Viva Las Vegas: Las Vegas Nights, #3

By Ember-Raine Winters

Jessica

Who would have thought that hiding from the mafia would explode over night., but having a sexy rockstar jumping off the stage to save me from a speaker changes everything. Paparazzi, poker games, goons, and being shot. I'm ready to run, except this sexy rockstar wants to marry me. What's this Mafia Princess to do?

Jake

Who thought jumping off the stage to save a beautiful woman, I would end up losing my head, and it's not from the concussion. She is sexy as hell playing professional poker, but things take a turn when her father finds her. So, I do what any man would do, I ask a Mafia Princess to marry me.

Each book in the Las Vegas Nights series is a standalone complete with HEA and no cliff hangers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ember-Raine Winters
• Release date: May 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386295181

Book preview

Acknowledgements

I have the best family in the world! They put up with my crap and are super supportive. Especially, my mom and sister. They are the best!

My DAT girls, you know who you are. Thank you so much for always being there for me during this crazy journey. I will always love you! (Even when you send me questionable pictures of Justin Beiber.)

The best Goodreads group ever! Particularly authors Annie Arcane and Jane Blythe. You ladies have helped me so much in the last few months! Thank youuuu!! Mwah!

All of the amazing Indie Authors and bloggers I have met over the last year! I freaking FLOVE you! You have made the last year one of the best and I can’t wait for the next!

Last, but not least my editor, Randie Creamer. [e-mail] I couldn’t do this without you! Thank you so much!

Dedication

To Heather, Thanks for all the amazing covers and design work you do for me. You’re the best!

JESSICA

I stood in the center of my bedroom, waiting. The white dress with all the lace and crystals hanging in my closet was mocking me. I’d tried it on in the shop and decided if I ever got married for real, that would be the type of dress I wanted. It had a plunging neckline and formed to my body all the way, until it flared out at about mid-calf.

I had a small window in which to do this, and I was just glad my dad hadn't found the duffle bag I’d hidden in the back of the closet. I wasn't stupid enough to think he didn't do routine sweeps of my bedroom and all my belongings. He was paranoid as all hell, always thinking the house was bugged. My friends could never come over because he was sure they were plants from the government who he was sure was watching him. I rolled my eyes at the thought. He was so dramatic sometimes. It didn't stop him from going to his club every night and bringing home random bimbos at ungodly hours of the night. Even the night before he forced his only daughter into a contract to marry a scumbag to further his business. I was disgusted by it. My own father selling me to the highest bidder. To the person who he could extort the most money out of. It was as if we were living in the damn Middle Ages.

I listened as the front door opened and closed. It was late, around eleven. Daddy always left around eleven and went to the club. I decided to give him a while before I even thought about getting out of there.

Creeping in his office, I grabbed a thumb drive and proceeded to download the contents of his hard drive on the small device. It was insurance. I was smart enough to know that if I was caught, not even my father could save me. These men were ruthless. The man I was promised to would take it as a personal insult, and not even my father could stop him if he found me and wanted to hurt me. Though my father wouldn't save me, he’d look weak if he didn't let Tony get his revenge on me. I vowed to myself that I would do everything in my power not to get caught. No matter what.

The computer beeped and I cursed to myself. I went deathly still, hoping no one was in the house. After a few minutes when it seemed as though the house was still quiet, I removed the drive and stuffed it in the pocket of my jeans, hurried out of the room, and grabbed my duffle bag from my closet. I eyed the white dress with a smirk. It really was beautiful. It was such a waste. I’d never wear it, would rather die before putting that thing on. It may just come to that.

I tried not to think what the consequences would be if I were caught as I made my way to the garage and my waiting BMW. I had a flight booked out of JFK in a matter of hours—getting far away from that awful place and that terrible life.

I felt nothing, nothing but relief flood me as I watched the house, my prison, get smaller through the rearview mirror. I was done with it. I would make something of myself no matter what. From that moment on, Gabriella Masoni was gone. Dead. And, she was never coming back. I looked at the envelope sitting on the passenger seat. The one with the forged documents my friend Kyle had gotten for me. I felt bad that I had to leave him behind. He was one of my best friends and had helped me to escape, but if I was going to survive this, I needed to sever all ties, including Kyle. I smiled to myself knowing that this was a turning point. My life would never be the same, and I couldn't have been happier about it. That was the moment Jessica Mason was born.

JAKE

Five years later...

One thing I could always say for myself was that I had nerves of steel. I didn't get nervous before a show. If anything, it was the opposite. I listened to the crowd from the wings as they waited for us to go on and it amped me up even more. The guys all knew my routine; we’d been touring together for years.

See anything you like out there? Hammer, the base guitarist, asked.

Not yet, but you know I will. I smirked at him. The high I got after a show was unlike any other and the only way to come down from it was balls deep inside some random chick. Rock concerts were the best place to find a hot piece to take in the green room or the tour bus and fuck the shit out of them. Groupies, they were everywhere. The lights dimmed in the arena before the bright as fuck stage lights flashed on.

One minute, the stage director called. I hopped from foot to foot, the excitement rushing through me as I waited impatiently to go on stage. I loved performing. It was the best thing in the world. Thirty seconds were called and the guys ran on stage to get in their positions.

Hello, Las Vegas! I bellowed into the microphone, making my entrance after the guys were all set. How the fuck are you doing tonight? The crowd went crazy.

Slick, they must be having a shitty fucking day, what do you think?

Yeah, man, that was weak. My five-year-old nephew can scream louder than that. How. Are. You. Doing. Las Vegaaaas, he yelled. The crowd went absolutely insane and we grinned at each other.

Not bad. Now let's rock.

Nick counted us out on his drums and launched into the first song of our set. This was my favorite thing; the adrenaline coursing through me as I belted out the lyrics and worked the stage and audience. There was nothing else like it in the world.

The sweat dropped down my face as I stood there with lights shining down on me and my guitar. The roar of the crowd pounded in my ears. I fucking loved it. The screaming fans were incredible as I bellowed out the lyrics to one of our hit songs. I was in the zone. A bra hit me in the face and I chuckled into the mic.

As the song ended I noticed someone at the edge of the left stage in the crowd, her gorgeous features were hypnotizing. Some idiot on the side of her bumped one of the huge speakers, and I choked over the lyric I was singing when it began to topple. Not giving a moment’s thought, I leapt from the stage and pushed the gorgeous brunette out of the way, rolling away before the speaker crashed down on my head, yet still managed to knock me out cold.

JESSICA

I was standing there listening to one of the greatest rock bands in the world, which I’d won tickets for in a poker game. I usually didn't allow bets for anything other than cash, but this was Jake Moore, lead singer of Devil Rising. Tickets had been sold out for weeks and the only way to score a ticket was to win it. Never in a million years did I think he’d jump off the stage and push me out of the way, saving me from getting crushed by a speaker. I landed on my arm wrong and cried out in agony as I felt the bone crack, just as the speaker crashed down. Dear God, was he okay? Jake Moore just saved my life. The speaker was a foot taller than me and probably outweighed me by twenty pounds, and I had no idea if Jake was injured. Even with the silence from the music, the sound throughout the stadium was deafening. People were screaming, the chaos was nearly uncontrollable. Someone grabbed me; thankfully it was Lizzy, my roommate. I cried out in pain as she pulled on my broken arm and her eyes went wide, dropping hold of it immediately. Shit, Jess. Oh my God!

They must have had medics on standby because seconds later we were surrounded by security, and a couple of EMTs were wheeling out gurnies. One walked over and saw me cradling my arm.

Are you hurt, Miss? One of the EMTs crouched down beside me, after the crowd was instructed back.

Yes, I'm pretty sure my arm is broken, I answered the older man whose eyes were filled with kindness.

Here, let me help you up, he said helping me to my feet and over to the gurney. For insurance purposes, the venue is making us wheel you out. Sorry, but we need to get you strapped down. Let me just secure your arm first.

What about him... Jake? He saved my life. There were a swarm of people around the rock star. It looked as though they’d gotten the speaker off of him and were lifting him up onto one of the two gurneys.

He wrapped my arm securely across my chest before I laid back. He's going too.

Lizzy looked down at me just after the EMT had me secured. Jess, I’ll follow behind and meet you at the ER.

Thanks, Lizzy, but seriously, it’ll probably be hours sitting there waiting on a Saturday night. I’m fine. I’ll call and you can either pick me up, or I’ll Uber it back home.

You sure? I’m happy to stay with you.

Ladies, I’m really sorry, but I need to get us going, can we wrap this up, please? The nice older man looked at the two of us, his patient eyes a little less so.

Sorry, I said to him, then glanced over to my roommate. Liz, positive. I’ll text you or call later.

She nodded in agreement and the EMT wheeled me through a stage door and led us backstage. I couldn't even enjoy the fact that David Johns, the legendary singer, was standing in front of me watching the scene with a look of  horror at what’d just happened. Figures the one time I went backstage it was to be wheeled out with a broken arm on my way to the hospital. Work was going to be a pain with a cast on my arm. Pfft, a broken arm wasn’t stopping me. I was the best. The five million payout from the upcoming tournament was mine.

The hospital took as long as I figured it would. When the doctor on duty found out what had happened, he ordered a CT scan as well as X-rays. The X-rays showed exactly what I thought... a hairline fracture to the Ulna, which thankfully, still allowed me use of my thumb, so work wasn’t going to be as bad as I’d assumed. Setting my arm hurt like a fucking bitch, though, and I may have screamed a few choice words.

How is Jake Moore? I asked the nurse when they were setting my arm.

He's stable but has a pretty serious concussion.

From the speaker?

No, thankfully, he managed to get out of the way in time. The concussion is from the fall. He got lucky.

Can I go see him? Security would be tight, and they probably wouldn't let some random girl near him, but the guy saved my life. Least I could do was thank him.

I'll ask him when I go check his vitals. He's awake but groggy.

The doctor was finishing up with securing the cast. Since it was a hairline fracture and not complete break, they were allowing a soft cast instead of putting me in one of those fiberglass or plaster ones. Thank you. I really need to thank him for saving my life. I looked away, embarrassed, knowing I probably sounded like some swooning fan, but this night would have gone very differently had he not played the hero.

All the press about him over the last year had been pretty bad. Jake’s engagement and then subsequent sex tape had hit world-wide and his former fiancé—Hollywood’s good girl Honey Davies—ran off and ended up with his half-brother. From what I’d read, the lead singer of Devil Rising had been trying to change his image, and his bandmates had allegedly put him on probation. Jumping off stage and getting knocked unconscious had to have violated some probation since it cancelled the show. They were only into the second song when it happened. It left me wondering why he did it? Why’d he risk himself and not just let one of the stagehands or security guards help?

The nurse came back in a while later with discharge papers and a smile on her face. Security has allowed you access to Mr. Moore’s room, and they asked for your information. The venue will be covering the costs of your injuries.

That's not necessary.

The nurse just held out the paperwork. Do you need me to help you write? Are you—  

I cut her off mid-sentence. Nope, I’m a righty, thankfully this break got my left.

After finishing up filling out the forms and signing my name, the nurse led me to Jake’s room.

What time is it, by the way?

It's just about six in the morning. Shit. I knew it had taken a long time, but I hadn't realized I’d been there all night. Making my way into the room, my breath caught in my lungs. The whole side of Jake’s face was an ugly purplish black. At my gasp he looked up and gave a grimaced smile.

Hey, sorry about your arm. He looked pointedly at the red mesh cast.

I should have been freaking out getting to personally meet Jake Moore, but there was a pull guiding me over to his bed. You shouldn't be apologizing about my arm. If it hadn't been for you, it would have been much worse. My blush matched the new soft cast I wore. I just wanted to thank you for saving my life.

JAKE

I was pretty sure I was dreaming. Or, maybe it was the concussion. I couldn't decide which. The girl standing before me was as gorgeous as I thought when I’d seen her in the front row. Her long black hair was a little messy. Her tight black pants and red corset style top—that I wanted to peel from her body with my teeth—were rumpled, probably from laying in them for the whole night. Looking at the cast, I silently cursed myself for pushing her so hard. She was so tiny, at least a full foot shorter than my six foot two inch frame. That damn speaker would have done