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I don’t quite get Hector’s meaning until I follow his gaze to the dance floor.

And almost choke on my drink.

Luna and Eduardo are in the middle of the floor, her ass bouncing to the beat in a way that makes my palm itch to spank her. Hard.

She’s fucking twerking on her own grave.

A couple of smoldering glances later, it becomes painfully obvious who those sexy moves are for.

Fucking hell on a stick. I look away, clenching my fists with the effort it takes not to watch her dance for me. It’s like trying not to blink while a fan blows in your face.

The last thing I need is to spook Hector into thinking I’m interested in his merchandise. Which is exactly what happens because he drawls, “The girl likes you.”

“Wrong team, unfortunately,” I mutter.

“Really?” Hector looks shocked, but he visibly relaxes at my admission.

I shrug, lean back, and change the subject. “So, is it the usual MO?”

Hector grins and shakes his head. “Not this time. This one’s high-profile. Her father will tear this place apart looking for her, and CCTV will point straight at us.”

“Smart,” I praise, knowing fully well there won’t be any footage tonight. I already crashed it.

Hector continues, “She’ll be given something subtle. According to Delilah, she’s too classy to puke in a bag. There are no cameras in the bathroom.”

He’s planned this down to the last detail. He’ll drug her—make her feel sick enough to leave the public eye, where they can scoop her up without witnesses.

“Good one, Hector,” I force through a tight throat.

The dance ends, and Eduardo heads to the bar. He returns with a tray of identical drinks, downs his in one go, then drops a kiss on Luna’s temple before disappearing into the crowd.

My eyes narrow as I watch Luna pick up her glass. She holds it and scans the room until her gaze meets mine.

I will every ounce of fury into my glare.Get the fuck out of here. Now.

Instead, she licks her lips and then captures her lower one between her teeth. Her fingers trail slowly over her plunging neckline, and the movement makes my cock twitch.

I groan inwardly, wishing I could shake some sense into her.

With her eyes locked on mine, she gulps down the entire cocktail like she’s daring me to stop her. Then she smiles, flashing a deep dimple in one cheek, exactly like—

Fuck me.

I shut my eyes tight as a barrage of memories slam into me, sharp and painful.

“You’re going to hell, Caden.”

My mother’s soft voice cuts through my solitude as I tinker away at a bike engine, a cigarette dangling between my lips.

I straighten, drop to the steps behind me, then blow out a perfect ring of smoke. “I already live there, Matilda. Surely, you can still read on Sundays?” I gesture to the graffiti on the cracked concrete wall behind us. “This is the Hellfire Renegades’ clubhouse, in case you missed the memo.”

She settles on the narrow steps beside me, not caring that her prim beige Sunday dress is getting smudged against the grimy concrete. It’s so different from the tight leathers she wears during the rest of the week.

“I’m talking about your soul, Caden,” she murmurs.

“Well, my soul isn’t going to Mass today,” I snap.

She chuckles wryly, green eyes twinkling, her wheat-blonde hair pinned back beneath a ridiculous fascinator. “Of course, darling. You’d rather get drunk with your father and his men.”