Aim For the Heart

What Happens in Vegas

Smoke wafted up through the Palms Springs Hotel suite as Negan stood at the floor length window that looked down on the outer courtyard, lit cigarette between his lips as he watched people partying in the pool below. Music thumped on through the early hours as bottles of champagne and trays of the best cut cocaine money could buy were passed around. But he wasn't interested in mingling with their type tonight, not after the weekend he'd had.

Pulling himself away from the view, Negan turned and glanced at the black briefcase that lay across the long glass table top in the centre of the spacious living room. Inside were stacks of cash, a million to the exact dollar piled in nice and neat, paid to him by Mario Delaney, a grieving businessman who wrote a contract out against the murderous asshole who had killed his wife and kids in cold blood. For Negan, it was an easy kill. Target practice. One shot to the back of the head and that was it, over.

Pulling the cigarette from his lips, he blew out a breath of smoke and strode over to the blood money, grasping the handle and hauling it through to the bedroom. He slid the case beneath the bed and dabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the bedside cabinet when the doorbell rang through the suite like a chorus of bells.

He wasn't expecting company, that in itself was suspicious. Reaching for the gun that was tucked in the back of his black jeans, the assassin carefully made his way through into the spacious lobby and eyed the door from a distance.

"Who is it?" He called out, his voice deep and raspy from his years of smoking.

"It's me... Molly." A feminine voice was muffled from behind the door and his posture instantly relaxed. "You said I could come to you if I needed help."

Clinching his jaw, he rolled his eyes and cursed himself for the empty promises he made to strippers when he was wasted. He remembered this woman from the sound of her voice, and the memories of him promising to lend her money for her sick grandmother flooded through his mind.

"Fucking idiot." He muttered and made his way to the door, unlocking it and opening it to reveal the familiar face of the stripper he'd paid for a lap dance last weekend. She was dressed in a tight black dress that barely covered her ass, and he couldn't help but glance at her full tits that were on show before looking at her face. "What do you want?"

"Fifty dollars, that's it." She nodded, her brows furrowing as she gazed up at him with her doe brown eyes.

He snorted at how damn bold she was. That's it.

"For your grandmother, right?" He asked her, the sarcasm in his voice clear as day.

She stared at him for a second, parting her full lips to say something before closing them again. Looking down at the floor, she shook her head of dark hair and sighed.

"You know what, it doesn't matter." Turning to leave, the brunette headed back down the corridor towards the elevators.

"Wait." He called out after her, regretting it instantly when she turned to look at him. God, he could shoot a motherfucker in the face and watch him choke on his own teeth but couldn't watch a Vegas girl leave disappointed. "Come on in."

Her lips curved into a smile and she quickly made her way back to him, smirking at his expressionless glare as she brushed past him and into his suite. Closing the door behind him, he twisted the lock back into place.

"Wow." She breathed, taking in the expensive surroundings of the luxury that money bought in the Palms Springs. "This is something."

Turning to look her over head to toe, Negan felt his dick twitch in his jeans at how fuckable she looked. He remembered how good she was at grinding on him in the club, and with an ass that looked like that he was surprised he hadn't bent her over that night when he had the chance. The night was still young, he had enough time to sweet talk her panties off and release some pent-up aggression before sunrise.