Page 23 of The True Garza

“Nope. These men know me and what I do. They see me anywhere near you, they won’t bite,” he answers. “This drop off is for appearance’s sake. See those bouncers looking? Gives you a head start with getting attention on you.”

“Okay.”

“Wait.” He stops me when I’m about to open the door.

He fetches his jacket from the backseat, and from the pocket retrieves a small, velvet pouch. He upends the pouch, and a gold charm necklace falls into his palm.

“There’s a tracker in the moon pendant,” he informs me. “It’s undetectable, will bypass any bug scanner. Wear it whenever you’re in character.”

“Okay.”

He looks from me to the necklace, then at me again. “You want me to put it on for you, or you good?”

It’s a challenge. And because I can’t help myself, I pick up the gauntlet. Scooping my mass of curls up off my neck, I position my back to him.

Seconds later, he brings the necklace around my neck, his fingers brushing my nape as he clasps the latch.

Shivers trickle down my spine, and my lips part as I slowly, quietly push air through them.

Okay, so… yeah.Challenge failed. I’m a loser. I can’t be around this man andnotlose my head. Why does he affect me so much?Why?

The tips of his fingers dust across my skin before they’re gone. Maybe it’s accidental, maybe it’s deliberate. Either way, I can’t control the hitch that catches in my throat.

“T-thanks,” I mumble, dropping my hair, then fumbling to open the door.

“Yeah,” he replies in a hoarse voice.

I’m out of the car in the next breath. If only I’d known that coming back to LA would mean running into an old fling and being reduced to a pile of teenage-girl-crush goo. Freaking hell, I can hardly recognize myself.

There’s no line outside the club. According to Sacha, it’s marketed as “members only”, but all the actual members are young women, and all the male “members” are Raffi’s fake billionaires.

I fetch some chewing gum from my purse and pop it into my mouth before I sashay up to the thick-neck bouncer who’s cracking his knuckles as he chats with a wiry, crooked-nose man.

“Good night, boys,” I drawl.

The bouncer’s beady eyes rove over me appreciatively. “Night to you, sweetheart. Lemme see your membership card.”

I pop my chewing gum and my hips. “I don’t have one. My boyfriend works here. I’m tired of him leaving me all alone at home. I’m bored. I want in on the fun.”

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

“The hot Frenchie.” Another pop of my gum as I examine my nails. “Pierre.”

“What’s your name?”

“Stacey.” I wink at him. “Stacey White.”

He grunts, his gaze shamelessly settling on my cleavage as he touches his earpiece. “Ten-three for Pierre. ... Yeah, got a Stacey White here claiming she’s your girlfriend. No membership card. Confirm entry. Over. ... Roger.”

The bouncer beckons me. “Come on. Gimme me your wrist.”

As he fastens a green glow wristband around my wrist, above my charm bracelet, I pop my gum again and ask, “Tell me the truth, big guy, is he screwing around on me?”

“Wouldn’t know. I’m not into watching where my coworkers put their cocks.”

“Ah, I see, bros before hoes, huh?”

He scoffs and motions to the door. “I’m sure a hot, young thing like you got men lining up ’round the block. You’ve got nothing to worry ’bout, sweetheart. Go on in.”