Robin Wasserman - Gluttony

All the action was over at the tables-the slot machines seemed solely the territory of the blue-haired ladies and a few caved-in old men with bad toupees, waiting for the big payoff. Miranda dug into her pocket and pulled out a fistful of quarters, plugging them into a rain-forest-themed machine that touted itself as the Green Monster. She put her hand on the long, silver lever, then sucked in her breath as a warm, strong grip closed over hers.

“Feeling lucky, beautiful?” Kane murmured from behind her.

Miranda bit down on the corners of her mouth in a pointless attempt to suppress a smile. Was he too thinking about the last time they’d been in a casino together, the last time-the only time-they’d kissed?

Doubtful. For Miranda, it had been the culmination of five years of hoping, dreaming, waiting; for Kane, she knew, it had just been a fast way to liven up a slow afternoon.

Still, he was here, so close that she could feel his chest just grazing her back, and she knew that all she’d have to do was step backward and she would be in his arms.

She stayed where she was, and pulled the lever.

Too late, Miranda thought to wonder: What if she hit the jackpot? If the movies were any guide-and, really, if the movies weren’t an accurate guide to life, she was totally screwed, since they were pretty much her sole source of information-sirens would blare. Coins would pour out. People would cheer and stare. And the security guards would sweep her away before she could touch a dime.

There was no siren, no jackpot, no cash-and the man who lurched toward her, his breath reeking of gin and his meaty hands grabbing at her chest, was no security guard.

“You’re a liar!” he slurred, his hand tightening around Miranda’s shoulder as he staggered against her.

“Get the hell off,” Kane snapped, shoving himself against the drunk, who squeezed even tighter, nearly pulling Miranda down with him as he stumbled to the floor. For a moment that lasted too long, she was falling, stubby fingers biting into her skin, a leering smile spreading across the man’s scarred face. She tugged, she pulled, but his grasp only tightened, and though she tried to scream, her breath caught in her throat, and he was still pulling her down, still grinning, would never let go, and she was powerless, weak-alone.

And then, just in time, Kane ripped her arm free. Miranda shook him off too, and crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing tight and trying to catch her breath. She told herself that nothing had actually happened. No reason to panic, she was fine.

Too out of it to pull himself up, the guy writhed on his back like a crab, pointing at Miranda and howling, “Liar!” She couldn’t look away. “You’re all liars!”

“Can we get a little help here?” Kane called, waving down a swarm of security guards.

Miranda was dimly aware that Harper and Adam had joined her on either side, that Adam’s hand was pressing down firmly, protectively on her shoulder-that she was shaking. But none of it really registered.

“It’s all going to come out,” the drunk moaned, as the guards hauled him off the floor. “No more secrets,” he hissed. “Not here.” The guards grabbed his arms and began to drag him away, slicing through the crowd of gamblers and disappearing behind the glittering slot machines. A moment later, his howls faded away. There was only giddy laughter, clanging machines, canned jazz, and the occasional hoot of victory. The sounds of Vegas. Like nothing had ever happened.

“You okay?” they all asked Miranda, who nodded like she was.

She forced a smile. “What an asshole, right?”

Crisis averted, Kane’s smirk reappeared. “He’s right, you know. About Vegas. Everyone here’s a liar, but…” He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in an exaggerated scowl. “It takes a damn good liar to beat Vegas. This is the city of truth.”

Adam dropped his hand from Miranda’s shoulder and stepped quickly away, and she wondered whether he was thinking the same thing she was. Their secret-one drunken night together, a hookup she barely remembered, a memory they’d both agreed to forget, to bury forever-could ruin everything. And there was no reason for anyone to ever find out-no reason for Harper to find out.

Unless Kane was right. Unless there was something here, something in the air, in the oversize drinks or the adrenaline rush, something that forced secrets into the light… Miranda stole a glance at Harper, whose face was ghostly pale, her eyes darting back and forth between Miranda and Adam, her lip trembling.

And Miranda had a horrible thought. She’d worried for weeks that Harper would find out what had happened, would misinterpret an innocent, unimportant, drunken mistake as something more than it was. Something unforgivable.

But what if all that worrying had been a waste-what if Harper already knew?

All she had wanted was an escape. A return to normalcy.

What an idiot.

Of course Kane was right, Harper thought bleakly. Of course this was where the secrets came out to play-everyone drunk all the time, never sleeping, pushing themselves to the limit, letting their guard down. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

It was her disaster. What if they found out somehow? The image forced itself back into her head, the one she’d been trying to forget-the one she’d driven hundreds of miles to escape. Her hands on the wheel, her foot on the gas pedal, the world spinning. The flames.

They all pitied her now, which was bad enough. If they found out she’d been the one behind the wheel, if Adam found out…

She told herself she didn’t care what he thought, not anymore. But she knew he could never forgive her for being a murderer. Why should he? It’s not like she had found a way to forgive herself.

Two days, she thought. Forty-eight hours . If she could survive, stay sane, stay hidden, keep the real her-the unforgivable her-under wraps for the weekend, it would be a sign. She had hoped for a vacation from the torment of her life, but maybe that wasn’t what she needed. Maybe she needed one final test, proof that she could put the past behind her and focus on normal life, that she could live with keeping quiet, that she could go on, even here. She would survive Vegas, and that would be proof-she could survive anything.

“Forget the drama, guys,” Kane said, drawing the group toward the exit. “We’re wasting valuable party time.”

“I’m, uh, thinking I might get some sleep,” Miranda said, staring at the ground.

“Yeah.” Adam’s gaze was fixed on the ceiling.

“Maybe they’re right, Kane-” Harper began.

“What the hell is this?” He pointed ahead of them to the giant neon sign blinking a few feet away: MIDNIGHT MAGIC BUFFET-24-HOUR FEAST. “It’s two-for-one drinks night. What are we waiting for?”

“No more drinking tonight,” Adam said. “Not for me.”

Kane gaped at the three of them as if they’d sprouted antennae. Then he nodded with sudden understanding. “I get it.” He grinned. “I spooked you. Look. I’m sure none of us have any secrets…”

He turned to Harper, who met his stare without flinching. He knew what she had to lose-and she knew he was daring her to chicken out.

“But let’s just say, hypothetically, we all do,” he continued. “So I suggest a pact. We’ll hit the buffet and drink to it. Anything we find out about each other this weekend… well, it doesn’t count. All secrets forgotten as soon as we leave the city limits. After all, what happens in Vegas-”

“I don’t drink to lines that are so old, they have mold growing on them,” Harper snapped.