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“Hey, maybe I should give stripping a shot, huh?” I joke halfheartedly, trying to lighten the mood. “At least then I’d be making my own money instead of living off the cartel’s blood money.”

“Isabella!” Maria exclaims, her tone a mix of amusement and warning. “Be careful even joking about that. I told you about the opening night bar brawl there, right? This city is a powder keg waiting to blow.”

“Yeah, I remember,” I reply, my laughter fading. “Sometimes, I just feel so trapped, you know? And now that Juan is making me work for him… I just don’t know what to do.”

Maria doesn’t respond immediately, her gaze returning to the road. I can tell she knows exactly what I mean, but she’schosen her path—one of willful ignorance. A path I’m not sure I can follow.

The reflection in the side mirror holds my attention as we speed away from the strip club, the banner shrinking in the distance. My blue eyes, usually so sharp and resolute, now hold a flicker of uncertainty. For a moment, I let myself get lost in that reflection, contemplating if the universe is giving me a sign—a glaring neon sign, at that.

“Thinking about amateur night?” Maria teases with a side glance, her lips curving into a smile. She doesn’t think I’m serious.

“Más o menos,” I murmur, my gaze still fixed on the mirror.

The truth is, the idea of dancing on that stage, as ludicrous as it sounds, represents a freedom I’ve never known. Free from the cartel’s grasp, free to make choices without the weight of the Vasquez legacy on my shoulders.

“Isabella,” Maria’s voice pulls me back, “you’re not seriously considering…”

I shake my head, snapping out of the trance. “No, of course not.” My voice comes out more defensive than I intend, and I force a laugh. “It’s just a fantasy, right? A silly escapist thought.”

But as the city lights blur past us, casting long shadows across the car’s interior, the image of that banner lingers in my mind. Five thousand dollars—it’s not just the money, but what it represents: a chance to start fresh, to forge a path on my own terms. To break away before I’m in too deep.

“Isa, you’re not alone in this,” she says softly, sensing my inner turmoil. Her hand finds mine, her grip warm and reassuring.

“Sometimes it feels like it.” The confession slips out, raw and unguarded. “They say family is everything, but at what cost?”

“Let’s just focus on tonight,” she suggests, bringing me back to the present. She’s good at compartmentalizing, at shutting out the darkness that our world thrives in. Maybe too good.

“Right,” I say, trying to match her levity. But the weight of my brother’s expectations sits heavy on my chest, a constant reminder that my life isn’t truly my own.

As Maria navigates through the streets of New Orleans, the vibrant city alive with its eclectic mix of music and mystery, I allow myself one last glance at the mirror, at the fading banner. Maria’s right—stripping is insane. But at least I wouldn’t be like the rest of my family. I wouldn’t be killing anyone, directly or indirectly. I’d finally be free to live life on my own terms. And it would only be a temporary step toward a better life. I wouldn’t stay there forever. The whole idea is crazy, but so is everything else in my life. Would this really be that different? Could I actually go through with it? I don’t know yet, but the date listed on the banner means I’ve got five days to figure it out.

Chapter 3: Ice

I perch on the edge of the VIP booth, anticipation humming through me. After the fiasco on opening night, some of the dancers quit. We need more. Fast. Vapor suggested we hold an audition night but make it sound like a competition to try to recruit new talent. Vapor made sure we put ‘Amateur’ on the sign because he thought girls new to dancing would be less intimidated if they weren’t expected to be perfect. Dangling the five thousand dollar prize for the best dancer was my idea. The huge prize is more like a signing bonus, but the goal was to make sure women showed up. And it worked. At least fifty scantily clad women sit around the club, waiting for their turn to dance. I only need to hire a dozen. It should be easy enough.

The music pounds through the club, but it’s just background noise to me, like a second heartbeat. My eyes sweep over the crowded room, searching faces, cataloging details. The club reeks of spiced rum and desperation. Some of these girls look a little rough around the edges. Life’s hard when you’re broke. Hopefully, I can change a few lives tonight.

“Tits and ass for days.” Diablo grins beside me. “Why can’t you just offer all of them a job?”

“There isn’t enough room for everyone. I don’t want bitchy cat fights in my club. We dealt with enough of that shit at the old clubhouse.”

“You planning on making any of them club girls?”

“Nah. Not mixing business with pleasure.”

“Smart.” Diablo’s dark chuckle is cut short when he takes a long swig of beer.

My gaze shifts towards the stage, and focus becomes razor-sharp. Although we need more women, we don’t want the wrong ones getting into the club. By now, everyone knows Underground Vengeance MC runs this place. That makes it a target, which means I need to be on the hunt for threats. This is a dance I know all too well, so I’m more than ready for it.

The club’s DJ announces the next dancer. The girls aren’t allowed to use stage names until they’re hired, so the DJ uses their real first names. If they get hired, we’ll let them pick a new alias. Chastity, or Vixen, or Candy, whatever ridiculous name they want to use.

“What’s this one’s name? I missed it,” I ask.

“Isabella,” Diablo says, setting down his drink and leaning forward.

The spotlight swings to find the girl on stage, carving out her silhouette from the dimness of the club. She’s strikingly beautiful with long, dark hair cascading down her back and piercing blue eyes that seem to see through all the other women in the audience. She’s enchanting in a way that makes it impossible to look away. Even Diablo’s on the edge of his seat.

The music starts and the woman absolutely commands the space, a siren trying to lure men to their deaths. A beat pulses, and her hips catch the rhythm in a way that snares every eye in the room. I lean forward, my elbows bracing against the cold surface of the table. The charged air ripples with sensuality and sexuality. I was semi-hard earlier, but now I’m a fucking rock.