The Nightlife Las Vegas
(Book #2 in The Nightlife Series)
By Travis Luedke
Release Date: November 17, 2012
Genre: Paranormal, Adult Romance Erotica Thrille
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Vampires, Aaron Pilan and his master Michelle, live by one rule -- no bloodslaves. EVER. Aaron breaks that rule when he meets Anastasia. All Anastasia wants is to be loved and cherished, but the predatory men she’s attracted to bring her only pain and abuse. Escaping one train-wreck relationship for another, she finds happiness with Aaron and Michelle as a bloodslave, a 'pet'. When Aaron uses his telepathy to win thousands at the gambling tables, he attracts the deadly attention of the Colombian Cartel and Aaron and Michelle are 'disappeared'. Addicted to the bite of her vampire lovers, Ana is desperate to find them. But, Las Vegas isn't ready for vampires mixing heroin, sex and vengeance. Ana is trapped in the spiraling chaos.
Find out what happens in the second novel of the Nightlife Series.
★★★★★ "Go grab a copy before this much fun is declared illegal."
★★★★★ "Mr. Luedke once again showcasing his considerable talent for crafting erotic, action-packed, supernatural thrillers that leave the reader saying "Wow!"
★★★★★ "A no-holds-barred, easy-to-read romp that mixes fantasy, suspense, horror and erotica, and does it well."
POLL FOR READERS TO VOTE FOR NIGHTLIFE PARIS COVER:
They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but what the hell do they know? Twenty-two year old Aaron Pilan could testify from experience that significant gambling losses––or winnings––definitely follow you home.
After three weeks of hitting the gaming tables, he was practiced at the fine art of gambling. He knew the truth behind the veil of glamour. As P.T. Barnum said, “There's a fool born every minute.” Many a fool arrived in Vegas with a wad of hard earned cash fantasizing about winning big and coming home to boast of the thousands they reeled in during their brief stint as a high roller.
He joined the foolish masses in their desire to hit it big. He fully intended to beat the odds and walk away from the gaming tables, winnings intact. It looked damn good for him at the moment. Of course, being an exceptionally gifted telepath afforded him a decidedly unfair advantage –– definitely contributed to his good luck.
Another caveat to the Vegas rule would be murder. An untimely death by strangulation definitely puts a kink in the high roller status. Aaron read his opponent Alexander Demarco’s mind as the man contemplated this very thing. Poor Demarco had been suffering the systematic and thorough fleecing of his poker chips. He was a very unhappy man.
* * * *
Demarco envisioned a number of ways to kill Aaron Pilan, starting with the quick and dirty double-tap bullet to the back of the head. Upon further consideration, that seemed almost too merciful, too quick and easy. He graduated to fantasies of Aaron begging and pleading for his life out in the Vegas desert. He imagined Aaron hog-tied at the bottom of a six-foot pit as the dirt hit his face while being buried alive. Demarco had personal experience with both methods of murder.
He finally settled on a slightly more violent alternative. Strangulation would be the most satisfying method of killing the punk. He imagined the strength of his own hands wrapped solidly around Aaron’s throat, squeezing out his life as he flailed about feebly. God I wish I could do it right now. He had always preferred the ‘hands on’ approach.
I know that son-of-a-bitch is cheating somehow. His gut instincts were rarely wrong in these matters. The punk always knows exactly when to fold and when to call, he’s impossible to bluff. He could smell a con from the end of the room. No way could Aaron clean him out so consistently by pure chance.
His intuition was sharply honed from the years he spent hustling on the streets of west Humble Park Chicago, between Grand and Arlington, smack dab in the center of Latin Kings territory. He bore his gangland battlefield scars proudly, a soldier displaying badges of merit. The dog-eat-dog survival-of-the-fittest lifestyle was second nature. He couldn’t enter a building without staring down every person in sight and watching all the exits.
This punk can’t weigh more than a hundred sixty pounds. I could take him any day of the week. He sized up Aaron, measuring him against his own two hundred ten pounds of lean muscle and six foot frame of a professional athlete. Why am I lettin this white devil bitch run the show? I wonder if he’s a Fed? Maybe this is a setup. He had an overwhelming feeling he was being taken for a ride. He much preferred being the one doing the taking.
By sheer luck and opportunity he’d been one of the select few who escaped the Federal Racketeering indictment leveled against the Chicago Latin Kings when he moved to Vegas in 2004, a year before the indictment was issued. Everything changed when he setup operations in Vegas. He graduated from small time movements of heroin and cocaine by the gram to major deliveries measured in kilos. His buddies back in Chicago became the end consumer. Long gone were the days of pushing dime baggies out on the street. Now he sold wholesale, fat transactions with sweet profit margins and far less risk of being snitched out by a punk ass junky popped off for banging a gram in a public bathroom.
And here he was a high roller, a shot caller, a badass, punked-out for thousands of dollars by a pinche gringo white devil with a smug smile. He scowled at the pair of fives in his hand and continued fantasizing about murdering Aaron.
* * * *
Aaron was well aware of Demarco's malicious intents. He read all the sordid details in his mind as he raised the pot, smiling at Demarco all the while. He knew his pair of kings would win the hand unless the last card pulled a surprise. Not having learned his lesson yet, Demarco foolishly called his bet and slid another stack of chips forward on the table.
When the dealer laid out a queen, Demarco's losses tallied up to $26,000. More than enough to justify murder. Demarco had once beaten a man to death over a thousand dollars' worth of cocaine on the streets of Chicago. He now had twenty-six reasons to kill Aaron.
When his hand won again, Aaron knew it was time to leave the table. He bid everyone a good night, collected his winnings, and winked at Demarco. It was the wink that finally did it. Demarco literally saw red. The color of everything around him turned a violent shade of pinkish red as his blood pressure skyrocketed, hitting his temples in a pounding throb. The white devil had given him a migraine. He folded his hand and sat there fuming.
Aaron walked away tens of thousands richer. Worse, a drop dead gorgeous blond wrapped herself around the white devil as if she would bang him right there.
“You left them with their pants?”
“Yes love. Shirts. The phrase is ‘lose your shirt’. I feel merciful tonight. They’re still fully dressed.” Aaron caressed Michelle’s face as she cuddled with him, aligning her curves to all his sharp angles.
Demarco’s mind broadcast clearly as he watched Michelle holding Aaron intimately. Demarco seethed with a rare combination of envy and hatred. In his opinion, a woman like that deserved a real man, not some arrogant young prick. Back in the ghettos of Chicago, Aaron was what they called soft.
He glanced over his shoulder at Demarco with a look. It was not a soft look. In this one instance Demarco's instincts were dead wrong. He was young, but not soft. Not by anyone’s definition of the word.
He scanned Demarco's mind one last time before walking away. Green-eyed jealousy consumed his every thought. They always want what they can’t have. Aaron had become accustomed to this reaction. He and Michelle were a strikingly attractive pair. He knew onlookers considered his dark haired, dark eyed, five foot eleven frame of model caliber, but Michelle was a whole different level of attractive. If not for her petite five-foot two, she could have been a world famous runway model. Her lazy golden curls framed flawless pale skin and vibrant green eyes. Her shapely hourglass curves could win international beauty and swimsuit contests.
All who crossed paths with the couple felt the effect of the magnetic attraction they exuded. They had a phenomenal stage presence drawing the eye of any observer. As several sets of eyes tracked the couple, Aaron remembered his first night spent with Michelle. Just five weeks ago, he awoke to her angelic face and adorably incomprehensible French accent explaining, "This is the magnétisme animal of the vampires."
* * * *
About the Author
Travis Luedke is a husband, father, and author of Urban Fantasy thriller, Paranormal Romance, Contemporary Fantasy, Young Adult Fiction, and Sci-fi. He is currently catching a 3rd degree sunburn in San Antonio, Texas, and loving every minute of it. His recent works include "The Nightlife New York", "The Nightlife Las Vegas" and "BLOOD SLAVE" the first novels in the Nightlife Series. Contact Links :: Amazon | Blog | Website | Twitter or @TWLuedke | Facebook | Wattpad | Goodreads