We sit in awkward silence for the entire lunch as Augusta ignores us while reviewing event plans designed by Mindy. Perhaps she’s doing it to get under my skin. Then again, I doubt she gives a rat’s hemorrhoided ass about what I think. But as soon as we finish the last bite, we’re ushered out of the home faster than a hand swats a mosquito because Augusta has shit to do.

The door nearly bites our asses, but one thing is for sure, it feels good to be out of the mansion. We finally climb into Jackson’s truck with full bellies, and he roars the engine to life so we can get the hell back to our side of town. He steers us through the park while tugging on his collar, and it must be another anxious tick because the neck of his shirt is starting to stretch and hang loosely. 

“So that was Augusta, huh?” he clears his throat. “She’s… intense. I didn’t expect her to be so young.”

“Yeah. I’m not usually into women older than me, but I gotta admit that for a forty-five-year-old, she’s got it going on. Too bad she’d eat me for breakfast then floss with my bones.”

“Yet, you still talk back to her…” Jackson grips the steering wheel. “And while asking for her help to get Alma back. For fucks sake!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I gotta work on that.”

“I love you, man. I do, but I swear to God, if you jeopardize us getting Alma back, not only will it destroy our friendship, I will royally fuck you up—send your ass to the hospital.” 

“I know.”

“Do you?” He grips the steering wheel tighter. “You’re hot-headed, and it’s one thing if the consequences only affect you, but it’s quite another when it affects everyone else. This isn’t just revenge anymore. This is Alma’s life and the baby she might be carrying.”

Rubbing my head, I can feel the regret churning the half-digested duck in my stomach. Jackson is right. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“And now we gotta find out what happened with Richie, but I don't have time for this shit. Not when Gino has Alma and is doing God knows what! Have you even heard from Jocelyn?”

“No.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this. Why did she take him and lie to her sister about it? Something doesn’t feel right.”

He accelerates the truck as we exit Golden Gate Park, and for the rest of the drive home, we remain silent. The city whips passed us, and the next thing I know, he's pulling up the curb of my apartment but keeps the engine running.

“I’ve gotta go to the police station,” he says. “They want me to give a statement again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah…” he rubs his jaw, and the scratch-scratch fills the truck's cabin. “Do you think I’m a suspect?”

“You weren’t even there. You were upstairs with me. Everyone saw you.”

“Yeah, but what if they think I was in on it? Why do they want me to give my statement again?”

“Maybe they need more details? When my stepdad Chuck died, they asked my mom and me all sorts of questions, and I remember having to go down to the station a few times. It’s normal procedure. You’ll be fine.” I pat his bicep. 

Jackson nods, blowing out a breath. “Yeah. You’re right.”

But I can tell my words haven’t alleviated his anxiety for shit. His fingers still grip the steering wheel, turning the knuckles on his brown fingers white.

“You gonna go see Angie at the hospital?” he asks as I slip out of the truck.

“I want to, but I have to work at Penthouse tonight, and they need me there early. I don’t think I’ll have time.”

“What are we gonna do about Richie? We need him back, so Augusta helps us.”

“Leave that to me. I’ll get him back.”

I don’t wait for Jackson to argue. Instead, I close the door. This is my mess. I fucked around with Richie behind everyone’s back, and now Jocelyn has him, but I can’t trust her anymore. As much as my mother hates it, I must bust out my gear and do a little recon to find him. If I can track down Kay and follow him, I bet he'll lead me to Richie.

Speaking of my mother…

She’s sitting on the stoop of my apartment.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

“I had lunch with Jackson.”

A smile spreads across her face. “El guapo?”

Oh, right. I forgot that my mom thinks Jackson is hot. 

“Yes, ma. Him.” 

“Next time you see him, tell him I said hello.”

“Ma, really?”

“What?” She shrugs. “You said he likes my empanadas.” 

“He does. But he has a girlfriend…” I look her up and down. “A young one.” 

“I’m not old!” she skyrockets to her feet, but she’s still shorter than me. Even standing on the stairs.

“No. You’re not.” I kiss her forehead. “So, what brings you here?”

“I need to buy pan dulce and masa for nacatamales at the little mercado down the street. So I thought I’d stop by first.” 

“I’ll walk you there,” I sigh and take her arm, but she yanks it away.

“I don’t need you to walk me there like some old lady.”

“Ma. There was a robbery at the bank across from the mercado last week. So, you’re not walking there alone. Got it?”

“Fine. You’re so bossy,” she huffs, but deep down, I know she loves having a big and tall son, and she slips her arm through mine proudly. 

When we get there, she wanders off to pick out pan dulce, but I stay near the flowers. Coincidentally, Como la Flor by Selena y Los Dinos is playing. I should get Angie some and a get-well card, but my hand hovers over a bouquet of lilies. Does she even like flowers? Is a get-well card cheesy? The woman was shot. She doesn’t have the flu. 

Maybe I should rethink this.

“Those are pretty,” my mom says.

“You think so?”

“Yes. The colors remind me of the sunset. Who are they for?”

“No one.”

She arches a brow. “No one?” 

“My friend is in the hospital,” I mumble.

“The hospital. Why?”

“She got shot.”

“Shot! This isn’t the girl you told me about, right? The one you were interested in.”

“No. Not her. I think things with Mindy and me are over.”

“Then who is this friend?”

“Just a friend, ma. You don’t know her. I met her in—” But my words cut short.

“What is it?” she asks.

However, I don’t answer. Instead, I abandon the flowers and back up slowly. 

“Mijo, what is it?” My mom furrows her brows, follows my line of sight, then places her hands on her hips with a huff. Before I can stop her, she marches over to Celia and Ramona, who have just entered the mercado. 

“You shouldn’t be here!” she wags her finger at them. 

“Excuse me?” Ramona scoffs, and Celia tugs on her hand.

“Leave it alone. Let’s just go,” she says.

“No,” Ramona objects. “We have a right to be here!”

“You have some nerve,” my mom hisses. “You know this store is down the street from Miguel, but you came here anyway. It’s bad enough that you have a restraining order on him, and now he can’t even shop in his neighborhood because you want to punish him by being here? You two disgust me!” 

“Well, that’s his problem. Isn’t it?” Ramona says. “He shouldn’t have put his hands on Celia.”

My mom’s head reels back, her curls shaking. “He never put his hands on her. You liar!”

Ramona scoffs again, “Oh, so you’re calling Celia, the victim of abuse, a liar? That’s rich coming from a battered wife.” 

“You little hija de puta!” 

Before my mom can lunge, I dash across the mercado, throw my arms around her, and whisk her away. The woman is tiny, but right now, she’s a grizzly bear as she shouts over my shoulder, her finger jabbing the air.

"You know what you did, Celia!"

"Ma! Enough." I haul her outside.

But she’s worse than her dog Cha Cha who loves to yap at the mailman like some psycho. I drag her to the curb, and somehow in the fiasco, the pan dulce remained intact in its little pink box with a bow.

“Jesus Christ, ma! Did you have to do that?”

“Ramona is a disrespectful fool who needs to know that Celia is a whore!” she shouts toward the entrance, then smooths down her blouse. “The nerve of both of them flaunting around after they went behind your back for years! That girl played with your mind and your heart, and lied to the cops about you assaulting her. That’s not ok.” 

“I know, but fuck them. Celia doesn’t get to have that kind of power over me anymore. Alright?” I rest my hands on her shoulders.

“It’s still not right. Celia has never taken accountability for cheating on you or lying to the police. Why did she marry you if she wanted to be with Ramona?”

“That’s a hell of a question I’ll never have the answer to.”

“Let’s get you home before they use this as an excuse to call the cops on you.”

“Good idea.”

Because the last thing I need is to get arrested or, worse, serve time for violating the restraining order.

Then a thought hits me. 

What if that’s what Ramona wants?

∆∆∆ 

The club is so different during the late afternoon than it is at night. The place isn’t as glamorous or alluring, with the bright lights exposing every nook and cranny of the empty dancefloor and balconies. Jude, the head of security, finishes our weekly meeting of updates and protocol changes and then hands out the latest ban list, so we know who to boot if they come to the door. My throat is parched, so I go to the bar where Shelly, a cute platinum blonde with red-painted lips, preps for the busy night. If I were into fake blondes and not such a wreck with my heart split in different directions, I’d ask her on a date. She’s surprisingly normal and never gets involved in drama.

Except for the rumor that she and Lucas hooked up a while back. 

“Sup, Miguel?” she slices into a lime.

“Hey, Shell. Can I have soda water?”

“Sure thing, handsome!” She winks, and it reminds me of Angie. 

I should have gotten her those damn flowers. But no. My mom had to go psycho on Ramona.

“Can you do me a favor?” Shelly asks.

“Sure.”

“I’m up to my tits in prep for tonight, so would you mind grabbing some things from the supply room for me?”

“Yeah, I can do that. What do you need?”

“Awesome! You are my hero.” Shelly spins away, so I lean against the bar, and when she turns back, she slaps a list on the bar top. “I need mixers and booze to restock the shelves.”

“You’ve got it, Shell.” I snag the list.

“You’re the best, Miguel,” she shouts as I walk away.

The supply room is past a massive set of oak double doors that separates the dancefloor from the private rooms, the management office, and the employee lounge. Each time I enter the corridor, I run my fingers across the black velvet texture of the walls and admire the oil paintings of half-naked women. The big boss, Gavin, likes to replace them every few months with new smut he commissions from a local artist, and I think deep down my boss is a pervert. 

Nestled between the paintings are several doors leading to rooms where high rollers party. However, these private rooms are something people rarely see since only a few can afford this area. So, let’s say that once a person enters through the large oak doors, it becomes Las Vegas, and I have no idea what happens. I don’t have enough seniority to do security for these rooms. But I do know an NDA has to be signed.

Shelly’s list isn’t long, so I grab a crate, gather what she needs, then exit the supply room. I’m too distracted with what happened earlier at the mercado that I don’t hear it at first, but then I see the cascade of blonde hair and the tightly wound, pilates-sculpted ass of Jocelyn fucking Abramovitz. 

But she’s not alone.

No. As I step into the doorway of Gavin’s office, she’s laughing with him, Kay, and my coworker Lucas. 

What in the actual fuckery.

I already knew about the Sister being silent partners of the club, but to see Jocelyn back here has my ass itching harder than a dog’s flea-infested fur. 

“Need something, Miguel?” Gavin asks, and Jocelyn’s head swivels my way.

“No. Just thought I heard a familiar voice.” My gaze shifts to Lucas, who is one of the head bartenders, and usually does the prep. Yet, Shelly is doing it instead. 

So why is he in here with them? 

My thoughts race back to when I swear I heard him say Richie’s name. What does this fucker know? 

“I didn’t think you were working tonight since Shelly is out there,” I say to him.

“I’m working later.”

“We’re finishing up here, Miguel,” Gavin cuts across the office and begins closing the door on me. “Why don’t you get those supplies to Shelly.”

The door closes on me, and I stare at it for a few seconds—my blood boiling as I grip the crate. The audacity of this man.

What the fuck is going on? 

Moments later, I’m at the bar lingering while making small talk with Shelly and occasionally glancing over my shoulder at the oak doors. They finally open, and out strolls Jocelyn with Kay and Lucas like old friends. I leave Shelly in the middle of her sentence and stomp over, ready to spit fire.

“Miguel…” Jocelyn shifts her gaze to me.

“What’s going on with Richie?” I say, not bothering to lower my voice in front of Lucas. At this point, I don’t give a single soggy shit if he knows about my relationship with the Sisters.

Jocelyn regards me with a smirk. “He’s in good hands.”

“Where!”

But this time, Lucas clasps my bicep with a tug, and Kay steps in front of Jocelyn, his chest bumping mine as he stares down his nose at me. Are these assholes tag-teaming me?

“Watch your tone," Kay says.

Yanking my arm free from Lucas, I look past Kay at Jocelyn. “Did you know I was at your mansion this morning?” 

“What were you doing there?”

“I was there about Alma.”

“Alma?” Jocelyn cocks a confused brow.

“Yeah. She was—” but I cut myself short. What if Augusta didn’t tell Jocelyn that Alma is missing? The next question is, why? “Actually, it was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“No. You brought it up.” Jocelyn steps around Kay, her gaze scorching my skin as she narrows her eyes. “Who is Alma?”

“My friend. She wants in on my plan. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Jocelyn rolls her eyes. “You and Angie are getting messy. This is why it was imperative that I take Richie off your hands. I want you to meet Kay and Lucas tomorrow at the warehouse to tighten things up.” 

“And Lucas?” I swivel to him, but he doesn’t bat an eyelash, and Jocelyn keeps going.

“Bring Angie and whoever else is involved in your little…” She pauses to give me an amused expression. “Plan. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Kay presses his meaty hand on my chest with a shove, and I stumble back into Lucas. 

As soon as they walk away, I turn to the very man breathing on my neck and stare him down—my finger jabbing his sternum. “Alright, fucker. You’re going to tell me right fucking now about how the fuck you know the Sisters!”

*
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What's up with Lucas, ey? Well, he's a character that will have his own book called Death, Shaken Not Stirred, which is the next installment in my Murder For Hire series. Three of those chapters are available now on my page if you want a preview about him ahead of time 😁 However, that book is on hold, so I can focus on this one. ❤️