheels on the pavement. He walked away, leaving my bag where he put it. I yanked up the handle, followed him to the valet rolling my bag behind me, he exchanged keys for ticket, pocketed the ticket and entered, destination: reception desk.

  We drove all night. For some reason, since our destination was obviously Vegas, Walker took what turned out to be a circuitous route that added hours onto our travel time. He did not explain his to me, any of it, where we were going or why we took that route. Conversation was non-existent. I listened to my iPod and slept a bit.

  Now he was checking us into one room with a king-size bed. And he was doing it under Mr. and Mrs. Walker.

  I did not think this was good.

  “How many nights will you be staying, sir?” the desk clerk asked.

  “Three,” Walker answered.

  Oh shit. Three? Three nights?

  What were we going to do in Vegas for three nights?

  “Excellent,” he picked up a form and put it on the counter. “If you could fill that in and give me a credit card –”

  “Cash,” Walker rumbled and the clerk looked from his computer to Walker.

  “That’s fine, sir, but we like to have a credit card on file just in case you use the mini-bar, should you like a movie –”

  “Cash,” Walker repeated.

  The clerk blinked up at him clearly having been lost in a fog of customer service and seeing just about everything in Vegas, he was used to blocking it out. Now, he was fully taking in Walker and processing what he saw, all of what he saw and just how much of it there was.

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing then he started, “It’s policy, sir, to –”

  I stepped in mainly to move this along because I knew Ty Walker would repeat the word “cash” until we were physically ejected or the clerk gave up and I needed to, first, see what the hell was up with him getting us one room, second, attempt again to figure out what was happening and my part in it, third, take a shower and fourth, sleep in a bed or, better yet, buy a swimsuit and sleep by a pool.

  I dug in my purse saying, “I’ll give you my card. You can have it on file but when we check out, we’ll pay in cash. Cool with you?”

  The clerk’s relieved eyes slid to me and he nodded.

  “Room safe,” Walker stated at this point.

  “Of course,” the clerk murmured on a bow of his head toward Walker. “All our rooms have safes. We’ll set that up for you.”

  Walker stared at him half a second then his eyes did a sweep of the immediate area.

  I handed the clerk my card, filled out the registration form, took my card back and the clerk handed Walker our little envelope with its keycards, wisely not noting that my credit card said Alexa Berry and not Alexa Walker. After I filled out the form, as he processed us, I tried not to think where Ty Walker would get cash to pay for a swanky Vegas hotel room considering he walked out of prison not twenty-four hours ago with nothing (that I knew of) but the clothes on his back. He didn’t even have one of those big plastic Ziploc baggies in his hand holding his belongings that recently r
eleased prisoners on TV shows were given.

  Nothing.

  But that duffle.

  A duffle packed by Shift.

  Shit.

  “Room six twenty-three. You’ll find the elevators over there.” He pointed to his left but Walker was already walking that way.

  I smiled at the clerk, expressed mumbled words of gratitude, grasped the handle on my bag and followed Walker.

  He tagged the button before I got there and I stopped close to him.

  “Hubby, we need to chat,” I said quietly, his chin dipped into his neck to look down at me, his face still as impassive as ever and then his head turned and he looked over his shoulder.

  When he kept looking, his eyes honing in on something and staying there, I turned to look too.

  He was looking at a man who was standing at the reception desk. He was super slim and when I say that I mean bag of bones thin. It was a wonder his clothes stayed on him, he was so skinny. He had light brown hair with a hint of red in it but he didn’t have much of it. It was thin everywhere, seriously light on the top and clipped super short. He wore glasses. His features were pointy. Considering he wasn’t much to look at, I was surprised to see his clothing was of very good quality and suited him as best they could given his stature.

  And he was looking right at Ty Walker, as bold as you please, checking in at the reception desk but staring at Walker at the same time looking knowing in a way that made something unpleasant crawl along my skin. If he sneered, I wouldn’t have been surprised. But it did surprise me that this obvious weakling was so bold considering he was a third of the man standing at my side (and a third was being generous) and the man standing at my side could easily break him in half.

  But he was.

  In your face bold.

  How weird.

  “Do you know him?” I asked as the elevator chimed and then it happened.

  Ty Walker touched me for the first time (that was, the first time he touched me when he wasn’t looking for needle tracks at the same time annoying me).

  His fingertips went into the small of my back and they pressed forward so I moved into the elevator rolling my bag behind me. His hand dropped away, he turned to face front and automatically I did too as he leaned to the side, tagging the six button and after those few annoying seconds an elevator stays open for whatever reason it does, the doors slid closed.

  But I barely registered any of this.

  Because I could feel five, hot marks burning into the small of my back where he touched me. The touch was light and it didn’t last long but I still felt them burning. They were like a brand searing into my skin.

  As the elevator went up, I waited for them to fade, I wanted them to fade but they didn’t fade. They stayed burning hot and deep and I’d never experienced anything like it. I didn’t even know what it was. I just knew it was profound. I knew it was life-altering. I knew somehow that, even if the burn was to fade, I’d never forget that elevator ride my whole life.

  The elevator stopped, the doors slid open and, my mind still on the burn, I didn’t think as I followed him out, down the hall to a room. He used the keycard and entered, not holding the door open for me.

  Mindlessly, I pushed the door open as it started to close and followed.

  The door closed behind me.

  He dumped his duffle on the low, wide shelf opposite the bed that was meant for luggage, one side of that shelf going up with three drawers under it, a big, flat screen TV on top of it, the other side doing the same with a cabinet under it probably containing a mini-bar, an attractive leatherette holder on top holding the TV remote.

  Then he immediately zipped the duffle open. I came to a halt at the mouth of the hall that led into the room and righted my bag on the floor at my side.

  My mind went off the slowly fading burn of his touch at my back as it registered on me it was a nice room, really, really nice. It was large, larger than I expected, larger than I knew hotel rooms could be. The furniture was stylish, the wood gleaming, all of it obviously exceptionally clean. There was a downy comforter with an attractive cover on the huge bed, not a thin bedspread. There were even toss pillows. Two sweep-lined armchairs at either side of a table at the back in one corner by the window, a standing lamp rounding out the seating area, an elegant desk with a lamp on top facing the room at a diagonal in the other corner

  In fact, I’d never been in a nicer room.

  Actually, I’d been in very few hotel rooms at all in my thirty-four years.

  Ronnie had promised a lot of good times in fabulous places and, before he gave me his empty promises, there was a time in our life when his future was so bright, this room would have been a joke to us. Our future held travel all over and everywhere we’d have the best of the best. The best rooms. The best food. The best champagne. The finest clothes. Sweet rides. Big houses. Cleaning ladies. We were going to live large. He told me I would drip gold. He meant it. He loved me that much, I would drip gold. He would make that happen for me.

  Then he fucked it all up.

  I didn’t need gold, I just needed him. But still, he fucked it all up in the end; he fucked it up so badly, I didn’t even have him.

  I came out of my reverie when I heard something hit surface and my eyes focused on Walker.

  Then I felt them get wide.

  He’d dug into the bag Shift packed for him and he was currently putting fat rolls of crisp, fresh bills wrapped tight in rubber bands on the wood above the mini-bar cabinet attached to the luggage shelf. The first roll had a twenty on the outside of it. The second, another twenty. The third, a fifty.

  At the fifty, my breath started sticking in my throat.

  The fourth, more twenties.

  Then he came out with a gun clip and it clattered on the wood by the bills as he dropped it there.

  My breathing stopped.

  Another gun clip. Another roll of fifties. A box of ammo. Another roll of twenties.

  Then a gun.

  I sucked in air.

  “Um, darling?” I called on the exhale. “I’m thinking we need a family meeting.”

  Just his head turned, his body stayed bent over the bag and his light brown, almond-shaped, curly-lashed eyes hit mine. As usual, he did not speak.

  I tipped my head to the unit. “What’s with the bank and the firepower?”

  His eyes stayed on me. Then he straightened and turned to me.

  I braced in order not to flee though I didn’t know why I didn’t attempt escape, probably because he’d proved his hands were fast and I didn’t want to find out if his legs were just as fast.

  He still didn’t speak.

  I carried on. “I mean, I’m no parole officer but it’s my understanding ex-cons aren’t allowed to be armed.”

  He finally spoke. “You don’t have a record.”

  I felt my head jerk at the same time I was certain my eyes bugged out.

  Then I breathed, “What?”

  “Hit trouble, the .38 is yours.”

  At this juncture, I felt it was time to share.

  I took two steps toward him and stopped.

  “As I told you during our last and only conversation, Shift knows my boundaries. Any trouble we could,” I lifted up my hands and his beautiful eyes moved to them as I did air quotation marks and said, “‘hit’,” then I dropped my hands and his eyes came back to mine as I continued, “that would require a .38 and a half a dozen wads of cash is not within my acceptable boundaries.”

  He stared at me.

  Then he walked the four steps to me (that, for my legs, would probably be around seven) and then I found my purse being slid off my shoulder. I watched with no small amount of concern as he dug in it and was somewhat relieved when he pulled out my phone. He turned, tossed my bag across the room to the bed then turned back to me, flipped the phone open, used his thumb then put it to his ear.

  I waited as it rang. So did he. Then he flipped it closed, opened it again then hit more buttons and put it to his ear.<
br />
  I waited. So did he. Then he flipped it closed, opened it and repeat.

  I waited. So did he.

  Finally, he spoke. “It ain’t Lexie, scum, it’s Walker. What the fuck?”

  I pressed my lips together because his face might still be blank but his voice was low and rumbling. Or lower and more rumbling than normal. I didn’t know him very well but I felt this indicated extreme unhappiness.

  “Yeah, with her, yeah,” he growled into the phone confusingly (at least to me), paused then stated in a further growl, “Yeah, the bag ain’t light.” Another pause then, “She don’t know jack.” Another pause then, “Jesus Christ, you’re worthless.”

  Then he flipped the phone shut and tossed it on the unit where it clattered. Then he looked at me.

  “Family meeting,” he said.

  I was suddenly not feeling like having a family meeting.

  I had no choice.

  “He told you dick, didn’t he?” he asked.

  I nodded and wished he’d take a step back but still, I answered, “I’m sensing I didn’t get a full briefing.”

  “What’d that piece of shit tell you?”

  “That I was to pick you up and take you where you wanted to go.”

  “That’s it?”

  I thought about it. Then I amended, “Well, actually, his words were that I was to pick you up at noon, call him when you were out and then take further directions from you.”

  And I had assumed by directions he meant directions to wherever Ty Walker called home or wanted to make his home. But I was thinking I assumed wrong.

  “That’s it?” he repeated.

  Yep, I was wrong.

  “That’s it,” I replied.

  He pulled in breath through his nose. Then he crossed his arms on his chest and his eyes locked with mine.

  Then he told me what I’d already figured out. “He didn’t give you a full briefing.”

  “Great,” I muttered.

  “He owes me,” Walker stated, held my eyes but tipped his head to the desk to indicate what was on it. “Big,” he finished.

  I nodded.