Lucas stares back at me, his calm expression unwavering as he blinks, his pretty eyes wedged in his pretty fucking face. However, my blood is broiling, and I’m losing my patience.

“I said, how the fuck do you—”

He snatches my finger from jabbing his chest and twists my hand in a way that feels like my wrist will shatter. “I heard you, Miguel.”

“Fuck!” I yank free.

“My relationship with the Sisters isn’t important.” He pats my chest and smooths down my shirt collar. “Just be a good boy, do as you’re told, and you’ll be fine.” 

With another pat on my chest, he dismisses me by walking away, and for the next few hours, I can’t concentrate on work. Instead, I stew on the fact that my coworker has some sort of relationship with the Sisters that I never knew about. What is he to them?

It’s late in the night, and fog flows from my mouth with each breath while I check IDs at the door. Cold winds have drifted in from the bay, making me think about Alma. Where is she, and what is Gino doing with her? I hope she’s at least being kept warm.

Someone taps my shoulder, and I glance over to see my boss, Gavin, standing there. “Come with me.” 

“What’s up?”

“Don’t ask questions. Just come.”

“Alright…” I hand my tablet to Jimmy, who is managing the door with me, and he flashes a peace sign.

“Later, bro.”

I disappear through the long dark corridor as the thump of music lures me into the lobby, where guests can check their coats or stare down at the dancing crowd atop the grand staircase. Strobe lights flash, and fog floats toward the ceiling while Gavin leads the way down the stairs and through the dancefloor. It’s a busy night, so people are like sardines, grinding on each other to the rhythms pumping from a famous DJ flown in from New York.  

We cut through everyone, and a group of women salivates with their hungry stares. Some try to grind on Gavin, but he’s like a hunter chopping down vines in a jungle to clear the path. He doesn’t give a single shit about these women. Meanwhile, a few others drag their hands across my body, and one grabs my ass, which causes me to flinch and look back at her. She grins, but I’m not into what she and her friends are selling. 

Their pupils are dilated, so they’ve got to be on something—perhaps ecstasy. Believe it or not, I’m not into drugs or women strung out on them.

By the time we make it to the perimeter of the dancefloor, we have to peel the women off of us. 

“Jesus, Gav!” I shout. “What the hell is going on with these women tonight?”

“They’re on something,” he mumbles. “But we have bigger fish to fry…”

Judging by the pep in his step as we hike to the VIP balconies, I’m guessing he’s not delivering me to my death, which is good because I’ve never taken him for a sadist. A pervert, sure, but not someone who gets off on another’s pain.

The last time I was up here was with the Sisters, Angie, and their army of watchdogs, but this time, the balconies are overflowing with people. A party is going off with women in micro-sized dresses gyrating on each other to the DJ while guys in flashy shirts snort coke off the balcony railing. Laser lights flash, casting yellow and orange shadows across everyone’s sweaty skin, and if it weren’t for the drugs, I’d consider dancing with them because the music is banging tonight.

However, when we reach our destination, I stop dead in my tracks.

“Oh, shit…” I say under my breath.

Sitting at a table covered in champagne bottles on ice is Augusta, with her blonde locks blown out in soft waves like some actress gracing the red carpet at the Oscars. Amongst the sea of scantily clad women, she is elegant in a silk, royal blue cocktail dress that grazes her sculpted calves with spaghetti straps that kiss her smooth shoulders. 

As a personal trainer who helps people build the body of their dreams, I admire whoever helped Augusta achieve her toned limbs. 

Yet, as gorgeous as she looks, the person stealing the show is the man beside her. His deep tan, designer shirt, and the diamond-encrusted chain dangling from his neck screams Cartel money. Despite the flashing lights, it’s not exactly bright in here. Yet, he’s wearing dark aviators, his head bobbing slightly to the music while a cigar rests between his fingers. The man is utterly relaxed against the leather cushions, with one arm draped over the headrest of the booth they’re in. 

He must be Emilio Suarez. I’ve heard he parties here sometimes, but I’ve never seen him until now.

“Augusta…” Gavin motions to me, and her head swivels my way, a genuine smile spreading across her face. “I’ve brought you, Miguel.”

She places her champagne glass on the glass table and rises, then clasps Gravin’s hands. “Thank you.”

“No, problem.” He kisses her knuckles. “Anything for you.”

“You know…” She eyes him playfully. “If you weren’t such a formidable son-of-a-bitch, we could have had something.”

“A regret I’ll take to my grave,” he laughs. “But I have a business to run, so I’ll leave you with Miguel.”

A smile lingers on her face as Gavin slips through the crowd, and she turns to me. “Sit.” She motions to the booth. “I want to introduce you to Emilio Suarez.” 

“Mucho gusto.” He tips his head at me.

“Emilo,” she continues. “Miguel tiene un gran problema y nececito un favor.”

And holy shit! I stare at Augusta, completely gobsmacked. She never once let on that she speaks Spanish. It’s kind of hot. Emilio leans forward and flicks ash from his cigar onto a gold tray on the table.

“We can speak English. We are among friends, ” he says with a broken accent. “What is Miguel’s problem, and what is the favor you need?”

Augusta gets more comfortable in the booth and crosses one leg over the over, flashing her strappy silver heels with red bottoms. “Miguel’s friend Alma was kidnapped by her ex-husband, and they believe he’s a runner for the Hellions. My whisper network says that the Hellions have been trafficking humans across the border.”

“I see.” Emilio leans back and removes his aviator sunglasses, revealing a pair of hypnotic hazel eyes. “And you want my help tracking her down?”

“Yes.” Augusta nods. 

“I don’t like human traffickers. Not only are they the scum of the earth, but they interfere with business.”

“I know.”

“I’ll notify my men and have them put out an alert from here to Juarez, Mexico.” He pulls out his cell phone and begins rapidly tapping. 

Augusta glances at me, a sense of pride beaming in her eyes. She kept her word. She said she would have a sit down with Emilio to attain his help, and here we are. Perhaps I’ve been wrong all along, and I can trust her? Emilio snaps his fingers at a man standing near the booth, who isn’t dancing, but instead holding his position like a bodyguard. 

The man looks like he’s seen some things in his life, with his weathered face, salt and pepper hair sweeping his shoulders, and faded prison tattoos on his neck and knuckles. He bends to be ear level with Emilio, waiting for his next order.

“I need a team to raid the Hellion’s warehouse,” Emilio says to him.

“No!” Augusta objects and Emilio holds up his hand in front of the bodyguard’s face as if saying, hold that thought. “I don’t want a war, Emilio.”

“Understood.” He lowers his hand. “On that note, Ricardo, I need you to speak with the Hellions quietly and get answers.” He pauses and turns to me. “What is your friend’s name?”

“Alma. Alma Espinoza.”

“And her Ex?”

“Gino. I don’t know his last name, but I assume it’s Espinoza.” 

Turning back to his bodyguard, Emilio continues, “Inquire about them both, and do whatever is necessary for the answers, but quietly.”

“You’ve got it, patrón.” Ricardo tugs on a pair of black leather gloves, and they remind me of the ones Kay put on right before bitch-slapping me. “I’ll go there now.”

“Wait.” I stand, pull out my phone, and open the photo gallery. “This is a picture of Alma.” 

“Beautiful girl,” Ricardo says. “She’ll be worth a lot of money.”

“Hey!” I grip his arm, and he glances at my fingers curled around his bicep as if I’m a pesky fly he wants to swat. “That’s my friend, and she might be pregnant. Asshole.” 

“Ricardo, play nice,” Emilio says with a laugh. “He’s just scared for his friend.” 

“It’s nothing personal, kid,” Ricardo explains. “Someone that looks like her will be traded fast, which is why you’re wasting my time keeping me here. If she’s being trafficked, every minute counts.”

“Sorry.” My hand slips away.

“No worries. But don’t put your hands on me again.”

“Do you need this photo of Alma?” I ask, tail tucked between my legs. 

“Send it to me,” Emilio says. “I’ll send a mass message to my people. Word will get around faster that way.”

Ricardo nods at Emilio, dismissing himself. “I’ll be on my way now…” 

“Miguel, sit. Have some champagne.” Augusta motions to the bottles on ice. “Your worries are over.”

“They won’t be over until Alma is found.”

Emilio pours me a glass of bubbly and holds it out to me. “My people will find her. By morning we’ll have news. Now, please sit. You are my guest.”

As much as I’m not in the mood to drink expensive champagne while Alma is gone and Angie is in the hospital, I sink into the leather booth and take the glass from Emilio.

“So does this satisfy the favor?” he asks Augusta.

“It will be once his friend is safely returned. The stakes are higher since she’s pregnant.”

“Agreed.” He caresses her shoulder with the back of his index finger. “But don’t worry, my beautiful Augusta. Whoever took her will be dead soon. I hate human traffickers with a passion. Consider this, my honor.”

“I knew I could count on you.” She places her hand on his upper thigh, squeezing, and now I’m uncomfortable. 

It’s getting hot in here, and I think it’s their sexual tension. Maybe I should give them privacy.

“I should get going…” I stand. “Thank you for your help—both of you. I am in your debt.”

Emilio digs into his pocket, then hands me a business card. Something is attached, but I don't turn it over yet. Instead, I run my finger across the surface of the black, square card with his information in gold font.

“As I told Augusta, I hate human traffickers, so consider this an honor, and don’t forget to send me that photo,” he says.

“I’ll do that now. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Stay out of trouble.” Augusta winks with a wave of her fingers gripping the champagne glass.

Walking away, I flip the card and find a little baggy with a powder-blue tablet inside. It must be ecstasy. Or something like it, and this has to be whatever the women are tripping balls off of on the dancefloor. I tear the baggy off the card and toss it in a trash receptacle when I return to the club’s entrance. 

Which, in hindsight, is a damn good idea.

“Yo, look alive.” Jimmy, my coworker, nudges me. “A cop car just pulled up.”

“Emilio Suarez is in the club, and I think his people are passing around ecstasy. I wonder if they’re here to bust him.”

“Nah, no way.” Jimmy shakes his head. “Someone would be stupid to snitch on a Cartel guy. Those people don't mess around. They hang dead snitches from traffic lights in the streets of Juarez for less.” 

The two men in blue approach as we stand in front of the entrance, where music pulses passed us and pumps into the chilly night air, with a line of people to our left rubbing their shivering arms. 

They flash their badges. “We’re looking for Miguel Gomez.”

“Is that you?” one of them says, his gaze cementing me where I stand. This can’t be good.

“Yes, that’s me…” 

“We need you to come with us.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You violated your restraining order this afternoon and had an altercation with your ex-wife.” 

“Shit,” Jimmy mutters but switches spots, so he can begin checking IDs since I’m a little busy.

“Officers, I did not know she was going to be at that supermarket, and I certainly did not have an altercation with her.”

“That’s something you’ll have to explain at the station,” the other officer says. “Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

“You’re arresting me?”

“This doesn’t have to turn into a scene as long as you cooperate…” the officer pulls out the cuffs. 

“Not make a scene?” I throw my hands in the air and motion around us. “You picked a hell of a place to do this!” 

“Alright. Hands behind your back!” The officer grabs my shoulders, spins me around, and slams me against the building.

“Take it easy,” I say, my cheek smashing into the masonry. “I’m not resisting!” 

People in line gasp, and Jimmy calls for Gavin on his walkie-talkie, but the cops don’t care as they haul me away and shove me into the back of their police car.

Shit. 

This is precisely what I feared.