High Card: A Billionaire Shifter Novel (Lions of Las Vegas Book 1) (26 page)

“BODHI DAWN. YES. How are you, Elliot?”

“
Namaste
, my brother,” Elliot says, pressing his palms together and giving me a slight bow. Then he flings himself into my arms, smacking me in the face with his dreadlocks and enveloping me in a cloud of patchouli and weed stench.
 

I pat him on the back. Once.

When he finally releases me there’s a tear running down his cheek. Elliot studied at the Actor’s Studio in New York, until he got bored. I always thought he missed his life calling.
 

I glance around the room. Savannah’s most valued guests are returning to their drinks and gossip. Good. Let them say what they will. Unlike Summer, I’m not worried.
 

When you’re broke they call you crazy.
 

When you’re rich they call you eccentric.
 

But I know Elliot well enough to know he’s neither—

“Amazing gravity waves at the Integratron this morning,” Elliot says, glancing at Summer. “I feel completely tuned in, you know? The bowls were singing their universal crystal lullaby—”

“Elliot…uh…Bodhi? Allow me to introduce my guest for the evening, Summer Mason.”

“—we should head out there sometime, Landon. It’s built above the confluence of three subterranean rivers. The energy is quite magnificent. You’d love the building’s craftsmanship. Its acoustics are unrivaled.”

Elliot takes Summer’s hand and kisses it, barely looking at her.
 

Summer’s smiling ear to ear. She gives me a laughing wink. “What’s the Integratron?”

“A stunning achievement. A dome built in the Mojave desert by a ufologist and contactee at the site of contact. A nexus of magnetic fields. Capable of plasma regeneration. Time travel. Anti-gravity.”

“Sounds like a trip.”
 

Elliot flips Summer’s hand over and traces his index finger down her palm. “It is. You’d love it. And these palm-lines! So unique—”

Summer snatches her hand back, nearly scowling.

“Summer’s a cool name,” Elliot says with a note of seriousness I’m not used to hearing in his voice. “What cultural background?”

“Hippy,” Summer says, not missing a beat. “Moms was into the love-ins for a while. Went to shit when she realized it was mostly about losers gunning for easy pussy.”

Elliot’s eyes glitter.

“What’s
your
new name mean?” Summer asks, sipping her wine. “And why’d you change it?”

“Actually it’s my old name. I’ve discovered it predates ‘Elliot’ by several reincarnations—”

“Of course,” Summer says.

I snatch a Scotch from a passing waiter. Maybe it was a bad idea to take Summer through the casino without getting the lay of the land first. The patrons I can handle. Blake and Rachael too. But Elliot? He’s the only pride member that’s able to get under my skin—

“Bodhi,” Elliot says, raising his index finger in the air, “means awakened. Or aware. Or know. Or understand. Or all those, depending on which Sanskrit translation you prefer. I find the ambiguity very appealing. Also the name of a tree common to the Indian subcontinent, under which the Buddha received enlightenment.”

“You sure it doesn’t mean steaming pile of horseshit?” I say.

Elliot’s lips twitch, but only once. He ignores me and meets Summer’s eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my brother. Landon likes to describe himself as a realist. But to me he’s simply…lost in the disturbances of the mind we call life on this physical earth.”

“Why are you here?” I ask, already tiring of Elliot’s pretentious new-age bullshit.

“Because the world’s largest den of illusion and greed is having an opening gala, and was invited. The astral energies decided I would attend. Don’t worry, brother. You don’t need to comp me a room. I’m more than happy to sleep rough in the indoor jungle safari.”

“Bathe in the waterfall?” Summer says.

Elliot pauses. “I see why you like her, Landon. She has a working class wit. Crude but entertaining.”

Summer sidles close to Elliot. Presses her tits against his arm. Runs her fingers down his chest. “I
am
a working girl…”

Elliot stiffens.
 

Summer laughs, snatches the didgeridoo. “Maybe you’ll let me blow your impressive wood, huh…Bodhi?”

Elliot’s usually slack, carefully-cultivated hippie demeanor vanishes, and for a second he looks absolutely furious. I take a calming breath, step between them and decide to try and start over. “Elliot designed the fuel cells we sell at Blue Line,” I say to Summer. “He’s something of a genius in the field.”

Elliot grabs the end of one of his dreadlocks and rolls it between his thumb and finger, tangling it further, pretending not to hear what I said.
 

“That’s cool,” Summer says. “Hey, Landon? About that spa? That sounds like a really good idea—”

“If I’d known how strong the energy was going to be with
her
I wouldn’t have bothered with the Integratron,” Elliot says, staring at Summer with a calculating gleam in his eye.
 

“Um…okay? Awkward much?” Summer says, taking a step away from Elliot.

“She’s quite something, Landon,” Elliot says, the hippy-dippy affectation in his voice gone. “How long have you been…together?”

Elliot reaches out and brushes his fingers to Summer’s cheek before she knows what he’s doing.
 

I smack his hand down.
 

There’s an odd scent on the air. Acrid.
 

Like metal superheated and burning.
 

Violence.

Summer wraps her hand over mine.
 

“Let’s go, Landon,” she says in my ear.

“Treat to see you again, brother,” Elliot says, almost sneering. “And hey? I meant to ask—do you mind of I spin some poi in the casino’s entrance lobby? The vibes are really good—”
 

“Elliot,” I say,” my voice descending to a growl. “I’ll send for you.”

Elliot’s eyes narrow. “Of course, big bro. I know she must be keeping you busy.”

Summer turns me away before I have a chance to respond, which is a
very
good thing.

***

“Your brothers are something else,” Summer says. “Blake and Elliot. I can’t decide who I like less.”

She’s immersed in a hot eucalyptus bath. Cleansing mud on her face. A therapist giving her a pedicure. She keeps oohing and awwing in a way I find totally adorable.
 

Me? I took a shower, rang for a change of clothes and called it good.
 

I’m flipping through my phone, trying to find the number of one of the casino’s boutique women’s clothing stores, and when I don’t answer Summer says, “We can’t stay glued at the hip forever, Landon. You’re going to have to leave me alone at some point. Besides, the hovering is going to drive me nuts.”

“Am I that intolerable?”

“Even the sweetest candy can make you sick.”

She’s right, but Elliot’s turned up here for a reason. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the opening gala; he thought the casino was a ridiculous enterprise to begin with. He’s here because his sources told him about Summer and what she might be. Elliot’s hippy guise is really only a crude way to throw people off guard. I wasn’t exaggerating when I called him a genius. Blue Line would’ve never got off the ground without him. Of course it would have died as a company the moment Elliot lost interest if I hadn’t done the hard work of building it into a successful international brand.
 

Elliot owns nearly a one-third share of Blue Line. Hidden beneath the tie-dye and patchouli stink is a bank account nearly as rich as mine.

I find the number of the boutique, excuse myself and head into the spa’s lobby. When the boutique manager answers I give him Summer’s approximate sizes and tell him I need to see his spring clothing line.
 

“That’s…a lot of clothing, sir.”

“We’re in the Oasis Spa. Bring everything.”

“Certainly.”

I hang up and am about to slip my phone into my pocket when it rings.
 

Rachael.

Shit.

She must’ve heard about Summer—

I think about flushing her call, then pick up.

“Have you
completely
lost your mind?”

“Hi, sis. What’s new?”

Rachael harrumphs into the phone. “Get up here, Landon. I need to talk to you.”

Anger hardens my voice. “I’m occupied. Book an appointment. I should be free…sometime near the end of time.”

Rachael pauses. “All right. I’m sorry for my outburst. There’s…a lot at stake here, Landon. A lot. Do you see that?”

“What is it now?” I say, thinking it has to be Summer.

“The IPO? Of Blue Line?”

“Yes. What? I signed the papers.”

“You haven’t heard? Oh god. You haven’t—where have you been? Under a rock?”

I settle into a seat in the spa’s lounge and run my fingers through my hair. Summer. Blake. Don Luca. The Council. Elliot. And now the business I devoted my life to. A chill drop of sweat runs down my neck.
 

Something’s wrong. Very wrong.
 

I feel it in my gut. A cold hollow of foreboding.
 

“Tell me everything.”

“On the phone?”

“Yes…no. You’re right. I’ll be up in a second.”

I’m about to go in and tell Summer I’ll be back shortly when I think better of it. Let her relax. I’ll send her a text. I get the spa manager’s attention and tell her Summer is to remain undisturbed until I return. Then I race out of the spa and into the blocks-long promenade that serves as the casino’s shopping district. In the distance I see the indoor safari and jungle, the zip-lines overhead, the glowing bank of glass. Nothing feels real. None of it matters. If I lose Blue Line I lose everything.

***

“I thought it was just you and I,” I say to Rachael when I reach the boardroom, surprised to see Cole and Elliot are there as well. “It’s a regular reunion. Where’s Blake?”

“Making sure the casino’s still standing,” Rachael says icily. “Since you can’t be bothered.”

“You still ticked I made you pick the tablecloth fabric?”

Rachael reaches to the chair beside her, lifts a box full of files and drops it on the table.
 

“You’ve been busy,” I say, settling beside Rachael. Elliot’s sitting a few seats away. Cole’s standing, staring out the window and down to the casino floor below.
 

“Busy doesn’t begin to describe it,” Rachael says, grabbing the first file and sliding it in front of me.
 

I open it and take a look. It’s a transaction summary. “Someone named William Bartlett bought six hundred dollars of Blue Line stock? Good for him. A wise investment.”

Elliot has a hacky sack on the table. He’s knocking it back and forth between his hands. I try not to let it piss me off.

Rachael drops another file. I open it. Same thing. A transaction for a stock purchase. A few hundred bucks. Small potatoes. I rub my eyes. “You called me in a panic for this? First of all, Rachael…this is private financial information. How did you—”

Rachael sighs. Nods at Cole.
 

“Right. Nevermind. My point still stands. What’s the problem here, exactly? You counseled me to offer the IPO in the first place. I did. Our stock—correct me if I’m wrong here, Elliot—but our stock has soared in only twentyfour hours. Am I wrong?”

Elliot bats the hacky sack.

“Rachael?”

“The stock is doing fine. For whoever owns it.”

“For whoever—what?
I
fucking own it, that’s who. These are public shares. I own private shares, as well as a good portion of the public ones—”

“Your public shares were sold to pay the casino’s debt,” Rachael says. “And the mom and pop purchases in these files…they aren’t what they seem.”

A wave of nausea slams into me.
 

Elliot’s picking his teeth with what looks to be a roach clip.

Lion’s share.

The words pound through my mind.

“How much do I own in private shares?”

“A hair under thirty-two percent,” Rachael says.
 

“Good. Fine. And Elliot owns—what? Twenty percent? So that’s the fifty percent-plus we need to keep Blue Line in my control.”

“Ah…y’know…I just started to feel…bogged down,” Elliot says.

“
Bogged down?
” My voice is a near growl. “What the fuck are you talking about, Elliot?”

“Like, oppressed. By that company we started. The direction it took. The fuel cells were supposed to be about…freedom, right? Remember the conversations we had back in the day? About ending the world’s reliance on fossil fuels? The end of the war economy required to keep the gas guzzlers guzzling? And look at what Blue Line is now. A luxury brand. Selling luxury products so the rich can add a sustainability feather in their wasteful, polluting, egotistical caps.”

“Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

“Sorry, man. Couldn’t stomach it anymore. I got out.”

I grip the edge of the table. “You should have talked to me, Elliot.”

“It’s
Bodhi
, remember?”

I have to try very hard not to pounce on the fucker and strangle him with his tongue. “You sold your shares.”

“Every one of them,” Elliot says, flashing me a toothy grin. “And what a weight off. I really think…you look kind of stressed, Landon. Run ragged. Maybe you should sell too. We’ve had a good run. I tell you, all that cash in the bank is a
lot
more comforting than a few stock certificates—”

I slam my hand on the table so hard the two-inch thick mahogany cracks. “What’s happening with these shares?” I say, pointing to Rachael’s box of files.
 

Rachael purses her lips. Looks at her tightly folded hands. “They’re being hoarded, Landon. The mom and pop buyers are a ruse. Someone used dark web proxies to cover the purchases so we wouldn’t be alerted—”

“How much?”

“—and they’ve amassed a significant amount—”

“How much?” I shout.

Rachael raises her hands.
 

“My best estimate puts ten percent of Blue Line in the hands of legitimate investors. You own thirty-two percent in private shares.”