Page 3 of Notorious

With plan B, I get a little bit of payback along with taking care of Mama. Plan B’s the pistol in the holster under my dinner jacket—and I haven’t decided who’s going to be on the receiving end of its bullets. I have to admit, Plan B has more flair. With plan B, they’ll really be sorry.

Decisions, decisions. If only I could figure out who deserves it more—them or me?

Why not both?

With my mouth dry and my heart racing, I saunter into the crowded dining room of the swanky Las Vegas hotel. I’m entering a den of my industry peers who are gathered, at least in part, in my honor. What a joke.

I’m a failure.

The noise level’s about the same as a stampede of a couple hundred head of cattle, so everyone’s shouting to be heard over the loud, sexy music and the other boisterous conversations.

My muscles tense as I wind my way around the circular dining tables covered with lavender tablecloths and fancy china. It’s Saturday night. I’m wearing my best white cowboy hat, a rented tuxedo, and my favorite boots. I’m a lot taller than most folks, and the boots and hat make me taller still, so I stand out. More than a few conversations stutter when I lope past, but I’m used to everyone’s eyes being on me.

Get a good look while you can, folks. One way or another, I’m finishing things. Tonight.

My chest tightens.

You’d think I’d be soaking it all in—the gaudy colors of my porn star peers’ evening wear, the heady floral arrangements with decorative glass dildos as accents.

In reality, I’ve got tunnel vision. I’ve been that way ever since The Incident.

After tonight, though, I won’t have to think about The Incident ever again, which is a second blessing on top of fixing my primary problem. Not that I deserve any blessings.

My mama’s sweet voice tells me cryin’ about the past wastes good tears. She’s right. And I’ve wasted plenty.

Enough’s enough.

That sad violin is playing in my head. Its plaintive, ripping-out-my-heart sound haunts me, like always. Instructing me to do more, fix things for her. The violin’s been overwhelmingly loud lately, but it’ll be silent soon enough.

My stomach’s tight, and my jaw hurts from clenching it. I need to make my way toward my table at the front with the other honorees, but that means passing by a lot of people I’d rather not talk to. I draw in another heavy breath, let it out, then nod at the folks I like and ignore the ones I don’t. I’m doing my best not to glare, but I’m not sure I’m succeeding.

As Mama always says, we can disagree, but we needn’t be disagreeable about it.

At the opposite end of the ballroom, I spot the last person I’d ever want to see. Gary Pinkerton sneers at me and deliberately turns his back. Nausea hits me again. I need to get the heck outta here.

But that would mean they got the best of me, so I grind my teeth and rub my wrists.

They’re not bound. I’m okay.

Well, I’m not okay. I’m sure a vein in my neck is popping. I make a fist, and my fingers itch to pull the trigger.

I’ve never been a particularly violent man, but there’s an exception to everything, and he’s the one who gets my blood boiling. I have enough presence of mind to hold my horses, though.

Which is more important, Johnny, saving her … or vengeance?

She can’t die. Vengeance may be just a fantasy on my part.

Plan A it is, then.

A tiny whirlwind of energy invades my space. “Velvet!” Tawni flings her arms around my waist, knocking me out of my thoughts. I’m way too tall for her, so she can’t reach my neck too well. She and I don’t do scenes together, since I don’t fuck women, but our paths have crossed more than once, and she’s a real sweetheart, which is rare in this predatory industry. Raven black hair, dark brown eyes, pretty face. She’s got a great smile. I’m gonna miss it.

Gonna miss her.

“Hey, darlin’.” I side hug her and brush a kiss to the top of her glossy head.

“Congrats on your award!” she gushes.

“Thank you, thank you.” I have to make an effort to get my lips to work but give her a crooked grin. When did I last smile?

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