"Four Prairie Fires, Mac." Solana glared at the table of inebriated ingrates Alfonzo had tied her to all night. Jack's companions were carbon copies of the man, rich playboys who thought the earth revolved around them and because they had a few more zeros in their bank account than the other ninety-nine percent of us, they were somehow superior.

"Elitist asses." Solana turned back to the bartender. "Three dashes of Tabasco in each."

Mac uncapped the lid of the hot sauce bottle. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." A slow smile took over Solana's face. "And add one more shot glass. Just two dashes in that one."

With a spring in her step, she returned to the table and doled out the drinks, careful to keep track of the glass with only two splashes of the spicy sauce. The men stared at the lone soldier sitting on her tray. "Figured I'd join you for this round."

Draven tossed back the liquor without a thought. Fisher eyeballed his like the shot glass might contain poison. Travis sniffed the contents and Jack arched an eyebrow at her. "I thought you didn't drink while on the job."

"Couldn't let you boys have all the fun." Solana matched his expression and raised her shot glass in an unspoken if you dare challenge. "Salut."

At the same time, they tapped the bottom of the glass on the table, raised it to their lips, and tossed the shot back.

Cold tequila trickled down the back of her throat, the familiar sweet peppery burn following. Then the Tabasco hit, assaulting her sinuses.

This was nothing. Being from Columbia, her abuela kept Aguardiente in the house and she'd grown up consuming the "Burning Water". Bram and her sneaking sips of the black licorice flavoured alcohol before heading out to dance the night away at his brother's club or stealing whole bottles if they couldn't convince the homeless person outside of the corner store to buy their liquor for the bonfire nights in the park. Hung over, they'd refill the bottle with water before her abuela awoke for church, giggling at their ingenious solution, too naïve to realize they'd be caught by dinner time.

Solana sought Jack, excited to see the smug confidence swept off his face with the intense heat of the drink. Instead, the insufferable man was staring at her as he licked his lips in satisfaction, excitement, or even arousal. She quickly focused her attention on Fisher, who sputtered like her old motorcycle before she'd had the injectors replaced. His face turned red, and he scrambled for the glass of champagne before him.

Hot breath on her neck alerted her to Jack's proximity. "Seems Fisher can't take the heat. Unlike me."

A surge of something Solana didn't want to experience erupted in her belly. A sensation no man since Lincoln had managed to create, not for her lack of trying. Heat flamed up her left side where Jack leaned in, close but not close enough to make contact. Her body betrayed her, threatening to erase the pocket of air separating them, press itself against the firm muscles the form fitting button-down shirt etched in cotton.

This was ridiculous. Jack was not her type. Too tall, too lanky. Sure, those biceps were toned, so he must work out, but she liked a man with real muscles. Lincoln had been a heavyweight boxer before he chose to sink his last fight's winnings into Sweets with her. And Cassius spent more hours in the gym than he did at work. She'd enjoyed climbing their solid frames, running her hands along their bulging biceps, the bulk of their bodies over top of her, blocking out the cruel, harsh world.

Jack was nothing like those men. Add in his obvious wealth and you couldn't get further away from her interest. Yet here she was, the rapid beat of the club's techno dance music pounding behind her, matching the racing of her heart. All because of this man. This pompous ass. This spoilt rich snob.

Jack smacked his lips. "Mmm, I could go for another round. Say just the two of us this time. Somewhere more private."

Solana's fingers curled around the empty shot glass. One final fling couldn't hurt. A goodbye to Vegas, leave the place with a bang. Have a nice memory for her imagination to dredge up in times of need. The well was rather dry these days. After all, they'd never see each other again. She was taking off for LA in the morning, picking up a friend's shift as flight attendant on a private jet to get home for free. Jack would slink back to whatever over-priced mansion he and his private butler lived in. Their lives worlds apart.

"I'll let you lick my Peppermint Stick."

His warm tone made her nipples ache. Until her brain kick into gear. Of course, he expected her to take care of his needs with no regard for hers. A blowjob in the supply closet and he'd be off in pursuit of a girl more in his stratosphere. The server he'd toyed with all night forgotten without another thought.

Solana's fingers let go of the shot glass and grasped the neck of the champagne magnum. Her thumb firmly placed on the rim, she shook the bottle as she spun on Jack. "Go to hell, sweetheart." Pointing at him, she let go, and the champagne exploded from the bottle in his face. When the initial jet stream of foam eased, she perched on her tiptoes and reached as far over his head as she could manage, which meant only slightly above his shoulder, and tipped the bottle upside down.

This time the smug smile of his did fade as the sticky substance trickled down his face, neck and shoulders, staining his expensive silk shirt and suit jacket. "You bitch!"

Behind her, Solana heard the now familiar almost hyena-like laugh of Draven. Jack's eyes flew to his friends, surveying their reaction before returning to her. "I'll have you fired for this."

"Too late, asshole. I quit." Tossing the bottle back into the ice bucket, Solana tore off to the bar. She caught Mac's eye and signaled for him to buzz her through the exit to the back office. Mac didn't fail her and with a slam, she was tucked safe and free inside the drab stairwell.

She realized she had only a few minutes before Jack would force his way in here, probably bribing Mac to let him in. She wouldn't blame the bartender for taking the cash. Everyone needed to do what they had to do to survive in Vegas. It was one of the reasons she was getting out.

All she had to do was get to Alfonso first, get him to hand over her last two weeks in cash, and get out.

Solana took the stairs two at a time. She burst into the office; her excuse ready on her lips. The words caught in her throat. Alfonso stood in front of the monitor displaying a sodden Jack stripping off his expensive suit jacket, the other three men laughing and pointing at their buddy.

A scowl marred Alfonso's already ugly face. "I saw the whole thing. Get your stuff and get out."

"I need my pay first."

Alfonso pointed to the screen. "You just spent your paycheck on your little stunt."