Author's Note: Okay, here we go peeps, Mello has hit Sin City and we all know how much fun that place can be :P Oh dear. So here it is, chapter 7!

(P.S. Be safe Matty! And have fun in Japan! Hopefully this chapter can help keep away boredom at the airport.)

A month later, at sixteen years of age, I was to be found working in one of Las Vegas's most prestigious casinos, a place where the big rollers flocked to gamble away their millions on cards, drinks, and whores. Day in and day out the air was thick with smoke and alcohol was on everyone's breath. The performances put on here drew crowds of hundred and sold out fast. I had to hand it to Rod; he knew how to run a business.

I worked at the poker tables, dealing cards and such. Since my license stated I was still only nineteen I couldn't work at the bars, as here in America one couldn't drink until they were twenty-one. I didn't mind though. This job, like the one in the motorcycle shop back in London was one at which I could relax and enjoy myself. Life in America was so unique for me I remained fascinated by it for weeks after I arrived, and even when it began to be more normal I still found myself enthralled. The landscape here was so different, so huge and hot, with magnificent formations created from the very earth itself. Mind you, the heat was rumored to be awful in summer, and though I had yet to experience that time of the year here I knew it was fast approaching and it made me rather bitter towards the necktie and long sleeved shirt I would still have to wear to work even when the temperature soared.

The prices for a simple apartment here in Las Vegas had unfortunately caught me off guard. In short they were outrageous and I had been entirely unprepared for them, but I worked fast to get myself a place. A man named Marcus was the manager of the casino, and he and I got along well. He respected his employees, even those of them who whored themselves out on stage. It was all good business to him, and I liked that. He was a man of his word and trustable, and by observing this about him I was able to learn more about Rod as well. By seeing who he put in a position of power, I knew The Boss himself was a pretty smart man. At any rate, it was Marcus who set me up with a place. We worked out a deal for him to put a good down payment on the apartment, and halve my paychecks to pay it back. In the mean time I would be saving up what money I got and by the time I had to make another payment I could do so quite comfortably. I knew Marcus couldn't possibly be doing that for every employee that walked in his door, but it turned out the truth was the casino was short on workers after an unfortunate "incident" meant some of them had to be let go.

"Mr. Ross likes to see pretty faces working the tables, if you'll pardon my expression," he said, his Mexican accent light but evident. "He wishes for his casinos to be places of relaxation where men and woman can come to be happy and escape all that is wrong with life. That is his philosophy for this business. It is a good one, si?"

I nodded. "It is indeed."

It didn't take me long to first get a glimpse of Rod. I had been going about my work as usual, and he walked right through the casino with two other men, dressed nicely in a suit jacket and what looked like a silk shirt, with fine gold chains hanging around his neck. I must've really been staring, because not only did I get some impatient words from the men I was supposed to be dealing to, but I got a look from Rod as well. He glanced over, casually, but upon finding me staring straight in his direction he held my gaze, and when he turned away at last it was with a little smirk.

There was no way I could simply approach him in the casino. I needed to find out where he and his family lived, and, if I could, some of the more shady places where he or his associates conducted their business. Not only that, but I'd need some kind of bargaining chip, or something I could offer him. It would certainly help if I actually knew how Kira killed, but that was something I couldn't figure out until I had to the authority and power to somehow spy on Near, or get someone close enough to him to find out what information he had so far. If I only knew Kira's murder weapon, then that would be my offering to Rod's family. "Let me in, and I can help you get Kira's power for yourself."

But as it was now, I didn't have that, so I would have to at least be able to show them that I was dead serious about what I was doing. I needed to be able to show them that I had some experience, and that I was at least knowledgeable of the family. And I had an idea floating about my head, of how I could do that…

I could kill the Don of the rival family here in Las Vegas.

…

With more money coming in, I was done with my old bargain clothes. I took to dressing nice, in leather, silk, and cotton. I had plenty of shopping options here in Vegas, and all of it was expensive, but worth it. On top of that, I bought myself a decent car and a motorcycle, a nice black one. When I'd go out for dinner at some nice restaurant, wearing a fedora with a red feather in it, a tie, and slick leather pants, I felt like I already was living a life of luxury. In all truth, I was.

But I wanted more.

I recognized the faces of many of the men who worked with Rod when they would come into the casino. Even on my days off I would be there. I would wait for them to arrive, then I'd keep my eye on them and follow them when they left. I kept a notebook full of the addresses they went to, along with pictures of them that I was able to get. It wasn't long before I found their main home, a ritzy high rise that Rod owned all of himself. But there was no way I could just walk in there. The doors were always kept locked, and I'd often see men hanging about outside it, watching the streets carefully. They were always on guard. I needed another way in. An outside source who had access directly to Rod and that building, but who was also accessible to me. If there was perhaps a drug dealer in the family, that would work perfectly.

There had to be a way I could find out these things more easily. The thing was people did have information, but they weren't just going to hand it out to any random stranger. If I could just manage to easily get close to people, form a quick relationship that would get them trusting me enough to tell some of their secrets, then I'd be much better off. They had to have some trust in me that I wouldn't talk, but in return I had to have some trust in them that they wouldn't either. After all, I didn't want information on what I was doing to be passed around. So what kind of relationship would that need to be? What would I have to be to these people that would make them instantly close to me, but not so much that they'd ask unnecessary questions about my activities? What would I have to be to them that would make them not talk about me in public?

Well of course. A prostitute.

Ever since that day in London, when I'd taken shelter in Saint Peter's Cathedral, I had done well to keep myself uncaring. I could listen to derogatory comments and handle it calmly, I could respond evenly to criticism, and I could use well my intelligence when it came to responding to people. I no longer blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I felt perfectly in control and uncaring of what others thought of me, so when the idea came to me that as a prostitute I could gain so much easy information, I didn't reject it. I seriously considered it in fact. It sounded like a good plan to me, and why not? What did I have to lose?

What did I have to lose…maybe that wasn't the best thing to think of. It didn't really matter anyway.

But still, I wanted to have an idea at least of what it would be like first. I wasn't about to just sell myself on a street corner, thank you. But I knew many of the stage performers in this casino had a designated room in the hotel they could use if they happened to meet a member of the audience who wanted a more personal show. All pretty scummy of course but at least the environment was more controlled. It was more business like and less trashy somehow.

Still, if you gave some shit a nice garnish and put it on a silver plate it still would be what it was. Just the same as if you put a prostitute in expensive clothes and gave him some lights and music and called him a stripper or a pole dancer, he would still be exactly what he was. I hated that, but it was the truth. Still, in some back corner of my mind, being on stage and the center of attention appealed to me. After all, it wasn't like this casino was some hole-in-the-wall "Gentlemen's Club". This was a high class place and good money was paid here. Out of all the places for me to have such a job, this was probably the best one.

I arranged to have a meeting with one of the other men who performed here. This casino had a show for everyone, and that included men and women, mixing and matching in how they happened to go together. Though raised Catholic I cannot say I'd ever had any bias toward a specific sexual orientation. Of course I'd read that it was a sin, but such a thing was hardly foremost in my mind when my life was filled with the temptation to murder and join crime rings. I wasn't thinking about my sex life much, because having another to "help me out", as it could be put, didn't really interest me. I could get off on my own, thank you very much. I wasn't interested in falling in love and I didn't have time to get involved in sexual relationships. Unless of course, it was business. I always had time for business.

Still, with a job of offering myself to other men and women as a sex toy so close at hand, my little nagging doubts began to come to me. The rosary around my neck was such a curse, a collar tying me to the rules and regulations of a religion. I couldn't get rid of it; taking it off and throwing it away was like throwing out my past. It was like…it was like abandoning the memory of my mother. It was ignoring all her kind words to me, all the gentle lessons she'd taught me. When I was with her I'd been too young for her to really talk me about sex and the relationships that went with it, or what she believed to be right and wrong. Perhaps she had even felt that she didn't have the right to speak of such a thing to me, her illegitimate child born out of wedlock, my very existence a sin. So I had received no guidance from her on such matters, but over the years after her death as I learned about sex and on Sundays would go to mass with Roger and some of the other children, it was blasted very clearly at me what the church thought of things.

In short, I was damned. But I'd known that already.

It ate at me and worried me. It made me uncertain. But I had steeled myself to go on not caring, to do whatever it took to surpass Near and bring down Kira. It was not as if I could suddenly choose to devote myself to this religion. I wouldn't be able to bear it. I did not want to think far ahead to my death and what would come after.

Of course I knew it was wrong. My conscious pricked at me cruelly every time I thought of it. I would squirm a bit with guilt whenever I went in to watch the shows, observing the techniques of the performers. At least I thought it was guilt. I assumed at first that because I had masturbated plenty of times I wouldn't really be embarrassed by the sex act itself. Maybe I was wrong. My face would burn red as I sat there in my seat, even though what I saw was exciting enough to give me an erection. It went on being like that for me the first few times I watched. Why didn't I see at least one other person there who looked to be feeling the same? What was the difference? I wasn't squeamish, I just…

I just…maybe it was that…I had never done it before myself. Doing it alone is not nearly the same as having a partner with you. I found that an entirely stupid reason to be squirming in my seat, and luckily after several shows I began to get used to it.

As hypocritical as it was of me, I decided to attend mass on that particular Sunday on which I had arranged a meeting with one of the performers. I sat there in the very back row of pews not really listening because I wasn't all that interested, but still feeling as if I was getting pounded with a very personal scolding. Pastors in Sin City have plenty to rant about, and this one sure went off. I'm pretty sure that by the end of it I was quite hunched over in my seat with my face burning, as if I'd actually been caught doing something wrong.

At any rate, that wasn't going to stop me. Anxious as I was I pushed those feelings away and went into my scheduled meeting with absolute calm. I was fully prepared to ask any question I felt needed to be asked, and I had a notepad and pen ready. The man who I was meeting was called Angel, and he really insisted that was his real name. A porn star with a real name? Yeah right. But it was his job to be all sexy and exotic, so whatever. We met in one of the nice suites in the hotel, the one where he usually conducted his "business". That is, the "business" that goes on after his shows, when he's got millionaires following him around wanting his body. Knowing that, I felt just a tad awkward going in, but the atmosphere was nice. And I had to face it: Angel was good at his job. He made me feel comfortable real quick, and it took only about a minute for me to completely relax.

"You're Mello right?" he said, as he ushered me in. Maybe I'd expected him to be wearing drag…but he was dressed pretty normal. Nice, but masculine. Maybe I'd expected him to sound gay…but that wasn't true of him either. He seemed decidedly average, albeit friendly and damn good looking.

"Yeah, that's me," I said, peering around the room as I stepped inside. "You must be Angel. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mello," he seemed to test out my name as he said it. "Cute name. It suits you. Is there anything I can get for you? Vodka? Wine? I have some nice vintages here."

"Ah, wine is fine. Red, if you have it."

"Of course. And don't worry; I won't card as long as you won't tell."

As he poured to glasses of wine I took a seat in one of the large cushioned chairs there, settling myself down to relax with my notepad on my lap and pen in my hand. "Before we start," Angel said, as he handed me my glass. "I'd like to ask you some things. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, and took a small sip. Ahh, it had been so long since I'd had wine. Every once in a while Roger would let the older kids in Wammy's have a little shot glass of red wine with dinner, and I'd always liked it. It served well to relax me even more.

"First, I have to say that accent of yours is going to serve you really well," he said, holding his glass with careful finesse. "It makes you sound exotic. And you know, cute little English schoolboys are a rather delicious fetish but not always easy to come by in real life. Where are you from exactly?"

"London. But I was born in Slovenia."

"Ah, so that's what it is. I didn't think you sounded quite like a pure Brit. Have you ever done anything like this before? Any previous jobs?"

"Ahh…no. I haven't."

He nodded. "Well everyone has to start somewhere. Are you gay?"

His question caught me off guard. My initial response would have been no…but I'd never really thought it. I didn't spend my time looking for a sex partner, so I'd never figured it out. I wanted to say no. But when I thought about it, I realized that I could really feel attracted to anyone, regardless of gender. As sick and sinful as that supposedly was, I had to realize that it was true. My hand went up fiddling with the rosary's cross.

"I'll go for anyone," I said, and almost winced. He nodded again.

"Good, good. That's really good. Though it's a rarity to get women wanting you. The majority of people who come to the shows are going to be men. I did have some dominatrix chick pay to have me for a while…but that was just once. At any rate, I'd say you'll do well here. You're pretty, you don't seem shy…so, your turn. What did you want to ask?"

I got a little twinge of awkwardness, but stubbornly ignored it. "How much money do you make? And this room…do you have to rent it out yourself?"

"The money fluctuates," he said, swirling the wine in his glass. "But you have to understand, I've gotten to the point where I'm well known. This casino pays good to keep me performing here. I get fifty percent of the ticket sales for the shows and ten percent of the drink sales that are made in the room during it. Any tips, any money that's thrown up on stage, I'm free to keep for myself. I get to have this room free of charge. The casino recognizes that the longer I keep a man here the more drinks he's going to buy, and the better a time I give him, the more likely it is that he'll keep coming back. I charge by the half hour for anyone who wants something private. Depending on what they want me to do it may be more than the average rate. Again, there may be tips. And of course, there are the occasional customers who like to bring gifts." He held up his hand, flashing the gold bands on his fingers. "I made less when I was first starting out, but it was still good money."

"Do you have some exact amounts?" I said.

He gave them to me, and I scribbled them down quickly and added them up. I tried my hardest to keep my mouth from dropping open. "Holy Jesus…how many shows do you do a day?"

"One on weekdays, two on weekends."

I could hardly believe it. That kind of money for so simple a job…

"What do you think?" he asked. "Is it…your style?"

"I think…I think this will work out well," I said. "The money is amazing. Is it true no photography or videotaping is allowed during the shows?"

"Yes," he said. "Nothing of the sort is allowed. The most someone may do is snap a shitty picture with a cell phone."

"Now, what about the customers? What kind of people are they?"

He shrugged. "Every kind, as long as they have 'rich' somewhere in their description. Some of them will be pigs and some of them won't. You'll get the common millionaire businessman, the drug dealers, and the mobsters too." I tried to look surprised at that, and he went on, "Oh yeah, didn't you know? This casino is owned by some big time mafia boss around here. You'll see him come through sometimes. He's the real big guy with the bling. You'll know him when you see him. But trust me, he ain't no Godfather."

"I didn't really expect to find the mafia around here," I said. "I thought you'd only find that in New York…I guess they're more common than I supposed. I don't really care though, the job sounds good. I just hope Marcus will give me a chance."

"Ah, I'll put in a good word for you," Angel waved his hand dismissively. "And don't bother to buy clothes for it, they have plenty here and they'll costume you up real nice for the shows. And remember not to try too hard; you'll look silly."

"I'll probably need plenty of advice," I said. In this case, I wasn't at all afraid to admit that I'd need some tips. If it would keep me from making a complete fool of myself, then I definitely welcomed it.

And Angel had plenty of advice to give.

…

I met with Marcus about it the next day. I walked into his office and took a seat, and he nodded as I came in, the air thick with smoke from his cigar. "What can I do for you?" he said.

"I'd like to change my job position," I said.

"What are you interested in?"

"I want to perform," I said. "On stage, in the shows."

He raised his eyebrows and leaned foreword in his seat, taking the cigar from his mouth. "A stripper?"

"Yes."

He leaned back again, and ran his fingers over his receding hair. "I didn't think you were the type…ahh, but if that is what you want." He shrugged. "Who am I to stop you? Angel spoke to me of this yesterday and advised me to give you a chance…I suppose you have no previous experience?"

"No," I said. "But I learn fast."

He nodded. "Mm. I'm sure you already know we require top quality performances here. It is very unusual for us to take on those who are doing it for the first time. Have you ever…" He paused a moment, and lowered his voice. "…had a lover?"

"Yeah," a complete lie, but I could easily imagine him saying no on the spot if he found out I was actually…actually a virgin.

Stupid word. I hate that word. I made me think of Mother Mary, and that's the last thing I want to be thinking of!

"Well, we'll try you out," he said. "Can you be ready for it tonight? We have a show going on that needs several background dancers, and one more couldn't hurt. It'll be relatively easy, a good warm-up for you. Can you do it?"

"Of course," I said. "What time do you need me?"

"Be here at 9. Make sure you get yourself a good dinner, and don't show up drunk."

I smirked. "I'm underage, remember?"

He smirked right back. "That means nothing."

…

If it had been awkward to take off my clothes for Rick all the way back in Winchester, this was even more so. Time and exposure hadn't made this any easier. I was feeling just as anxious as ever as I waited backstage. Every worst case scenario was running through my head, and I now understood why Marcus had bothered to tell me not to get drunk. A nice glass of red wine would have been so wonderful right then. My mouth felt dry, and my fingers were moving my cross around and around so quickly that they were beginning to ache.

"You'll have to take that off," Angel said, as he came over to me and handed me bottled water. "You look worried."

"I'm not worried," I said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "I'm perfectly fine." So many eyes would be staring at me, so much focus on me, so much attention. I wanted them to adore and desire me. I wanted them to think I was worth the kind of money they'd pay for Angel. Stupid, stupid wishes. Above all I needed information on the mafia so I could get in, that was the whole point in this. But if I was going to make a job of it for a while, I could at least allow myself hopes and goals. I wanted to be the best. I didn't want to look stupid or inexperienced, or like I didn't have the slightest clue what I was doing.

"It'll be fine," said Angel, not believing my pathetic attempt at sounding at ease. "It's simple stuff, really. Come on, you'd look great no matter what you do. They're going to love you, they'll all want you." He touched my face lightly. "Honestly. This'll work out well for you. Here, I'll show you what you're supposed to wear."

…

It was ten minutes until the show began. The seats beyond the curtains were nearly all full, and the lights out there were bright while backstage they were dim. It wasn't leather I was wearing, but some kind of shiny spandex bodysuit that clung to me as tightly as a second skin and had slashes everywhere in the fabric. Zippers in all the right places would make it fairly easy to get out of. Heavy eye-shadow, eyeliner, and my nails painted black. No shoes for the background dancers. We all wore collars of black metal, with a short, foot long silver chain attached. Our instructions? To go along with what Angel wanted. Other than that, just look sexy and wait our turn. Our turn for what, I wasn't sure. I wasn't going to ask and make myself seem even stupider.

Walking on stage was like being blinded. The audience became a dark mass beneath the bright spotlights. I hadn't been able to wear the rosary in these clothes. The only time I had ever taken it off before was to shower and sleep. I was glad I had had the whole option of wearing it taken away. I wouldn't be able to do this very well if it was there to haunt me. As it was I felt the thrill of doing something forbidden, as if I was breaking some important rule that had been in place all my life, the boundaries of which were only now being breached.

The lights were already feeling hot on me. Then the music started, and I began moving automatically, sensually, soft twisting, trying to imagine how each movement would look. Did I look ridiculous? Did I look like I was trying too hard? I tried not to glance at the others beside me, but I couldn't avoid seeing Angel, who looked wonderful and seemed to be doing everything just perfectly right. There were whistles and shouts from the audience as Angel, now stripped to the very bare minimum of clothes without being completely nude walked back to us. He came to me first, surprisingly, and said, "Just go along with me."

I didn't even have a chance to nod before he jerked the chain on my collar, pulling me close against him and kissing me on the mouth. It was so sudden my first reaction was to push him away, but I caught myself before I did. Damn, I'd never kissed anyone…what did he expect me to do? He was pulling so hard on the chain and pulling it up as well, forcing me to balance on my tiptoes, almost choking me.

"Open your mouth," he mumbled, the movement of his lips too slight for anyone in the audience to notice. I did, and he slid his tongue in, like a shock of electricity through my body. A soft sound escaped me before I could stop it, and I realized he was pulling me out to center stage, into the brightest of the lights, as his fingers tangled in my hair and he bit my lower lip. I felt him pull down the zipper on my back, then he broke the kiss and jerked down the one on my chest and then the ones on my arms, so I was released from those parts of the clothing and standing there bare-chested. His hands stroked over me, so much greater a thrill than I ever could have gotten from my own fingers. And all the while he kept such a nasty grip on that chain that I could hardly breathe.

Damn, I felt light headed. How far was he going to go? His tongue trailed over my skin, across my throat and he bit my shoulder, making my mouth open in a silent pained cry. He suddenly attacked the rest of the zippers as well, stripping me of the suit completely. I didn't have time to even consider feeling embarrassed about being completely naked in front of so many people. Angel was quick to distract me. He used the chain to force me down to my knees, and in that way he stood over me and took my mouth again. I could hear the cheering, the crowd's excitement rising. I didn't know how I was actually supposed to get to my feet again after this; I was already trembling with lust. I found myself panting every time Angel pulled away from me, grinning down at me a little before catching me up again in those amazing things he could do with his tongue. No wonder people paid so much for him, he was so good. He took complete control and I didn't even feel like trying to be in charge. He could do whatever he wanted with me; at that point I didn't care. I just wanted him to keep going.

"Keep your head Mello," Angel said softly. "Come on, the people want a show right? You wanna give them one don't you?"

"Yes," it was a desperate word, almost a moan. "Yes, I do."

"Good," He moved around behind me and wrapped his arms around me, turning me slightly to face the audience full on. More cheering and whistles. I bent my head back and nipped at Angel's throat, and he said. "I'm not about to fuck you, so you might as well stop waiting for it. I've gone as far with you as I will for free; you'll have to pay if you want any more. Right now we have a job that needs doing. Jack off for them."

I didn't hesitate. My hand wrapped around my cock automatically and without a second thought I pleasured myself to the point of an orgasm, arching back against Angel as ecstasy flowed through me and wiped my mind clear of any sense. A little cry escaped me, my excitement heightened by the audience's presence, by Angel's arms around me and his lips soft on my neck, by all the watching eyes. I could feel the lust, the want from them, their desire for me. That all made it even better.

My body felt limp. Angel kissed me one last time and helped me to my feet, telling me gently that I was to retire backstage and rest. I just nodded, incapable of speech at that point, and did as he said. I walked backstage feeling dazed, where Marcus came up to me and greeted me with a slap on the back and cold water.

"Buen chico," He said, nodding his head in satisfaction. "The regular audience members have already been asking about you. They've found you a good addition."

I just nodded, feeling as if I'd just stepped off of a rollercoaster onto solid ground again. I was left with the feelings of an overwhelming rush, the after affects of lust and adrenaline coursing through me and making my limbs shake. I was still utterly naked, and yet I didn't care a bit. The whole world could see me in this skin and I wouldn't care. I heard Marcus chuckle as he watched me, but my eyes were fixed back out on the stage, where Angel had taken command of the next dancer, moving him as easily as he had me. I saw the young man's eyes glazed over with lust, his expression submissive and willing. Is that how I had looked as well?

That charm Angel had, the way he could so easily have his way with us…that was a powerful tool. If I could do that, if I was able to hone that skill as well as he had…

"Hey, Marcus! Ese es el chico nuevo? El rubio ese que esta rebueno?"

My head turned slightly at the sound of the voice, and I glanced back over my shoulder. I almost instantly recognized the man who was approaching us, and my eyes widened slightly, anxiety shooting through me.

"Senor Gordon!" said Marcus. "Ah...si, es el, Senor. Su nombre es Mello."

Dwight Gordon, "The Boss" Rod Ross focused his attention on me, his eyes going over my body with pitiless bluntness. It wasn't that I cared if he looked at me, but for the first time I was noticing just how much of a monster of a man he was. He towered over me, standing as tall as six feet if not taller, and his whole body was broad. Not fat, not overweight, just big. A strong body with massive shoulders and muscled arms. He was altogether thoroughly intimidating, and my mouth fell open a bit as I stared open at him. He smiled at me and reached out to cup my chin, gently closing my mouth.

"You're Mello then?" he said, his voice deep, the kind of voice that you can feel rumbling even in your own chest. The Mexican accent of his lingered even in his English. He ran his thumb very briefly along my jaw, then offered me his hand for a more formal greeting. I took it, nodding my head.

"Yeah. I'm Mello. I suppose you're the owner…Mr. Gordon, right?" I said. Despite my surprise and discomfort to be so close to the man I knew first and foremost as the Boss of the mafia family I wanted so badly to enter, my voice was perfectly calm.

"You can call me Rod," he said, and straightened up to look down at me again. "So that was your first performance…you did well. It's good business to have you working for us. The customers like you."

I couldn't help but smile at that. Of course they liked me, I was damn good. "Thank you."

"I do make a habit of trying out our new attractions for myself however," he said. "I'm willing to pay. If you could be ready in…forty-five minutes? I have suite 35 reserved." He held out the room key to me.

I couldn't react at first. The key dangled there in front of my face but I couldn't make myself move to take it. Try out the new attractions…he wanted to…

"Sure," I took the key, my face a calm mask while inside I felt far from that. He wanted to fuck with me? This guy? No way…I wasn't…I didn't exactly… "I'll be ready."

He chuckled a bit, and nodded. "Very well. I'll see you later then, Mello."

Hehe, oh such fun! Anyway, I can't understand a bit of Spanish, or Mexican-Spanish, and I've since forgotten what I actually had said in it in this chapter, so I unfortunately can't give you a translation of it. See, I have short-term memory loss…yeah, it runs in my family…or…or at least I think it does…(Cake if you can tell me where that quote is from XD.)

Also, it's quite a brief part in the mangas, but it is said the original base of Rod Ross's family was in Las Vegas. Hmm, let's see, where was that…ah! Here. Volume 8, page 158.

I know it may be considered OOC the way I wrote Mello's emotions during the performance, but remember this is just my take on things. Mello is still young and I can't imagine him ALWAYS having some kind of dominance thing going on :)

Chapter 8 shall be coming soon.