Abella All In: Zodiac Assassins, #6

By Artemis Crow

Thirteen Zodiac Assassins

Forged in the Darkness of the InBetween,
Ruled by the Shadow Side of their Stars,
The Only Hope for the Light of Humanity.

What Would You Sacrifice To Win?


For Innocent Lives

Abella has returned to Las Vegas and the poker table she has long dominated for one reason. To win the location of the paranorm children the FBI has taken so they can be rescued before scientists discover just how far from human the children actually are. 

For An Edge

Abella has always had a code for her card play: Dance up to the line to win but never cheat. Because of that, her reputation among the other players is flawless. This game, however, turns out to be anything but honest, and Abella finds herself buffeted between players who have their own agendas for her, each driven just as hard to win. 

For Unimaginable Power

When the other players lay their offers on the table, Abella must choose: sacrifice everything she has worked for to win the game, walk away from her life and into an uncertain future with a man she desires but doesn't trust, or go all in and trade her very humanity in hopes of saving the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Artemis Crow
• Release date: Dec 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393823568

Book preview

Abella All In

ZODIAC ASSASSINS BOOK 6

ARTEMIS CROW

Abella All In

Copyright © 2020 by Leslie Bird Nuccio

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2020

Print Book ISBN 978-1-7352644-5-5

Ebook ISBN 978-1-7352644-4-8

Cover Art by DAZED Designs

OTHER BOOKS BY ARTEMIS CROW

Zodiac Assassins series

Lyon’s Roar Book 1

Leona’s Descent Book 2

Libra’s Limbo Book 3

Leona’s Cage Book 4

Gemini Asunder Book 5

Dedication

For those who battle every day to protect the innocent hearts of the world.

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

Acknowledgements

Author’s Note

Limoncello Infusion

Rose Infusion

Coffee Liqueur Infusion

Peach Infusion

Hibiscus and Dried Cherry Infusion ***

Blood Orangecello Infusion

Tito’s Texas Sipper

1

Luck. Elusive, vagarious, yet the hope of everyone—especially in Las Vegas—and the downfall of those who believed in it, relied on it, devoted their lives trying to control it. There were no shortcuts to be taken; there were no formulas to be invented; there were no miracles to be conjured. John Milton said, Luck is the residue of design. Abella had used those words to profit at the poker table, but this time the stakes were too high; this time she was gambling for children’s lives. There were no options to be had…save one.

Abella lowered the limo’s window, allowing the cool lights of the Strip to dance over her face as it traveled down the road. The garish neon blazed so brightly that it penetrated her closed eyes, the illumination a kaleidoscopic celebration of greed and vice and revelry unmatched by any other American city. She loved every square mile of it, and she always came to Vegas with a design. But her plans were for naught if she couldn’t find that damn residue and mold it to suit her needs.

She opened her eyes to take in the artificially opulent facades flashing by, fighting the fatigue that demanded she close them again and sleep. The jet, despite its luxury, had failed to entice her to trust Baker’s men enough to rest, or ignore what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. The FBI had taken Lyon and Persephone’s children to some undisclosed location, the probability of experimentation on the non-humans high. Abella had helped Baker’s men apprehend Persephone’s son, and her disloyalty to her half-sister, no matter how valid the reason, weighed as heavily on her conscience as Jacob Marley’s chains. Like a carrot on a stick, a chance to get the children back had been dangled before her, but it required that she sacrifice all she had built over the years.

She glanced at the men occupying the limo with her and had to force herself not to roll her eyes. General Baker’s demand that she be watched during the poker game was an insult. As if she’d do anything that would risk Lyon and Persephone’s children, like run away and break her agreement with the man. She would play the game, she would win the game, she would get the location of the children for Lyon so he could rescue them, just as she had promised.

For now though, she needed to sleep. Then she’d have the energy to plan.

The sleek, black stretch worked its way down the Strip, the progress slowed by the parade of cars driven by gawking tourists and irritated residents trying to get to work at the casinos, hotels, restaurants, and wedding chapels in constant attendance by said tourists.

The driver flipped on the turn signal and slowed for the showplace hotel coming up on the left.

Not there, Abella called out.

That’s where we have reservations, one of her muscle-bound escorts said.

Good for you. I, however, will not be staying there, she said, rubbing her temples, unable to keep weariness-fed impatience out of her voice.

The man stared at her, his brown eyes narrowing. You know the rules.

She dropped her hands and shot the man a look that, had she been a demon, most certainly would have sent him straight to Hell. You are to be my guard, but I didn’t agree to stay in the hovel your accommodations will surely be.

He crossed his arms, his disgust stinking up the roomy vehicle. The other men shifted, their discomfort palpable as their heads swiveled between her and their leader.

Abella mirrored his posture, but a grin spread across her face. Brooding doesn’t suit you.

Neither does this mission, but I have my orders.

He returned her stare, and that’s when she saw it. The truth. He didn’t want to be here anymore than she did; something to keep in mind.

She broke the stare-off and looked into the rear-view mirror, catching the driver’s eye. Go straight, past the Bellagio. I’ll tell you when to turn.

Sir? the driver called back.

We stay with you, the crotchety male said.

Abella heaved a sigh. An Oscar-worthy gust of an effort, really, but lost on these buffoons. There’s room.

The leader nodded at the driver and they continued down the Strip, inching forward in the traffic jam, the minutes passing in silence.

Take the next left, Abella said, unconsciously leaning forward, as if that could ensure the driver didn’t miss the turn.

That’s a service road, ma’am.

I realize that; take it anyway.

The men around her sat up and rubbernecked, their dominant hands easing toward their firearms.

What? You think I’m setting a trap?

The general said you’re not to be trusted.

She placed both hands over her heart and cocked her head. Aw, I’m hurt. She looked to the driver. Take another left here, then pull under the portico.

The driver eased through the tight turn down a one-way street that by all rights should have been zoned an alley, the vehicle clearing the corners by inches. Even after straightening, the walls on either side of them were so close that Abella wasn’t sure they could open the doors wide enough to exit.

The perfect kill box.

I don’t like this, the leader said, his head on a swivel. Feels like a trap.

Oh, for god’s sake, Abella said, despite agreeing with the man’s assessment. Don’t be a ninny. It’s a private drive. She pointed ahead. See?

The narrow street curved and widened at the same time, the extra space on each side of the limo lined with huge, terracotta pots holding palm trees and rimmed with ivy. Strands of white lights twinkled, highlighting the path to the entrance, their singular note a relief after the multitude of colors on the Strip. Despite the light pollution that permeated Las Vegas, this tiny oasis was a cool, quiet haven away from the chaos.

The two-story white portico showcased the ornate double doors, while the white of the columns supporting the structure was almost completely covered by ambitious, twining ivy reaching for the sky.

The driver stopped at the doors.

A pair of doormen eased out from some hidden spot, their green jackets the same color as the foliage, like camouflage. Unobtrusive was their aim, privacy their fame. They flanked the vehicle and opened the doors with barely a sound.

Abella reached out and gripped one of the doorman’s extended, gloved hands.

He helped her out before smiling. Ms. Cara, it’s wonderful to see you again.

Short, dark hair showcased a handsome face; his chiseled jaw and bright blue eyes were startling in their symmetrical beauty. The man could have tried for Hollywood, but fame held no interest for him…he lived for his family.

It’s been a long time, Jerrold. How’s your wife?

He rolled his eyes, even as one corner of his mouth canted up. She’s pissed at me again.

Abella pictured the petite blonde with the fiery attitude and laughed. Another baby?

Jerrold closed the door when the last of the men exited, his smile broadening. Due soon. She’ll make three.

A girl? Finally. Congratulations.

He chuckled. My wife is as giddy as she can be this far along. God knows the nursery is filled to the ceiling with all manner of pink frills and frippery. He glanced at the trunk. Any bags?

Not on this trip. My traveling companions can carry their own. They will need rooms, though.

Done.

Fiona?

Bringing in supplies for you as we speak.

Then let’s go.

Jerrold tipped his cap and jogged ahead of her to open the door, his expression flattening, his eyes growing more watchful. That attention to detail made him the best doorman in town.

Abella strode into the intimate, luxurious lobby. Cream and white furniture dotted the space, standing out against the black, marble floor and dark gray walls, while accent colors of cobalt blue, deep red and eggplant purple were splashed in pillows and paintings and planters.

What is this place? the leader whispered.

It’s a private hotel, of sorts. The lower floors have luxury suites that are available to the public. The top two floors are a private penthouse. And you don’t have to whisper; it’s not a church.

The general won’t want to pay for expensive rooms.

He’ll only have to pay for yours. I own the penthouse.

He cocked an eyebrow. You own it?

I won it in a game, along with most everything I have. Baker knows that; it’s why he picked me.

The leader frowned but didn’t continue that line of questioning. And how do we keep an eye on you?

Fatigue fed Abella’s frustration. She wanted to scream, You don’t! but she didn’t think he’d take it well. There are three elevators: a private one that only goes to my place, an elevator to the suites, and a freight elevator in the back of the hotel that goes to every level including the private garage. Plus, there are stairwells at each end of the hotel. Have a man covering each place and you’ll be guaranteed that I can’t slip out of your clutches.

I’ll have to check that out, along with your penthouse.

Of course. Jerrold, will you please show these men the elevators and stairs, then their rooms.

I will. Anything else you need?

Not for now, thank you.

She pulled a thick wad of money out of her tote bag and slipped it to him.

He stared at the tip, frowning. I can tell it’s too generous just by the feel.

Not for that precious girl you’re about to have. Believe me, you’re going to need it.

Then thank you. He pocketed the money. Come with us gentlemen. We’ll give you a tour then show you to your rooms.

The leader stayed by Abella’s side while his men split into groups, their heads on a swivel. She had to hand it to them—they were attentive.

Ready? she asked.

After you.

2

Abella walked to a short interior wall. Rounding the end, she walked down a hallway, passing the first elevator, stopping at the second. She pulled out a nondescript, black card from her bag and held it to a scanner until the light changed from red to green. Placing the card back in her bag, she leaned close to the retinal scanner, waiting for it to accept her. A second green light lit up; a soft hiss sounded as the elevator doors opened.

Come.

The leader joined her and the doors closed. Abella pushed the button for the penthouse and the car hummed slightly as it ferried their ascent.

She stared longingly at the rose-gold and cream settee, but pride kept her on her aching feet. She’d learned long ago that showing weakness invited predation, at the poker table and in life. That’s why she had come to Las Vegas in the first place. To buy her freedom—and the freedom of her sisters—from a system that kept children powerless using the second most coveted currency…money.

The doors opened revealing a circular, two-story foyer of white marble accented with gold lines. A round wooden table sat in the center, topped with a large, antique, oxidized-copper garden urn filled with blush-pink, creamy white, and rose-colored peonies, the sensual flowers accented with succulents and dusty miller and unopened rose buds.

Abella circled around the table and stopped at the transition of marble floor to wooden planks that heralded the beginning of the living room to admire the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Las Vegas at night. Breathtaking, isn’t it?

He grunted.

She looked at the man and sighed. He was too busy checking out the room to notice the sights. She walked into the living room and dropped her tote on the closest white, leather sofa, peace finally filling her. Planters of large, lacy leaf philodendron and tall Ming aralia trees dotted the empty spaces in the cool interior, mitigating the risk of sterility, while more trees decorated the balcony, giving it a modicum of privacy. Great sprays of phalaenopsis orchids were scattered about on end tables and tucked into corners atop Corinthian columns. Neutral colors in creams and tans and browns warmed the white, and, like in the lobby, splashes of color kept the penthouse from being uninviting.

Feel free to check the place out. It’s two stories. There are two ways for me to leave the place: the elevator we just used and the stairwell.

How do you access the stairs? the leader asked, moving around the room.

There’s a utility room through the kitchen. The far door leads to a small hallway that takes you to the stairwell.

The man jogged up the stairs, his scowl one of great displeasure, but Abella couldn’t care less. She was in her space.

The ding of the elevator echoed. She turned and grinned when the doors opened.

Fiona! It’s damn good to see you, she said, throwing her arms wide.

The diminutive woman looked up from balancing the many bags about to pull her to the ground. Far shorter than Abella’s six feet, Fiona had delicate bones and a small frame that belied the physical strength she’d gained over her many years of fight training, running, and kickboxing. Small though she might be, she wasn’t to be trifled with. Long, black hair with the slightest wave surrounded a pale-skinned, heart-shaped face. All of that made her pretty, but her eyes made her arresting. Large and almond-shaped, Fiona’s burnt-honey-colored irises had an outer ring of dark brown that highlighted the unusual color, yet it was the glitter of intelligence and humor and grit that made them beautiful.

Fiona’s face lit up and she flashed white teeth. Abella!

Abella ran to her, the excitement of seeing her friend again overwhelming her exhaustion. Let me take some of these.

Fiona tsked but let Abella take an arm’s worth. I should be doing that.

You say that every time, Abella said with a chuckle.

And every time you ignore me.

The pair walked to the kitchen and hoisted the bags onto the light gray, granite-topped island.

Be warned, there’s a man lurking about, Abella said.

"Oh, really? Is he hot? I could stand some eye candy about now. It’s been a dry spell, let me tell you," Fiona said, spreading her arms wide for emphasis.

Abella rolled her eyes. Not that kind, trust me.

But could he be? Fiona asked wistfully, her arms dropping, her shoulders rounding.

Baker’s man ran down the stairs and stopped, taking a hard look at Fiona. Who is she?

Fiona is my friend. You’ll be seeing a lot of her so get used to it.

I see what you mean. Totally not. Fiona narrowed her eyes and planted her fists on her hips. Who are you?

My name isn’t important. Are you going to be staying here?

As long as Abella is here, I’ll be here.

His jaw clenched, highlighting the thick stubble that had formed since D.C.