Adrian is handling the steering wheel when one of Jake's friends calls me.

"Yes, Scott. Heard anything?" I ask desperately.

"Nah, sis, sorry. I just thought maybe I should let you know that Jay got a job a few weeks ago," Scott says.

Frowning, I tap on the loudspeaker. "What Job? And where?"

This is somehow new to me.

"An auto shop downtown, selling second-hand bikes and stuff. Tried to call there but they told me they don't know anyone named Jake Lincoln. I figured maybe he used his fake ID—not sure— but you should check that place out," Scott suggests.

I frown again. Jake has a fake ID now?

"Well, that's it. Will keep snooping around and let you know if I find out about anything," saying this, Scott hangs up upon my quiet 'hmm'.

I don't know what to think anymore, and I wonder if I know my brother well enough to understand him up to this point. But then again, I don't think it's weird that he has a job and is using a fake ID. At his age, I did the same thing.

Some places don't hire minors otherwise.

But is that all? Why am I so scared that my Jake is not the same little, shy, nerdy boy I once knew? It's like a gut feeling consuming me from the inside, turning my brain into a well of wild imaginations. And where could he be now? Is he okay?

I glance at Adrian who's been taciturn from the moment he occupied the driver's seat up to now. I tell him about Jake's new job affair but suddenly his phone buzzes from the dashboard, urging him to adjust his earpiece after tapping a finger on the screen.

"Speak," he snaps.

I shift my whole stare at him, eager to hear anything auspicious.

"You found him? Where?" Adrian urges, and I can tell it's a bit of good news so far. "Are you sure?" His face turns hard as some kind of shock jeopardizes his previous relief.

"What? What happened?" I blurt out.

He glances at me, saying, "Alright, I'm on my way there. You know what to do. And bring your men, just in case."

My heart rate accelerates. Why is this getting mysteriously scary now? I hold my horses until Adrian finishes the call. Our eyes meet again and I can tell he has something to say.

"Tell me they found him, please," I murmur.

He nods affirmatively. "They did. We'll get him."

"Okay." I bob my head with a small smile of respite. "And where is he? Did they say he's fine? Why was his phone—"

"There's something you should know about your brother," Adrian interrupts. My throat constricts uncomfortably. "He's got into some bad company and he's in trouble right now."

"What company?" I can hear my heart drumming violently through my ears. I'm freaked. "You told me there wasn't anything alarming the last time, so what are you saying now, Adrian? He didn't get in that company overnight, did he?"

A bit of guilt runs through his eyes. It means he lied to me. He found something ugly about Jake and yet he chose to keep it to himself. But why? Tears roll down my face and I don't stop them anymore.

"You promised," I say in a shuddering whisper.

"I didn't want to worry you, Arabella, so I was going to sort it myself," he says.

"You had no right!" I snap, and he nods in agreement. I want to yell at him, but what's the point? I sniff away and say quietly, "Tell me the truth now, Adrian. All of it. Please."

"There's a small group, a gang if you will, called 21," he starts, gently pulling the car onto the main road heading to the heart of Las Vegas, finally back to the usual civilization. "It's involved with casino robbery."

My breath hitches. "Robbery?"

"Not exactly as it sounds. More or less," Adrian answers. "They recruit young kids in need to make quick and big money, mostly from college and high schools. Main credentials they have to be smart, intelligent, and very good with numbers."

"Smart, intelligent, and good with Math? That's Jake," I whisper under my breath, something coiling my body from the inside as if someone is squeezing the life out of me.

"Exactly. They train them with all the skills and techniques required in casino games. We're talking about blackjack, precisely."

"Hence the name 21? A.K.A blackjack?" I remark.

This is already too scary if I imagine my brother doing all that at Bellagio, MGM Grand, Cesar's Palace, or any other prominent casino in this stinky place.

But that explains the enormous cash I found in his bag. Fuck!

"Evidently Jake is another intelligent kid and he is a part of that gang now," Adrian says, "but things went down south yesterday and—"

"Did the police arrest him?" I ask instantly, my heart beating too fast to control myself.

Adrian pauses; his mildly terrified eyes are fixed on me. I die a hundred deaths as I wait for his answer, which comes worse than the police arresting Jake.

"The casino people did," he says tightly, his jaw sharper than usual.

"Oh, God." I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trembling. "They're gonna kill him. They-they don't spare anyone who trespasses on their territory. I know them, Adrian, they're—"

"Dangerous. I know."

"No, Adrian. They're evil."

"Hey." Adrian pulls over stoutly and looks at me gently. "They won't kill him. He's still alive and we're going to get him."

"You don't know that," I slur in horror, recalling a few gnarly encounters I've had working as a waitress in casinos and a few nightclubs.

I can't get over the torture, the killing now that I think of what they can do to Jake.

"Arabella," Adrian calls while taking my shaky hand in his. "Jake is still alive and I'm going to get him out of there. They can't kill him because they know he's just an accessory. They'll need the name and info on the mastermind of their operation—it's what I'd need if I were in their position."

"That means they're torturing him, Adrian! Unless he tells them willingly they're going to rip him piece by piece! It's what they do," I cry. "And I know how hardheaded Jake is. He won't open his mouth easily, so we need to get him out of there, Adrian. Please, I'm begging you."

"That's what we're gonna do, Bella, relax." He strokes my cheek, wiping the stains of tears. I nod. "Good. Now stop crying and hold yourself together. I'm gonna go speedy."

With that he clutches the gear and goes all Vin Diesel style, not giving my head the time to spiral even more. I let the speed overwhelm me, watching the landscapes and buildings rush back as we move. The only thing I manage to do best is to pray to God.

I need my brother to be fine.

Adrian parks the SUV a few kilometers away from the strip. It's a warehouse with several worn-out marine containers and a forklift. It's a reckless abandon of an old venture, but my guts tell me otherwise as three big men in black loiter around with serious faces.

Probably the Watchmen.

I glance at Adrian but he's too focused to give me his attention. Face frowned, he scans the area like a predator gauging prey, calm and riveted. His seatbelt fuzzes when he unbuckles it, and at last, his gaze mingles with mine.

"You stay right here and lock the doors," he tells me.

"What? I'm coming with you!" I retort sternly.

"It's not a request. You're staying here." He doesn't seem to be playing around as we did last night, but I don't want to wait here. "Mario will be here shortly. Wait for him."

"But, I want—"

"Arabella, please. You know these people are dangerous, so I don't need you exposed to them as your brother did. Let me handle this," he utters in that undisputed voice, making it utterly difficult for me to say no.

"You'll be fine?" I ask him because I don't want anything bad to happen to him too.

I've had enough worries already.

"Undoubtedly." He grabs the door handle and clambers off.

I press the lock button and watch him trudging toward the entrance, and those scary-looking watchmen turn around as soon as possible when one of them seems to be talking through the sleeve of his shirt. I fathom someone from inside has tipped them about an intruder—Adrian.

Ignoring the conundrum in my head, I shift in my seat and answer Sally's call while focused on Adrian and the three men. A frown deepens on my face when he raises his hands in the air, showing surrender of a sort. He gradually halts before them, and I gather one handgun is pointed at him aggressively by the walkie-talkie guy.

I suck in a breath and pay vague attention to my phone. "Yes, Sally."

"We're just leaving the station now. These useless bastards say they can't file a missing report until 48 hours," Sally says, devastated.

"I see." Again I'm distracted because from the distance I see Adrian tucking the pointed gun swiftly from his potential assailant while back kicking another guy.

What the fuck!

He ducks a punch, elbows the third one, and head-shoves the gunner one into a backflip that sends him down the dust swiftly. The second man kicks Adrian on the back, and he staggers, and the third throws a punch, and he dodges.

"Oh God," I breathe, shock and terror engaging to ruin my already distorted composure.

"Hey, are you there?" Sally rumbles impatiently.

The three men collectively charge toward Adrian but he jumps and kicks two of them in one fluid move. Flinging the gun from his jacket, he points it at the third one, putting a halt to everything. They all freeze.

"Later, Sally. Just go home; I'll meet you there." I hang up.

The walkie-talkie guy who previously had the gun is back onto his sleeve, obviously conversing with someone from inside. Adrian is still holding the reins, his gun perfectly secured in his expert grip that has the three men at his mercy right now.

The walkie-talkie one nods his head and it's like everything is sorted. Adrian lowers his gun. Still at the edge of my seat, desire to jump out of this car and be there as high as the rush of adrenaline, I see one of the three men escorting Adrian inside.

Eventually, he disappears.

Now what the hell is happening here? I wait for almost ten minutes and I see nothing but the look of anxiety on my face through the rearview mirror. It's killing me to stay here locked up in this car, not knowing if Jake and Adrian are safe in there.

"Trust him, Ara. Wait," I chant it like a mantra, changing my posture every single minute.

Fifteen minutes pass.

"Wait, Ara, wait." I suck in a breath, trying to touch every little button on the dashboard as if it's the source of my inner calmness.

But it's not. I'm fucking anxious.

Twenty minutes, no Mario's arrival, and no Adrian. I flip.

And then I hear a loud BANG!

A gunshot, then a deafening silence resembling death.

"Oh, God." I slowly fling out of the car, making sure not to alert the remaining two big guys patrolling the immediate vicinity.

The entrance is guarded by them. Thoughtful, I peep around for any alternative way, and apparently there's none to be seen except the backdoor of the warehouse that's seemingly locked. An old military green jeep is parked alongside an eye-catching silver sedan.

Tough luck? Maybe not.

I leave Adrian's car wailing like a hungry baby when I run toward the other cars. You're gonna get yourself killed, Ara! My back against the rusty body of a truck, I hide, breathing so evenly but without a damn sound, and wait until the two guards waltz over to see what the fuss is about.

Voila! I use the chance to slip in through the same door Adrian used.