Page 25

“Damn right. Rule fucking number one: don’t get involved with the enemy. You slipped up,” Fang says, his gaze holding mine, “but that’s it.”

“Yeah, just once,” I agree, trying to push the memory of Isabella’s skin against mine out of my mind. “It won’t happen again.”

“This is so fucking stupid, but I’m with you on one thing.”

“What?”

“Finding out who bought the damn thing could help us find out more about her. Maybe then we can figure out why she’s working at Velvet. Everyone’s got a weak spot. This could be hers.”

“That’s why I want to find out fast.” It’s not really the whole truth, but he’s right. This info could help us discover why a cartel leader’s sister is dancing in their rival’s strip club.

“Let me make a call,” he says, reaching for his phone and quickly sending a text to someone in his contacts list. His phone pings a few seconds later. He glances at the message before shoving his phone back into his cut. “We can meet with my antiques guy right now.”

“Let’s roll,” I say, heading for the door.

“He already knows we’re on our way.”

“Thanks, brother.”

“Shit, don’t thank me yet. If Vapor finds out about this, my ass will be in a sling, and I’ll have to kick yours for putting me in that position.”

“I know it’s fucked up, but I appreciate the help.”

“You owe me big time.”

“Not a chance.” I flash him a grin as we reach our bikes. “Now we’re even from that time I bailed you out of jail when you got shitfaced and ran naked down Bourbon Street.”

“That was the best New Year’s Eve party ever.” Fang smirks. “Guess we’re even then.”

“Only if your guy comes through.”

“He will,” Fang says, getting on his bike.

I swing my leg over mine, the leather of my cut creaking as I settle in. Every time I sit on my ride, I’m reminded of my responsibility as the club’s VP. This situation isn’t just about what happened between me and Isabella in the VIP room; my club’s safety is on the line too.

“I’ll follow you,” I say, turning the ignition. The engine roars to life, a primal call that sends shivers down my spine. I don’t look over to see if Fang’s ready. He always is.

We peel out of the shop, the world blurring into streaks of color and light as we race towards our destination. Wind tears at my hair, whipping the long strands like silver flames against the night sky. There’s a storm brewing inside me, one that’s been chasing me since Isabella’s skin burned against my own. Whatever we discover will either quell the tempest in my mind or morph it into a hurricane.

The antique shop’s rustic wooden sign looms ahead. I pull up, cutting the engine. The sudden quiet feels heavy, like the calm before a storm.

“Ready for the truth?” Fang asks, shutting off his engine too.

“Always,” I reply, but my gut twists. Truth has a price, and I’ve got a feeling this bill’s gonna be steep.

Chapter 8: Isabella

I pace the confines of my tiny cottage, my movements a frantic dance to the rhythm of my still-thundering heart. Every nerve ending in my body is alive, tingling with the memory of Ice’s touch. The heat from our encounter wraps around me like the sweltering New Orleans air, thick and unshakeable. My mind replays each moment, each whispered word that fell from his lips as he claimed mine, branding me with a passion that now courses through my veins.

The small room feels even more confining as I try to push away the thoughts, the sensations. How did it come to this? How could I have a dangerous liaison with the man whose very existence spells trouble for my family? Yet, I can’t deny the raw connection, the undeniable pull towards him. It’s a craving, a thirst that refuses to be quenched.

A sudden crunch of gravel outside jolts me from my fevered reverie. My head snaps toward the window just in time to see headlights slicing through the darkness. A car door slams shut, its echo a sharp punctuation to the silence that has fallen over my sanctuary. My pulse quickens, not with desire this time, but with a gnawing sense of dread.

I steal a glance through the sheer curtain, my breath catching in my throat as I recognize Juan’s unmistakablesilhouette. His aura radiates authority and power. Even from this distance, I can feel the weight of his presence, the omen of an impending storm.

My pulse hitches as I watch him approach. Each step he takes is a deliberate assertion of dominance, a testament to his role as leader of the cartel. I wonder if he knows, if he somehow found out about Ice and what we did in the VIP room.

I force myself to breathe, to steady the tempest inside me. I must face him with the same implacable façade he wields so effortlessly. But as he stomps toward my door, I know that no amount of preparation will prepare me for what comes next.