The Tourist (Sold #1)

1. Chloe

CHAPTER 1

Chloe

SIX MONTHS AGO

“I can’t believe it’s been so long since we last did this,” I announce before taking a sip of the sweet cocktail, made with vodka, orange juice, and cranberry, that Serena just handed to me.

“I know. You work far too hard these days, Chloe,” Serena teases.

It’s been a year since I was last in Las Vegas. My journalist apprenticeship in London has consumed me, but it’s all been worth it. Last week, I was given a full-time position at the magazine I’ve been working for as a trainee.

I’m now employed in the women’s section, focusing on current issues that affect females. I’m halfway through my first article on the oppression of women in some Middle Eastern countries, focusing on those who’ve been able to find their voice, freedom, and a career after years of silence under harsh regimes.

“But it does mean I’ll finally see my name in print when my article comes out,” I retort.

“And we’ll cut it out and frame it.”

We clink our cocktail glasses together. The night, like any other in Vegas, is starting out with bright lights, pulsating music, and an air of excitement that electrifies the atmosphere.

Serena and I are dolled up in high heels and short black dresses. We’ve curled our hair and put on lots of makeup—silver eyeshadow for me, to accentuate my blue eyes, and gold for Serena, to complement her darker features from her Mexican ancestry.

We’re ready to paint the town red.

We’ve already made enough memories together to last a lifetime, having been friends since we started elementary school, but there’s always room for more. We’ll be old and gray before we stop adding to our list of fun nights out.

Serena’s my best friend, despite our very different upbringings. I was born to Tim and Patricia Benson in suburban London. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, and my father, who’s now retired, was a doctor. He specialized in plastic surgery, not the type concerned with bigger tits and asses or smaller hips and stomachs, but the type focused on reconstructing physical deformities and burns injuries.

When I was three, we moved to America for my father’s work. He was offered an opportunity of a lifetime, and he couldn’t turn it down. It was surprising how much in demand his specialist skills were in Las Vegas!

Last year, my parents moved back to England after my father took early retirement. I wasn’t sure if I should go with them, but when I got the offer of an apprenticeship with the magazine in London, the decision was made for me. Saying goodbye to my best friend was hard, but Serena and I vowed to talk daily, and we’ve kept that promise.

My best friend’s start in life was very different from mine. At first, my parents were reluctant to encourage our friendship because she’s a member of a well-known cartel family. However, once they saw the way her relatives helped the local community, they changed their minds. Serena’s family own several hotels in Las Vegas, and even though they do some dodgy dealings, which I know nothing about and never want to, they are a good family, on the whole, who protect their own and those close to them.

Serena’s father, Carlos, and her mother, Lucia, were both killed in a plane crash when my friend was fifteen years old. After Serena’s father died, her brother, Diego, took on the family empire. I’ve known Diego almost as long as I’ve known his sister. He’s handsome with dark features, and if he wasn’t so intimidating, I might find him attractive. He scares the life out of me, though, especially when his brows furrow together in a scowl while he’s chastising Serena for taking risks. He adores his sister, but I know he constantly worries about her safety, and at times, he finds her reckless behavior frustrating.

My friend doesn’t need to work. Instead, she helps the less fortunate citizens of Las Vegas. With the assistance of some of the other cartel wives and daughters, she runs clothing and food banks and shelters where the homeless can get a shower and a decent night’s sleep. Many are reluctant to use the facilities she offers, though, because of the stigma attached to being poor in such a wealthy, thriving city. Ironically, it’s often the gambling and readily available alcohol and drugs that causes their downfall in the first place.

For all that glitters in the city that never sleeps, there’s also a darker side, especially since Covid.

“Have you finished your drink, yet?” Serena asks as she sips the last of her cocktail through a straw.

I shake my head, laughing. “I can’t keep up with you.”

“That’s because you’ve been living with all those stiff-upper-lip Brits for the last year.” She laughs, playfully sticking her tongue out at me.

“How rude!” I shake my head, and with a wave of my hand, I call over our private waiter.

We’re currently in the VIP section of one of the night clubs belonging to Serena’s family. As special guests, our every whim is catered to, even if later in the evening it’s a request for a greasy kebab from Downtown. The club is in the basement of the casino the family also owns. It’s a massive place and very easy to get lost in. There are restaurants, theaters, hotel suites, and so much more all under one roof.

The only drawback to the club being owned by Serena’s family is the security detail stopping anyone from approaching us. Serena is Catholic and has chosen to save herself for her husband, but even if she was interested in finding a man, I think her brother would kill anyone who dared to look at her—or at me, for that matter.

I never intended to remain a virgin, but Diego’s always been protective of both of us, hence all the guards. I mean, seven burly men for two tiny women is a bit excessive. Since moving to London, I’ve had a lot more freedom, but I’ve been too focused on my career to date anyone, and I’m really not interested in a one-night stand.

“Where is Felix tonight?” I ask. He’s Serena’s ever-present personal bodyguard. I think he secretly has a crush on her, and I suspect the feeling is mutual.

“He’s got family issues,” she replies, her smile fading.

I can’t have that.

“Two shots of xtra A?ejo tequila, please,” I order.

Even though this particular brand is expensive, we always drink it when we’re out.

The waiter lines our drinks up, and without a momentary pause, Serena takes the first shot down in one then sucks on a piece of lime.

“It’s so smooth,” Serena purrs as she pops the chewed lime into one of the empty glasses.

“It’s because the agave plants are grown in the fertile, rich soil of the Mexican highlands and lowlands.” I recite the facts she’s told me so many times before. “It’s the land your ancestors are from, and they always age their tequila for at least three years.”

Rolling her eyes, she waves at the waiter. “Another one just to shut her up,” she orders with a groan.

“Not for me, thank you. Maybe later.” I chuckle.

Serena leans into me, and we cuddle together on the plush leather sofa.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Chloe. I’ve missed you,” she tells me. “I know we talk every day, but it’s not the same. I was wondering about asking Diego if I could move to London for a while and maybe help some of the homeless people there. I know London has a big problem as well.”

“I would love that!” I exclaim excitedly, tucking a stray strand of my blonde hair behind my ear. “We could get an apartment together. I could move out of my parents’ house.”

I’m so sick of being told at twenty-four years old to clean my room and ensure my washing is put away.

“That’s a must, then. I’ll ask Diego to get us a place somewhere fashionable. Where are the best stores? We’ll need to live near them. Maybe I could find myself a handsome prince to marry. Where do they hang out in London?”

I know Serena isn’t joking about this. She would love to marry into the royal family. She’s always dreamed of being a princess.

“I think you’ll find they have even more security than you do. I don’t think you’ll get anywhere near them.”

She pouts at me. “What is it with the British royalty and Americans, anyway? At least I’m not a divorcee.”

I throw my head back and let out a booming laugh. The guard behind us shuffles forward to check that nothing is wrong with me.

I grab Serena’s hand. “Come on, let’s dance. We can hit the slot machines afterward. It feels like forever since I played on one.”

“You are such a geek. I don’t know how you can be bothered to spend hours and hours pulling on a lever when you never win anything.”

“I win the occasional dollar.” I pout sulkily.

We both get to our feet, but Henri, the head of the security detail, blocks our path.

“Where are you two going?” he asks, his voice stern and brows furrowed, as if we’re naughty schoolgirls who need to be supervised.

“We’re going to dance and then play on the slot machines. If that’s all right with you? ” Serena responds with an eye roll.

Henri motions for a couple of guards, Joe and Sal, to accompany us.

“You two stay with the girls. Don’t let them out of your sight,” he instructs.

They both nod their acceptance of the assigned task and follow Serena and me as we make our way onto the dance floor. We lose ourselves in the music for the next half an hour, dancing madly to cheesy classics such as ‘Walk like an Egyptian’, ‘Barbie Girl’, and ‘Livin’ la Vida Loca’.

We perform all the moves and shout out the words in all the right places. We’ve always been crazy like this. It’s what drew us to each other on the first day of kindergarten. We performed ‘I’m a little teapot’ and were the only two who would do it. The rest, as they say, is history.

“I need to use the restroom,” Serena whispers in my ear at the end of ‘Macarena’.

I nod. “Let’s go.”

As the opening bars of ‘Dancing Queen’ start up, we make our way off the dance floor, and after telling our two male guards to wait outside, we head into the opulent restroom of the casino.

We use the facilities and then come out to wash our hands.

“I’m so sick of being followed around all the time,” Serena slides her ass up onto the marble counter. “I swear Diego has gotten worse lately. I’ve always had Felix for protection, but seven men following me around is crazy. I feel like I can’t breathe without one of them asking me what I’m doing or where I’m going. I need a break from it all. It’s one of the reasons I want to come to London.”

I dry my hands on a freshly laundered cotton towel.

“And you don’t think Diego will send guards with you to England?” I question.

I’m also feeling the oppression of her security after being able to walk around freely for the past twelve months. It’s impossible to fully relax and enjoy yourself when there’s someone always watching. Despite the tequila shots, I don’t feel able to let my hair down as much as I’d like.

“Probably.” Serena slides off the counter. “Come on. I’ve had enough. Let’s lose the guards and have some fun.” I shake my head, knowing it’s a bad idea. “We won’t leave the casino,” my friend promises. “I want to be safe, but I’d prefer not to be followed around. I want to enjoy a drink without someone staring at me.”

“Okay, but how do you plan on doing it?”

“We’ll head to the main gaming floor and lose the guards there. When I say go, follow me.”

We leave the restroom and find the two guards still looming large outside the door, scaring away anyone who wants to enter.

“Go,” Serena shouts, and we run as fast as we can through the casino and into an empty back corridor. The guards are quickly and easily lost, and when we realize we’ve managed to escape, we collapse into each other’s arms, laughing hysterically.

“That was so much fun,” I chuckle as Serena, in a fit of giggles, collapses into my arms.

“Diego is going to be so pissed at me, but why does he get to have all the fun and I have none.” Serena stands upright, composing herself. “Let’s go finish partying!”

Before we can react, even to scream, we are surrounded by a group of masked men. These aren’t our bodyguards. Their covered faces, shrouded in darkness, look scary. I can only assume their intentions are sinister. Panic grips me as strong arms grab hold of us and drag us out of the rear exit to the casino and into a waiting car.

This wasn't part of our plan.

This wasn't supposed to happen to us.

The screeching of tires resounds in my ears as the car speeds away from the curb, and as we leave the bright lights of the Strip behind and a bag is placed over my head, I know there’s no turning back.

We are at the mercy of forces beyond our control, and I begin to fear what lies ahead.