Jax (Titan #9)(42)

"No." Seven stepped forward as the line moved. "Hawke has me posted down here, looping him in on who's coming and going before tonight."

"Gotta keep your eyes open this time."

She rolled them instead. "I will when I have to."

"Next, please!" called a man from the hotel desk checkin.

Guess she wasn't paying attention. "That's me."

Ethan grumbled toward the man who'd raised his voice. "We hear ya."

"Catch you tonight." She wheeled her suitcase away as Ethan gave a curt wave, but he kept his glare on the front desk, never officially signing off from his Seven-babysitting duty. A Mayhem man's job was never done. Her insides warmed knowing they would always have her back. Stopping in front of the awaiting man, Seven beamed cheerfully, like an antidote to Ethan's death stare. "Hi, checking in. Seven Blackburn."

Poof. The front desk clerk's unfazed expression lit. "You have a gift bag waiting for you."

Oh, brother. "Terrific." Only Victoria would do something sweet but sinister under the guise of being her best friend, especially something that would cause this man to morph from seen-it-all to semi-interested in who received the bag. "I'm sure it's… exciting."

From the look on his face, he'd already peeked inside, and Victoria definitely had not sent a good book to read and relax with by the pool. "One moment." The lightning speed whirl-away-and-back revealed a bag overflowing with tissue paper. "Ms. Blackburn, your Welcome to Las Vegas Explosion of Fun bag."

Explosion. Of. Fun. "Thanks." He waited, unmoving, watching the bag, not her. "I'll open it later."

"Oh, hmm." And then his face looked as if his puppy had died.

Really? Really! Was that necessary?

And another disappointed sigh.

"Or I can just take a quick…"

He was bright eyes and fun again. For the love of all that is… Seven pursed her lips and prayed there was a map of Vegas inside, perhaps tickets to a show. She dug through the tissue paper, which already made her skin crawl as he pretended to go through the motions of not watching as he typed on his keyboard. There was an envelope and—oh no, Victoria didn't—Seven clenched the bag shut, cheeks pink.

"Can I have your driver's license?" The clerk peered down like an angel knowing about her bag of dirty fun.

"Yes. Of course." Seven tried to shove the gift bag aside and reach for her wallet, but her purse tipped off the rollaboard suitcase. Origami creations spilled out.

Seven's eyes sank shut, blaming what had to be an industrial-sized, hair-matching, bright-pink bottle of lube for her distracted spill. But the sound of helpful hands scooping up her origami tore her back to reality.

How cool.

These are great.

What a talent.

She dropped down, fishing them back from curious hands. "Thanks. I've got it." The idea of another round of crumpled cardstock coupled with a bag of lube and more might be too much to handle at that second. "Thanks so much. Something I've always done."

Flustered but with everything back in her oversized purse so nothing would be crushed, she popped back up to the preening clerk.

"Two cards, I presume?"

"Nope." What else was in the bag? Champagne? Confetti-packaged condoms? Her cheeks heated to a nuclear level of embarrassment. "Just one."

"Really?" The desk clerk took a second too long to ponder why that was, and Seven thought how she might kill Victoria. "However that works best for you."

"Alone. I work best alone." Then she plotted Victoria's slow demise, which would happen as soon as she tossed the gift bag in the trash can, where no one else could sneak a quick glance.

###

The lights were too bright. The smoke too thick. Vegas wasn't the place he wanted to be, mostly because Jax wanted to be alone. He didn't like the idea of traveling as a motorcycle club drug negotiator. Hell, he didn't like how a gang was called a club, and he didn't like his boss breathing down his neck, telling him to haul ass to Nevada.

But there he was. Jared would be there soon enough. Sugar, his boss's wife, would probably be in tow, and he would be a third wheel. Jax was very uncomfortable when it came down to hanging out with couples. They did their couply crap, and Jax had to put up with it.

He strode into the hotel that had no idea it'd been taken over by a glut of criminals. He almost wanted to tell them, but what did the hotel care? They just wanted money, and it was Vegas. Maybe everyone was a criminal.

But the who's who of cocaine distribution all staying under one roof was interesting.

Bright-pink hair caught the corner of his eye, and he came to a stop. This was Vegas. He'd passed a hundred girls with hair in a dozen shades of pink. None had brought him to a standstill the way Seven did, and she was across the lobby in a skirt that was short enough to make him want to stare and seemed soft enough to sway with her hips with her every step.

The space between them was immense. People milled. The water in several fountains danced to music as children jumped and tossed coins. But there she was next to Johnny Miller, the asshole who was the sole reason the last deal hadn't gone through and why they'd had to come back out today.

Jax watched them from afar, almost embarrassed at how he watched. They were standing together. Familiar. Friendly. Yet not. Very Seven—combative and caring. They weren't flirting, but they were… smiling and comfortable.