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“Look, I don’t want to be in here dealing with your ass either, but she wants her watch back. Just give it to me and I’m gone. I don’t give a shit about what’s going on with you two. She just wants her stuff.”

“Well, she must’ve dropped it somewhere else. Not here,” I deflect smoothly, hoping my face doesn’t betray the lie.

“Don’t lose it, Ice. You’d better give it back to Bella,” Vicki warns. Her gaze cuts right through me, making me wonder if she can see straight into my pocket.

“Does it matter that much?” I ask, feigning indifference.

“Means a lot to her,” she replies sharply.

“Why? Did her boyfriend or husband give it to her?” Might as well prod for information since Vicki doesn’t believe me for a second.

“She doesn’t strike me as the type to get tied down,” Vicki admits, shrugging. “Keeps to herself, you know? Some of the girls think she’s stuck-up, coming in and not talking to anyone. Thinks she’s too good for us.”

“Stuck-up, huh?” I muse. Although I wouldn’t describe her that way, maybe that’s how other people see her.

“One of the girls mentioned her brother’s a big deal. A cartel leader,” Vicki whispers. “Is that true?”

“Rumors are dangerous things. Best not to spread them,” I reply, giving her nothing, even though my mind races. If other people in the club know she’s part of the cartel, how long will it take for word to get back to her brother?

“Whatever you say, boss,” she huffs, rolling her eyes before heading toward the door. “Just don’t forget about that watch.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say.

“I’m not saying shit to anyone about anything. I’m just here to dance and cash in on the good life.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder, the strands catching the dim light like spun gold. “Gotta jet, DJ’s calling me up next.” Without waiting for my reply, she turns on her heel and leaves me alone in the room.

After I close the door, I pull the watch from my pocket and turn it over in my hand, the inscription taunting me from its silver surface.

To my love, always and forever.

“Always and forever, huh?” I mutter, the irony not lost on me. Isabella’s world seems far removed from such fairy tale notions. Fang would’ve found marriage records if she were hitched, so what’s the story with this watch?

The timepiece looks expensive despite its weathered appearance. I want to know more about its history. Who wouldgive her a gift like this? A lover? Certainly not a family member. It’s a bit too romantic for that.

“Time to go see Fang,” I muse, pocketing the watch and striding out of the VIP room.

Fang’s a wizard with gadgets and gizmos, and he owes me one. He might have the means to track down the original buyer. Fang’s got connections I don’t, and one of them might just lead me to the answers I need. Time to ride out and touch base with the geek who can throw down when it counts.

The roar of my bike fades into silence as I kill the engine outside the club’s autobody shop. I’ve never had much reason to come out here recently, but this is where Fang’s set up shop while we’re waiting on the new clubhouse.

As I walk through the huge, open garage doors, the scent of motor oil and metal greets me. Several men look up from their work. They jerk their chins in acknowledgment before returning to the vehicles they’re working on. Some of them are patched guys and others are prospects. They’re all hard workers, and this place brings in a lot of money for the club.

Dodging a sea of scattered auto parts and tools, I head for Fang’s makeshift office. When I shove open the door, Fang looks up from a laptop that seems too delicate for his large hands, an incongruous sight against the backdrop of car innards and machinery.

“Clubhouse coming along?” I ask, propping myself against the edge of the desk.

“Everything’s on schedule,” he responds without missing a beat, eyes flicking back to the screen. “But you’re not here for a construction update. What’s up?”

Fang’s intuition has always been sharp, and it irks me that he reads me so easily. I pull out the watch, the silver catching the light as it lands with a soft thud on the desk.

“Can you help me find out who bought this?” The question hangs between us as Fang stares at the timepiece.

“Let me see.” He plucks it off the desk and examines it with a furrowed brow, flipping it over to reveal the name of its maker etched into the metal like a signature on a masterpiece. “This isn’t just a watch, it’s a statement piece. Antique. Pricey. Where did you get it?”

“Is there a way we can track down the buyer? Tonight?” I ask.

“What’s the deal with this? Why the rush?” He sets the watch down. His fingers dance across the keyboard as he speaks, already diving into digital depths I can’t fathom.

“I just need the info.”