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“Yo, Ice!” Fang calls out from the guts of the place, his voice echoing off the exposed beams. His green eyes squint against the glare of the sun reflecting off his glasses as he maneuvers through the mess of cables snaking across the floor. “How’s Velvet treating you?”

“Smooth as a snake in oil,” I say with a shrug, watching him fuss over some wiring. He’s a tech wizard, making sure our communication setup will be top-notch. Can’t have any blind spots when you’re running a club like ours.

Fang grins, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. His shirt is as ridiculous as always—today’s reads:PHP: Pretty Hot Programmer.I shake my head.

“Tank keeping things tight?” he asks.

“Tighter than spandex on a stripper. Besides, he wants to keep an eye on his girl.” I chuckle at how Tank shadows Vicki at Velvet, like a lovesick puppy chasing his favorite bone.

“Can’t blame the kid. Vicki’s hot enough to melt steel.” Fang chuckles. “But can he handle watching her straddle other guys?”

“Was a rough start.” I lean against a support beam, arms crossed. “Had to have a chat with him. Told him to man up—watching Vicki’s just part of the job. I told him I was counting on him to be my eyes and ears while I’m out. Things got easier once he saw how much cash she raked in, not just for herself, but for the club too. Men buy her drinks from the minute she gets in until right before last call. She never actually drinks any of them either. She manages to score a lap dance before she can even take a sip. The waitresses know how to get rid of those drinks, so they keep ordering more.”

“Nice.” Fang smirks. “Velvet’s running itself then? Everything’s cool there?”

An image of Isabella’s sultry dancing flashes through my mind. I quickly shake it away. Thinking about her becomes a problem if I let myself do it for too long.

“Club’s fine.” I try to keep my tone even, but my voice falters slightly.

“Really?” He arches an eyebrow, not buying it for a second.

“I said it’s fine. What?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, still smiling. “Why’d you stop by? Isn’t tonight one of the busiest nights of the week?”

“Just checking the timeline.” I gesture to the construction site. “I’m sick of living out of a motel room. I need my own space again.”

“Right, right.” I can tell he’s not convinced that everything’s cool at Velvet, but he knows better than to push me. For now. “We’ll get this clubhouse up and running soon. Just a few more weeks until the bunkhouses are ready.”

“Good. Can’t happen fast enough,” I mutter, already picturing the day we claim what’s ours.

“You seem more impatient than usual. Any particular reason, other then wanting your own space?” he asks.

“Can’t wait to have some fresh club chicks. Hope the walls are soundproof,” I joke, forcing a smirk as Fang’s thumbs fly over his tablet, checking the wiring schematics.

He glances up. “Ah, so that’s your real agenda, huh? Your sudden dry spell has absolutelynothingto do with Isabella, right?”

“Nope. I’d never mix business with pleasure,” I reply in a dismissive tone. The image of Isabella’s piercing blue eyes flashes through my mind, but I shove it away. “Besides, even if I did bang the strippers, I’d never sleep with the enemy.”

“Good. Remember that.” He taps the screen, then looks at me sharply. “Isabella’s dangerous. We still don’t know her game.”

“Found anything on her? Anything at all?” I ask, needing to know if she’s as much of a mystery to him as she is to me.

“Nothing. She’s a damn ghost.” He shakes his head, frustration etched into his features. “No digital footprint, no bank accounts. It’s like she doesn’t exist outside of Velvet.”

“Hum. What if Juan controls her money?” I muse aloud.

“Could be,” Fang agrees, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe she just wants something of her own.”

Is it that simple? Could Isabella be seeking independence by dancing for cash? If she was trying to hide the money from her brother, she wouldn’t have a bank account. Taking a job that trades time for cash would be perfect for someone attempting to hide their finances.

“That’s one possibility. But maybe it’s a ruse,” I counter. “A misdirection play.”

“Either way, you need to start asking questions,” Fang insists. “Get close. Find out more.”

“Close?” I scoff. “She barely looks at me, man. How am I supposed to get anything out of her?”

“Get a lap dance,” he suggests.