Riding Dirty (6 page)

Miles and worlds away the older Thomas girl was also staring at her reflection in disbelief, not only utterly powerless to detect the comforting family resemblance to her little sister but also at a complete loss to find even a resemblance to herself. The image she saw before her in the looking-glass was not the scrappy daughter of alcoholic, codependent parents from a trailer park in the southern coastal boonies of Alabama; she was not an overscheduled, high-performing academic in a competitive graduate program; she was not even a polished, professional casino dealer.

The woman before her in the mirror was a total stranger, glamorous and mysterious, of whom one could believe just about anything. It was as if she had stepped out of a poster for a spy film. She was a construct of hours of group effort; Lola and Valeria, pressed by their loyalty to the Ruiners, had grudgingly set up camp in Bronson’s suite at the Encore and waxed, plucked, powdered, and pulled as only master shape-shifters can. Hours later, Rowan was somewhat exhausted but amazed with the results of their expertise.

Now, as the biker women stood behind her to assess and complete the final touches, Rowan for the first time believed that this crazy, dangerous plan of theirs was going to work. It would work because now she wasn’t just Rowan Thomas recklessly throwing herself at fate; now she had the benefit of a partner who could offer his street smarts, worldliness, and best of all, protection to the venture.

Bronson Ramsey’s intersection into her life just might be the turning point. For the first time, as Rowan looked at herself in the mirror, she saw a woman whose poise and appearance promised she would get away with any crime, bring all men to their knees, and even pull a trigger if push came to shove. Rowan smoothed down the tightly fitted dress and couldn’t help admiring the way it clung. She had never worn anything so expensive or sexy. The sight filled her with confidence and another feeling even subtler, more delicate, more important: hope.

In her bumpy life, Rowan had learned through bitter disappointment after disappointment that there was no one to catch her when she stumbled, no safety net; it was all up to her. The support that is the natural duty of all parents had never existed for her. She had matured quickly, aware of the dual need to protect her baby sister and push herself forward out of a bad situation. She could barely remember a time in her childhood that she wasn’t worried about stretching food stamps, the cost of gasoline, or applying for government programs. She never really had new shoes—last year’s flip-flops always had to work until they fell apart.

Of course, there had been pockets of kindness and encouragement here and there—once in a blue moon a teacher, a classmate, or a co-worker had turned up to offer her guidance and support. People like Professor Weller and Nila had been instrumental in propping her up in her relentless pursuit of escape and success. Ultimately, though, she had always known such encounters were the exception and not the rule. She never came to expect help.

The world was mostly harsh, uncaring. What did it matter to others whether or not one more white chick finished high school, made it through college, got a good job? Nobody else really cared. She knew that, and she didn’t blame the world. It wasn’t its fault.

She had always been on her own, until now.

The only way she had managed to get herself as far as university in Montgomery was through the sheer force and persistence of her own willpower. Since grade school she had trained herself, never pausing for breath or rest as she painstakingly climbed the ladder of the American Dream. Each day and each college credit was one step closer to securing a brighter future for her and Lacy. It was always about both of them. Rowan had always felt the pressing responsibility of her birth order, knowing she alone held the potential to change her family’s trajectory. In the cold light of pessimism and loneliness, she had become a survivor.

But even that strong, ambitious Rowan Thomas, the one who had scraped her way up to be a masters candidate at Alabama State University, had limitations. Her weaknesses had become clear to her once she arrived in Las Vegas and had to face the fact that she didn’t know the first thing about tracking down a human organ on the black market. She couldn’t tell poor Chitto the real reason she had set up camp in the living room of his tiny apartment, as she didn’t want to put him in any danger. She had tried to do it all on her own, like she always did, but couldn’t. Just yesterday she had failed at the simple task of robbery she had set for herself, succumbing to the superior strength of Bronson Ramsey.

This new woman she saw in the mirror, though, couldn’t possibly fail.

There was a firm knock at the bedroom door and Bronson’s voice bellowed through the flimsy barrier, ripping Rowan from the spell of her thoughts and back to the present task at hand.

“Just about finished? It’s time to go.”

“Yeah,” Lola shouted back. “One second.” She licked her fingers and smoothed a rebellious strand of Rowan’s hair back up into the flawless chignon she had fashioned and a frown of concentration flickered across her flawless oval face. She contentedly admired her achievement for a brief, sweet moment before a stab of envy flashed through her mind.

Who the hell was this cracker chick and why was the club bending over backwards for her? Women didn’t usually get involved in anything more serious than the legitimate business covers. Why was Bronson singling out this schoolgirl, spending so much energy on her?

Lola’s stomach sank, anticipating how much Bronson would like what he saw when the makeover was revealed. She knew he was a womanizer, that he wasn’t her man anymore, but that didn’t soften the sting.

Lola shook her head, reminding herself that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, really. This was for the Club. All those questions she wanted to ask—off limits. “Alright babydoll,” she said with a reassuring wink at Rowan. “It’s all you now. Make it count.”

“Thank you both so much for your help.”

Rowan masterfully stilled her capsizing mind, gained full composure, and committed herself to her maiden voyage into organized crime. The knowledge that what she was about to do with her night directly played toward the endgame of securing Lacy’s transplant gave Rowan a surge of determination that unlocked an inner reservoir of courage. Go big, or go home.

With her head held high she walked slowly and methodically to the door. She had to move carefully, as she was still adjusting to what she mentally referred to as her hooker shoes—there hadn’t been much of an opportunity for her to practice the art of 4-inch-high-heeled locomotion in clinicals at ASU. Now, she wished she had been less practical about footwear in the past.

Rowan opened the bedroom door and found herself face to face with her new pimp and protector, Bronson Ramsey. She breathed him in, seeking his reaction to her new style. It would give her a sense of how hard she would have to work on other men tonight.

Jaded as he was, Bronson couldn’t help but drink Rowan in with an openly admiring and hungry stare that started at her shapely calf, exposed by a long slit in her gown, and roamed the whole delicate length of her. The girls had selected a dress perfect for Rowan’s role of the enticing ingénue, both classic and sexy. It was a contoured, floor-length design threaded with gold sequins that feverishly embraced her tight little body like scales, wrapping intimately around her breasts and hips before swooping in a glimmering waterfall to the ground. She looked precisely like a siren Venus rising from a golden sea.

Bronson saw the dress had no back to speak of, and when Rowan turned for him, he could see her lean muscles gracefully stretching under her alabaster skin. When she came back to stillness her skirts shifted about her like a radiant aura, the high slit exposing one leg at a time, tantalizingly, as it angled dangerously far up to expose a perfectly kissable portion of her inner thigh.

Bronson’s mouth watered at the glimpse of pale skin so close to her hips before he let his eyes travel up over her flat stomach and to the bountiful swelling of cleavage exposed by the gaping keyhole cutout of her bodice. The gown, as if embarrassed by its boldness, recovered itself by lifting into a high halter collar. Rowan’s ample breasts, shapely shoulders, and delicately sculpted arms were on full display.

She stared back at him with that sphinx-like challenge that had so aroused him from the beginning, seeming to declare that she was beyond his reach and equal to his passion at the same time. His pulse raced as he recalled the clause of their agreement that entitled him to enjoy that body…at some point. Wine-red lips and smoky eyes added to her sensual charm but did not diminish her dewy innocence.

Part of Bronson wanted to order Rowan back to the bedroom to change into her jeans and t-shirt, to cancel the whole thing. Something soft in him wished he could write her a check, buy her a bus ticket back to Alabama, and get her the hell out of Vegas while she was still intact. This Disneyland for degenerates was no place for the quiet, centered girl he saw beneath the glitz, and he felt a stab of regret knowing he would be instrumental in muddying the pristine waters of those clear blue eyes.

The larger part of Bronson, however—the fighter and alpha male who was used to having his way—wanted to rip off that incredible dress himself and satisfy his spiking libido by ravaging her. He’d start with tearing his hands through her primly upswept hair before forcing her by his kisses to return his desire, and then…Bronson blinked away the image of his body twisting around Rowan’s, then grinned as he had the pleasing realization that every man in the casino was likely to have the same fantasy the moment they saw her. There was no way he was going home empty-handed tonight.

With a jolt, Bronson realized that too much time had passed without anyone speaking and so he cleared his throat with finality. “Let’s go.”

Rowan glared at him. “That’s it?”

Bronson had already started toward the front door and half turned back, raising an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“We’re about to begin an important partnership, and from now on we’ll have to rely on each other closely. We’re high-rollers now Ramsey, playing a game that requires tact, timing, and sophistication.” Rowan took a gliding step toward him, her hips swaying hypnotically like the pendulum of a clock, but her eyes were as clear and guileless as a child’s. “You might at least attempt to show some class, and compliment my appearance. If it’s not too much of a strain.”

Bronson worked hard to keep his features blank. “You look adequate.”

Rowan’s brow wrinkled. It was the look she used on people when they tried to count cards, and revealed a harsh and final condemnation. “
Adequate
?”

“Yeah.” Bronson shrugged. “Sellable. I’d bang you.”

Rowan’s head shook unconsciously, incredulous. “I give up. You’re a total fucking animal.”

“You have no idea, blondie.”

“Rowan, damn it. Call me Rowan.”

“Let’s go, blondie.”

Gritting her teeth, Rowan accepted Bronson’s arm and stepped into character.

Phase one was on, and the pair set about creating the illusion of a normal evening between a celebrity and his expensive escort. Rowan and Bronson were ushered attentively by the Encore’s staff into a taxi, and within minutes disembarked at the grand entrance of Caesar’s Palace. The white façade stretched into the night sky with all the majesty of ancient Rome with the added benefit of multi-millions of dollars’ worth of lighting effects, landscaping, and air conditioning. Though they were nowhere to be seen, Rowan knew that the other three Ruiners men were somewhere close.

As the pair made their way through the casino floors and shopping centers, Rowan found herself swept away in the glittering ebb and flow of how the other half lived. Ramsey’s celebrity gained them instant attention and access to the finest amenities. There were no waits, no questions, and no limits.

To set the stage for their heist, Ramsey treated his lady friend to a cocktail at the most exclusive club on the casino grounds. Heads swiveled in the VIP lounge to inspect the Heavyweight Champion’s new arm candy when they arrived, and interested parties of all genders watched hungrily as the attractive couple wound to the dance floor. The DJ was on fire, sending pulsations of energy through the bodies of everyone in the room as flicks of silver light flashed through the mob.

Eager to do her part to build buzz, Rowan coquettishly pressed herself against Bronson’s body as they swayed to the music, boldly smiling into his eyes. Her proximity and appeal were not lost on anyone, least of all Bronson. Seizing the opportunity, he let his hands wander to the nape of her neck as he ensnared her in a kiss. His pulse hammered when her lips softened against his, the scent of her perfume intoxicating him.