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“Well, that doesn’t seem particularly suspicious.” Spencer frowns and leans back against the booth. He brushes his fingers lightly over Ava’s bare shoulder. It’s that small touch, that intimacy that has me momentarily wishing for what they have.

“Sure.” Ava purses her lips at him, brow raised with sass. “Except he said a delivery of sangre.”

“Sangria?” He scratches his head. “It’s a club, Aves.”

“No.” She shakes her head, pastel pink curls flying. Sangre means blood in Spanish.” Her eyes are wide, and she makes a duh expression at us.

“Are you sure you heard correctly, Aves? I know the whole situation is off but that seems like a stretch.” He cringes when she glowers at him.

Even I’m struggling to fit the pieces together.

“I swear. Scout’s honor.” The disco lights reflect off her various gold bangles as she holds her hand up as if taking an oath.

Glancing between her and the suspicious door I make a decision. “I’ll be back.” The leather beneath me squeaks as I slide out of the booth and head to the bar.

“Screwdriver, please!” I yell above the music and place crumpled dollar bills on the tabletop. The bartender hands me my drink and I stumble away making a show of spilling some on the floor. Feeling my way along the wall I fake drunkenly walk toward the office. Lucky for me the bouncers just stepped away to escort a pair of actual drunks out of the club, so it’s left unattended. Scanning the vicinity one last time I reach behind me and push down on the door handle which opens with ease.

My hair swings around my shoulders when I turn and start to head into the space. Just as I’m about to get a visual a large hand closes on top of mine and yanks the door shut. My back is slammed against the wall and the burly guard from before glares at me.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he spits out, dark eyes scanning me up and down.

Channeling my inner drunk sorority girl, I become boneless under his hold and try to look as dopey as possible. “Isn’t this the bathroom?” I hold up my drink and spill a few drops on his black shoes. I throw in a giggle for good measure. “I really have to pee.”

“You stupid, bitch. Just like all these other idiots.” He flings me away from the door, forcing me to trip and shoos me with his hand. “Get out of here. If I see you again, you’re getting kicked the fuck out. I only give one warning.”

“But wait, where’s the bathroom?” I continue my act as I find my footing.

“You’ll figure it out. Go.” The tone in his voice leaves no room for discussion. “You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

I throw in a whimper like I’m some poor, defenseless frightened little girl. “Fine. Fine.”

I stumble away—not in theatrics this time—and grab ahold of a stranger’s elbow to steady myself.

“Hey,” the girl complains.

“Sorry. Almost fell.”

Pushing my way through the crowd back to the table where Ava and Spencer sit, I plop down, setting aside my halfway empty drink.

“What were you thinking would happen?” Ava laughs as I wipe my hand of the sticky alcoholic beverage. “There’s no way you were going to get back there.”

“I know, but I wanted to check whether or not I could see anything under the door or overhear anything.”

Spencer leans forward and lowers his voice. “Celine, be careful. If this is what you guys think it is, you could get hurt or worse.”

His concern is genuine and sweet but not needed.

“I can’t do anything. I don’t have a warrant or probable cause.”

If anyone has to follow the law, it’s me. I just hate that people might get hurt while I’m forced to wait for something to happen that’s big enough to force an investigation..

“How’s the hangover?” Ava pats my shoulder as she passes by my desk toward the end of my shift the next day.

I hide in the shelter of my arms to drown out all light and sound. Every shuffle of paper and slam of the door grates on my eardrums. Despite the ibuprofen I’ve taken every few hours, and the water I’ve guzzled, I can’t seem to knock the raging headache.

It’s my own fault. I don’t drink often so it doesn’t take much for me to overdo it.

“Ugh.” My muffled moan is pitiful. “I’m never drinking again.” I hold up a finger, wagging it in her face. “And if you let me, I’m disowning you.”