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I love it when she does that.

Making her laugh has become one of my favorite games to play in the months since Roman began flirting with her friend.

I’ve also known her name since the first day I saw her, when I bribed one of the kitchen boys to give it up. I’ve just enjoyed the game between us so much that I played it until Abby told me herself.

I fold my arms and lean back against my car, watching her delectable ass sashay across the road. The look she flings me over her shoulder when she gets close to the door tells me she knows exactly what I’m watching, and doesn’t mind at all.

Oh, this fucker better get the message fast.

Because right now, all I can think about is getting Abby out of that dress.

Unwilling to alert Nikolai, Roman’s idiot adopted brother, of my presence, I go in through a secure side door to which I have the code. Inside, Pillars is all pulsing music and pretentious assholes smiling for selfies.

God, I hate this place.

Abby is standing over by the bar, talking to some slimeball who looks vaguely familiar.

That must be the striker.

I linger in the corner, staying out of sight. Then I see something that makes me tense.

A group of men are standing behind the striker. One I recognize as the Cádiz FC manager. The sniveling fuck next to him is Nikolai, who always makes me want to punch a wall.

But it’s the two men behind them that set my teeth on edge.

I lived in Miami until I was a teenager, when Yuri Stevanovsky took Roman and me back to Spain with him. I can pick out cartel members from a very long range, since I spent half my early childhood running errands for some of the worst of them.

And these fuckers are definitely cartel boys.

Fucking Nikolai.He’s never had enough brains to know when to leave trouble alone.

It’s bad enough they’re in Roman’s bar. Far worse, they’re close enough to Abby to touch her.

Fortunately, just as I’m about to throw her advice out the window and make a very ugly fucking scene, the striker throws his hands up in the air and stomps away with Nikolai and the cartel boys. I watch until they’re safely ensconced in one of the VIP rooms, with the door shut, and then cross the floor to where Abby is knocking back her second shot in as many minutes.

“You need to go home.” Putting my arm around her shoulders,I lead her through the crowd, practically carrying her across the floor.

“What the—Hey,” she protests when I put her on the pavement outside and beckon one of the doormen over.

“Bring a car around,” I order him. “And make sure she gets home safely.” I turn back to Abby, who’s staring at me indignantly. “I’ve got some business that needs taking care of, Skip. I’m sorry.”

“Let me guess.” She folds her arms belligerently. “This is about the cartel guys stomping on bratva turf, huh?”

I frown, more taken aback than I care to admit. “How do you know they’re cartel?”

Her laugh is devoid of humor and has a very sharp edge. “At least you don’t bother to deny it.” She turns around and stalks down the pavement. I run to catch up with her, but she pulls her arm out of mine. “Fuck off, Dimitry,” she says coldly.

I stare at her in surprise. “What the hell?”

“Seriously.” She glares at me. “And tell your minion to go fuck himself, too. I don’t want a lift anywhere from you.”

I stand in front of her, blocking her effort to walk away. “You’re not walking home alone, Abby, I don’t care who you tell to fuck off.” The car pulls up beside us, and I wrench open the door. “Get inside. Andrei will drive you home. Give me your address.”

Her expression darkens. “What, so you can come and stalk me? Nofuckingthank you.”

“For Chrissakes.” I grip the door in frustration. “Then just give Andrei your address, and I won’t ask him for it. You have my word, okay? Just let him see you home safely. Please.”

“Go to hell.” Abby stares at me angrily. “And get out of my way.”