9

Tonight I'm working with Jas at Nym-Pho, a club sixty miles west.

Not just any place, but a nightclub reserved for those with dark tastes, and although the money is going to be fucking amazing, I'll be wearing very little clothing. On the positive side, my face will be hidden. Nym-Pho is a private club and discretion is key. It's excellent bank, and although Jasmin has lectured me constantly about how I'm expected to act and how she wants me to handle touchy clients, I can't shake the nerves off.

"No sex?"

"We snuggled." I shrug and watch from the corner of my eye as Jasmin's face screws up and she shakes her head.

"I'm just wondering, with your past and all."

I avoid looking at her. I don't want to discuss my very recent past riddled with indiscretions and promiscuity.

We're busy readying ourselves for a night shift. I have Jasmin, and her supervisor promotion, to thank for the gig.

I can't keep scraping by with all the other jobs I get from the agency. And the couple of nights I worked at Ribbons, I was able to gather enough money to register Jule back into the prominent school program he deserves to attend. I was also going to be able to see our little cerro friend in action. He wasn't going to return to Ribbons, but he was becoming a regular at Nym-Pho.

I had a feeling it wasn't his first time fondling an underage girl. If the fucker wouldn't come out of his cage, I had to find a way to him. My readers were already anxious to find out what else I'd reveal about him.

"We can do our makeup and hair here, but we'll have to get dressed at the club."

The attire at Nym-Pho is… no attire. Jasmin's outfit consists of a black thong with fake diamonds in the front, nipple covers, and six-inch heels. Her mask is what will cover the most skin, only her eyes, mouth and chin will be visible. Once she convinced me to pick up some shifts, she purchased me an outfit.

Jasmin's thin and petite. I'm curvy, with thick hips, a small waist, and huge tits. I suffered the night I wore her corset and pants to Ribbons. I couldn't breathe, and the girdle left me with bruises. I open the bag and look around to make sure Jule is still in the shower. I want to tell him not to waste water and hurry the fuck up, but I take this time to look at my uniform for tonight.

Fuck. It's just stretchy belts. A small triangle will cover my nipples and pussy.

"What the fuck, Jasmin!" I lift up the bands. "How am I even supposed to wear this shit?"

She laughs and holds it up. "This part is for the top—it"s more or less a bra." She shrugs.

"More like a piece of a bra." It's more material than she'll be wearing, but shit, I'll be walking around with bandages and harness bands that connect to my thong. Fuck. I swallow.

"You'll look hot. Stop whining. You'll come home with over a thousand tonight."

I nod, allowing the idea of working a few nights while earning this amount to flow through me and hopefully ease the butterflies in my stomach. It'll be our fucking salvation. Jule can return to school, and I know it will help our cause and we'll be able to slip away, hopefully unnoticed, to the farm my parents left us. Unbeknownst to the police force, apparently. And we want to keep it that way. I never could get rid of the trailer, but my parents would want us to leave.

I try to keep my mouth closed as the click of my heels on the black marble floor is drowned by the music blaring through unseen speakers. The blue strobe lights blind me and I straighten my spine. Don't fucking fall, don't trip, keep walking. Back straight, shoulders stiff.

I'm on the second floor and I look up through the mask's holes. I'm wearing a black mask with pointy ears, a fox.

The third floor is visible, and I can see a man leaning on the black metal banister. The lights pierce through the crystal chandelier and twist and bend past it. I turn and place the empty silver platter on the bar, and the masked man behind it produces a new one with shot glasses brimmed to the top with vodka. I can smell it and I wrinkle my nose. I'm a tequila girl through and through. Vodka fucks me up–I can't hang.

I'm wearing black pleather gloves that go up to my elbows and they pull at my forearms painfully. Everyone is wearing a mask to conceal their identity. Men in suits hold leashes that lead to naked womens' necks. Some of them walk and others crawl. I keep my eyes on empty hands, supplying them with shots if they desire. Another server walks around with a glowing tray carrying three bottles with shooters, and I twist away from the sparks. The move causes me to trip over a crouched Sub. The tray clatters to the floor and the glass shards fly like fucking bullets.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

She ignores me, doesn't even look up or acknowledge me. A security guard dressed like a Men in Black character approaches me and helps me up, squeezing my arm in the process. He materializes a broom with an attached dustpan and hands it to me. I catch Jasmin's wide eyes from across the room and she quickly sashays toward me.

She looks like a fucking mermaid dancing her way to me, her thin frame moves coquettishly, and I'm a fucking clutz gathering the broken pieces of my soul scattered on the pristine hollow marble. The Dom who's mate I tripped over turns to glare at me, like I touched what belonged to him without his permission, and my face burns beneath the mask.

"Allow me to offer you a bottle of our finest, on the house. Please excuse my friend. She's new." Jasmin bows her head and then snaps her fingers to the bartender, who produces a bottle of red.

He takes it and then hands it to his mistress, who finally stands. Aside from sky high stilettos, she's completely naked, only wearing a diamond encrusted collar with a chain linked to her Dom's wrist. He tugs it gently and they disappear into the crowd.

"You've got to be more careful, please," Jas whispers through tight lips.

I nod and hand the tools to the bartender. I don't know anyone's names. Jasmin does, and she hands him a twenty. "You're costing us money tonight."

"I'm sorry," I offer sheepishly, and she sighs. I'm so fucking bad at this and my feet are killing me.

"When shit like this happens, Donovan has the girls wear a red collar, which tells the clients that they're up for grabs. I don't want that to be you."

Fuck, I don't either. I'm sure they're compensated, but I wouldn't be good at that. It took me months, up to just recently, to let Noah touch me. And in the past, my one-night stands were rough and quick. My trust wears super thin. "Okay, I'll do better. I promise."

Jas wears a black collar, and I'm curious. I point to it.

"Black means I'm off limits to touching."

I nod and she smiles, then gives me a quick hug before waltzing to her previous spot, where a band of men waits for her. They catch her walking to them, the ground her catwalk, and they hoot. I look to the first floor, eight steps in front of me, and take a new platter down.

Why can't I wear a black collar?

I focus on the area that has a stage in the middle with three poles, each accompanied by nude dancers. I spot small round tables and place three glasses down for three guys with their eyes glued to the stage. I move and notice a man come through the curtain behind the dancers. He's barefoot and sits between two poles and the nude dancers crowd him. They"re taking his clothes off and one starts to rub his dick. Another straddles his face.

I look away and walk toward the next set of stairs that lead back to the bar when a man grabs my wrist, whipping me backwards to fall onto his lap. Don't react, be nice, you need this job; you don't want to wear a red collar.

"Haven't seen you around here before."

He smells of vodka, and I smile past an urge to gag. I peer over at his table and notice four empty martini glasses.

"I'm new," I purr, eliciting a sultriness Jasmin grilled me with. "I'll fill you up," I say as I lean forward, pushing my ass into his hardening dick, and place the four empty glasses on the platter. Then I get up slowly and smile at him. "I'll be right back," I wink.

Ugh, I want to shake his stench off of me. But I manage to keep it together and bring back a platter with four martinis and a bottle of a bubbly, sweet wine I like. Closer by Nine in Nails is playing, and the moans coming from the stage grow. I fight the urge to peek when I notice a second man walk onto the stage from my peripheral, and instead produce a skinny flute which I had snuck behind my back. It was tucked under one of the stretchy belts, and the man and his comrades smile big. I open the bottle and fill the glass with bubbly for myself.

"Cheers to meeting the lovely…"

I grin and coquettishly shake my finger at them. I tsk under my breath. "One mustn't ask for what one can't have." I tilt my head back and sip on the wine. "I'll leave you gentlemen the bottle, for when I come back." I wink again.

One of them touches himself, and my admirer licks his lips. "Okay, lovely, deposit eight hundred into your account."

I beam as I strut up the steps, almost rushing to the back, where the staff retreat to take quick but frequent breaks. When a figure steps in front of me. He has a simple black mask over his emerald eyes and has salt and pepper hair.

"You realize those men preferred to look at you rather than the show onstage?"

I startle and press my back against the wall next to the bar, but force myself to recover and produce a practiced smile instead of fleeing to the closed off staff section. "I hadn't noticed."

The man raises his chin, then licks his lips as he covers my body with his stare. Jasmin's words play in my head. Neck and spine straight, shoulders back, ass perky, tummy tucked. You're a fucking goddess.

I'm about to issue one of the many lines I memorized when a drunken man walks past us and trips on literally nothing. He lunges forward and spills his tall cocktail all over me. I squeal in response to the ice slapping my bare skin. The silver fox shoves the man and his arm is in front of me, as if to protect me. I stifle a laugh. The drunk guy crawls away and is followed by a naked woman with a paddle in hand.

"I'm sure he'll be punished justly."

The attractive middle-aged man turns and adjusts his tie. "I'd love a private room with you."

"I'll see what I can do," I lie.

"Hopefully this will entice you," he slips a black and silver card into the belt over my left breast with a couple of folded hundreds, and walks away. The metal is cool against my skin, but I don't look at it, instead I move to the quiet space reserved for staff.

The room is dark, with dimmed lamps on tables beside lounge chairs. There"s a fridge stocked with water and a snack table. There are two private bathrooms with showers and a section behind a wall that looks like a gym locker room, complete with open co-ed showers.

A nude female covers herself with a robe while chewing on an apple. An oily male server with a black thong and a red collar chugs down a water bottle desperately, and a naked woman is splayed on the couch with her legs crossed. We all keep our masks on.

The room connects to the side that works as a locker room, and I walk past the darkened room and press my back against the cool metal of my locker. I can do this.

The emerald eyed, silver fox works for el cerro. I'm moving in the right direction. I'm here for the cash flow and to unveil the scumbag. I got this.

The rest of my shift goes smoothly, but by the end of the night, I want to yell at someone, anyone. I'm sick of smiling; my face fucking hurts. The mask clings to my face as it drips sweat, I stink of booze, my feet are throbbing, and I can feel an ugly blister growing on the back of my ankle. I want to take off the thong that's stuck between my ass cheeks and bathe the fucking night away.

"I have to count the tips for the bartenders. Give me twenty minutes." Jasmin's all business as she lays out the bills on the bar.

"I'll wait outside with security," I tell her as I put my hooded, knee length cardigan on and toss my backpack over my shoulder. I'm tired of naked bodies, and the staff area currently has three naked men and two women going at it—full orgy. I'm good.

"You did amazing tonight," she calls and I smile.

The late night, early morning offers a cool breeze in the otherwise balmy darkness, and I rustle in my cardigan, eager to feel it all over. I want to rip the fucking mask off my face, but I notice the security guard still has his on, even though all of Nym-Pho's clients are gone.

He's smoking a cigarette, the cherry bud burns bright, and the smoke travels to me and swirls in my face. He nods, acknowledging me, but keeps his thoughts to himself and I'm grateful. I can't come up with more bullshit to say tonight.

Suddenly, a bright strobe of light beams in our direction, blinding me. A shriek pierces the still night. Fuck, cops. I don't know why I freeze. I'm not doing anything wrong, but the corruption brimming their shields stills my heart and suffocates me. Taking me back to the night my parents were killed.

"Remove the masks. Zorro's party is over."

I want to roll my eyes at the stupid comparison, but stop myself. I recognize that voice. It's Detective Lloyd. Fuck, what if Dylan is with him? I don't look at the security guard, and he doesn't look at me, but we both take our masks off.

"Well, well, well. Who do we have here?" He hooks his finger under my chin and lifts my eyes to his. The fucker's face is split in two, a ridiculous smile taking over his splotchy face. "Justice, I'm going to bring you in for underage drinking and employment to an establishment that clearly caters to stuff you have no business being a part of."

There is no better time to come clean. "I'm not underage, Detective Lloyd."

"You can tell me all about it at the station. Come on."

He jerks me around and throws my backpack to his comrade. Not Dylan. Fuck, where is he when you need him? I have a feeling he'd handle all of this differently and wouldn't allow any other to cuff me. Lloyd slaps shackles on my wrists and then pulls me to his squad car.

I cock my head at the security guard. "Can you tell Jasmin I'll be home after this fool figures out his mistake?"

He nods, his face giving nothing away. He's a stoic statue, and I know he'll deliver my message. Lloyd shoves me in the back of the car and I curse under my breath. "If you bruise me, I'll press charges."

His new partner tells me to shut up and I glare at him. I should've waited with the orgy.

"I already fucking told you, I'm not fifteen, you idiot. If you uncuff me and give me back my bag, I'll show you my identification."

I've been here for two hours. Lloyd and his buddies are beaming, ecstatic to have finally arrested Justice. They're threatening to call child protective services, and I swear I want them to so I can rub it in their faces. But then I'm reminded that Jule is only fourteen, and I wasn't given legal custody. Fuck.

They don't have to keep the handcuffs on, but I think they like it. It gives them power, and it makes me sick. They believe me to be fifteen. I'm obviously not a threat, wearing nothing but fucking belts and an open cardigan. I want to stab my heel into them, which is the only reason I haven't kicked them off. I'm just waiting for one to get close enough. Seriously, the worst night ever!

"What the fuck is going on here? What is she doing here?" Dylan's thundering voice silences the cackling laughter and gurgles.

Lloyd is the first to speak. "She was outside of Nym-Pho, intoxicated. She's naked and underage." He shrugs.

Dylan glares at the men, his eyes darkening as he grabs my arm. His grip is surprisingly gentle, considering he looks like he's about to empty his gun into every man in the room. He turns me around and uncuffs my wrists. I stretch out my arms and then cross them over my body, wrapping my sweater tightly around me.

"I'm not intoxicated. Someone accidentally spilled their drink on me. And I'm not underage." I grit my teeth. "I kept telling them to let me show them my ID, but they won't give me my bag."

I don't know why I'm telling him all of this, but he puts an arm around me and leads me to a desk in the back. He smells of smoky leather and rose. Dylan motions for me to sit down, and I dare not argue because he looks like he's going to whip out a fucking machine gun. A vein on his neck pulses dangerously.

"Bring me her bag."

His voice is steady and menacing. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I'm not afraid. The cops are, though, and it makes me smile.

A stocky detective leans back in his chair. "She's probably got a fake ID. That won't work on us, Justice."

"She's twenty-two. And you would know this if you kept your shit together. But simple data collection proves to be too difficult a task for you idiots."

Lloyds places his hands on his belt buckle. He looks at me, and Dylan bristles and moves to stand in front of me, blocking his view.

"Get me her stuff, now," he enunciates slowly.

A cold sweat seizes my body, and my legs turn to jelly. I don't know how long it will take them to connect the dots, but soon enough, someone is going to come around asking questions about Jule. I have a clue as to why the idea of him being my guardian wasn't questioned–a man caring for his little sister sits better with them. But they fucking hate me, I just know they'll try to take Jule from me. Like we'll ever let it happen, but still. Fuck.

Someone tosses my backpack to Dylan and he holds it over his shoulder. My bag looks tiny against his massive back. He turns and holds out his hand. I don't hesitate, I can't.

We are drawn to one another, joined by a force stronger than either of us has the capacity to explain or understand. At that moment, I'm sure that there is nothing in existence strong enough to wedge our magnetism apart. It's other-worldly, intangible, and it possesses me instantly.

He leads me out, and a quiet stillness wraps around me. He opens the door to his car, and when I slip in, I breathe out, finally feeling the tension ripple out of me. My shoulders slump, and I gently kick my shoes off and wiggle my toes. Dylan gets in and his car rumbles to life. He shifts gears and roars out of the police lot. He's quiet and I lean my head back, way too comfortable in his space.

I breathe his scent in and it intoxicates me and I melt into his leather seat. I feel like I'm falling, losing the semblance of control that I desperately hold on to whenever I'm close to Dylan. The air conditioning cools my feet and the pain ebbs. I pick them up and tuck them underneath me to rub some life back into them. Dylan watches me from under his thick lashes. It's pitch dark out and the road lights toss bursts of light into his car, mixing shadow with light.

The sun will be making its debut for the day in less than two hours.

I look out and notice we're approaching my lot. "You can drop me off at the same place as last time."

Dylan grips the steering wheel and it makes a crackling sound. "Like hell I will."

My head snaps and I glower at him. "You're a cop–"

"I don't give a shit. I'm not letting you walk two steps dressed like that."

"I can take care of myself," I grumble.

"I'm not questioning your self defense skills. I'm driving you all the way home, and then I'm going to wait until you walk inside and close the door."

I don't have the energy to argue. I cannot believe the night I've had. This is definitely a new one for the books. Dylan turns off his headlights and drives into the lot slowly. He parks by my trailer and then steps out to open my door. I'm too slow and tired to argue that I can open my own damn door.

I'm beyond exhausted, and once I'm out, I lean into the closed door for support. "I don't know why you did all of this, but thank you."

Dylan reaches up and cups my chin. The contact ignites me from the inside out. He lifts up my face and then trails his fingers over my cheek. He smooths my hair back behind my ear and grazes his thumb over my jawline. His other hand moves my cardigan open and his breath hitches.

He notices the black metal business card still tucked behind a belt over my breast. It has a gold fox sitting atop a QR code and he peels it off my skin. I freeze at the action, my skin pebbles, and I look at him from under my lashes. He turns it in his hand, separates the money, then slips the card into his pocket.

I gasp. "That's mine."

He shakes his head. "Nope," he says, popping the P. He returns the money to its spot and goosebumps cover me.

His fingers trail down my waist, drawing slow circles over my stomach, and then down to my thigh. The action brands me, claiming me. A low growl escapes his throat, and he leans in. He licks his full lips, and I want to bite them, draw blood and scar his lip. Claiming him the way he unknowingly has me.

Suddenly, Noah's face appears in my thoughts, and a pang of guilt physically knocks me back. I press my hand hard on Dylan's chest and lean away.

"I have a boyfriend, Detective." It comes out all breathy.

Dylan nods and leans back. "And where was he tonight?"

I lift one of my pumps and place the heel of it on his chest and gently push him further away. "That's none of your business. Goodnight."

He lifts up his hands as if surrendering and chuckles. He takes another step back and I move away from him quickly.

"Goodnight, Niki."

I take my walk of shame barefoot, and I don't have to look back to know he's waiting for me to go inside and lock my door. He won't leave unless I'm in the damn trailer. I want to turn around and chuck my shoe at him. I hate how he makes me feel. But I stay looking forward, unlock my door, and close it gently behind me.

The following two days are fucking miserable. When I'd gotten home, Jule was thankfully still asleep. Jasmin and I decided it was best if we didn't tell him anything. She'd been pacing when I came in and wanted to dissect the entire thing. But I relented. If I gave Dylan a spotlight, he would complete the invisible race to wholly own me. I wouldn't allow him to occupy my thoughts. Not while I still had a semblance of control. For a reason I still didn't want to understand, I would lose the battle while near him, or in my dreams.

Nights were the worst. My nightmares imagined Noah grappling to keep me in his arms while a sticky blackness coated me, and I would tumble in suffocating waves of tar until landing in Dylan's waiting arms. During the day, if I wasn't staring into space, I was twitching like a fool. I hadn't gone out to scour for information–I worked my hours at the club, munched on scraps, and slept.

"Hey, you're like the walking dead. What the hell is going on, Nik?"

"What?"

Jule takes a seat next to me on the small bed. "You look like shit, you don't sleep, you don't eat. Seriously, I'm beginning to worry here."

Jasmin muffles her laughter and my brother's eyebrows shoot up, suspicious. "Okay, what's going on?"

"Your sister is drowning between two very desirable islands."

I stretch my legs out on the bed and glare at her.

She shrugs, and when Jule turns to inspect me, she mouths, it's true. The witch, I'll get her back somehow.

"I don't understand. Are we going on vacation?"

Jasmin bursts into a fit of laughter and snorts. I shoot daggers from my eyes and aim them at her. She lifts up her hands as if surrendering, but doesn't stop laughing.

"Whatever. I'm going to take a shower." Jule stands and tosses a towel over his shoulder.

Once he's in the bathroom, my eyes collide with Jasmin's. I have enough dealing with my very own inner turmoil and self-reproach. I don't need her reminding me of the chaos.

I slip on my old Converse. "I'm going out." I reach for my old and worn leather jacket, my ever equipped bag, and shut the door on my way out.

I shouldn't direct my anger toward her, but she definitely isn't helping. It feels like she's enjoying the view of me writhing between my emotions for two very different men.

It's easy being Noah's girlfriend, and my feelings for Dylan are overwhelming. Noah and I are connected by years of friendship and memories, and I don't know who the fuck Dylan really is. All I know is that my body reacts to him involuntarily.

It's as if he owns me and I'm being lent to someone else. It's a horrible thought, but that's exactly how it feels. The idea of belonging to anyone makes my insides turn. But when I picture Dylan's muscular tattooed arms wrapped around me, it feels right.

I'm so fucked.

I want these feelings to go away. Being with Noah feels easy, and it flows in a pleasant way. Even though my body and heart fight it. He's my friend.

I feel horrible about how we left things before his work trip. He'll be gone for three weeks and I never even said goodbye. I was too pissed off at him for being … what? Jealous? He was acting like a boyfriend and I responded by behaving like a fucking harlot. A single one, at that.

Noah is a calm river while Dylan is an ocean, raptured by the fucking storm of the century. I don't know if I want to be in the eye of that storm. And at what cost? Hurting Noah? Never. I could never betray him. I'd fight against my feelings toward Dylan to the death if it meant sparing Noah's heart.

I'm glad that I hadn't heard from Dylan since the night he dropped me off. It was difficult enough to try to understand my feelings for Noah, and I didn't need Dylan around to confuse me any further.

I shake my head and grunt out loud. To hell with both of them. I prefer solitude, anyway. I fling my backpack and dig out my camera. I click through it and adjust the settings. About fucking time I get some real work done. El cerro's case is sitting on my imaginary desk, weighing it down with each passing minute. I haven't seen him at Nym-Pho, but he's bound to show up. It's the perfect place to make dark fantasies a reality. And if I don't spot him, I'll go to his fucking office or house. Whatever it takes.

I'd spent an adequate amount of time blubbering interiorly, and not enough time out scoping the city. After a few hours of walking up and down the city streets, interviewing people, and snapping a few photos of vandalism, or stores that had been recently broken into, I walked into a convenience store and bought myself a bag of potato chips and a bottle of water.

I hated spending money, but I felt like I was going to fucking faint. I finish the bag and toss it in the trash when a long and raspy tsk stops me. A discordant voice is saying my name. I think the harsh whisper is coming from the abandoned, three-story building across the street.

I creep toward it as inconspicuously as I can manage, my eyes down, and keep up a casual stride. I think. If someone is whispering and trying to keep hidden, it's for a reason.

I'm pretty used to this. Usually, if people had a feed, a clue, or information, they would pass it on discreetly. Jule hates it, Noah even more so. It's dangerous, but it's the way I've always worked. It's an occupational hazard.

Once inside, the stench hits me. It reeks of recently run over skunk, swampy mud, and spoiled apples. The mixture of those three isn't something I want floating inside my nostrils, so I cover them up and hold back a gag, threatening to heave the little food I ate before falling asleep. It's dark and muggy inside, the only sound coming from the loud flapping of the construction plastic poorly stapled over the broken windows. The black graffiti stippled alongside the brick walls calls my attention, and as I'm trying to decipher it, a light-brown haired man in his late twenties appears from behind an aged and molding sheet hanging from a low banister.

He looks behind and around me, untrusting the situation. As if to reassure him, I lower my hands in a gesture of peace. "You called?"

"Anyone else here?" He's a tall and muscled man. Light skin, eyes, and hair. Handsome, but fucking deadly looking. I notice a cigarette burning bright between his fingers. I also notice a rippled scar on his cheek that travels down past his jawline.

"Not from my end. You?"

"Of course not," he snaps.

I have the sudden urge to roll my eyes, but when he lifts the cigarette to his lips and sucks in a lungful of its deadly gas, I shrink back. If looks could kill, I'd be seven feet underground. He doesn't look like a cop, not in the least, but something about him gives off soldierly vibes. I'm immediately uncomfortable, and although I have a feeling that what he's about to say is definitely good, I still want to turn around and run the fuck out.

I swallow back my fear and clear my throat. "You have information or something you'd like to share with me?"

"Not really. This is different."

My face scrunches. What? "Okay…" He's going to fucking murder me. I knew it.

The handsome killing machine takes another deep puff and slowly moves toward me, then exhales. He's fidgety, and it's unnerving. His left hand comes up, and he gropes at his bottom lip. "I can't tell you here."

"Then why call me here?"

"I didn't know another way. I didn't want to go to your trailer. I've been waiting for fucking days."

Days?Here? How many days? And why? I look around, and for the first time, notice a backpack leaning on the wall to my right.

"There isn't time for fucking chit chat. We need you to go to the Ink Tavern on Crevice Corner. Be there at exactly six-thirty."

"Why not six-thirty-five, or six-forty-five?"

He eyes me. "Is that your idea of a joke? Fuck, I knew this was a mistake."

A mistake? He doesn't want to be here–someone sent him. "Who's we?"

I think he smiles, but I'm not sure. "You'll see." Mr. No-Humor-and-all-Mysterious turns, tosses the backpack over his shoulder, then disappears into the flapping plastic toward the rear of the building.

"So, where are we headed?"

I normally don't bring Jule along on these missions, but he insisted, since the cryptic and vagueness of the humorless man tugged at his macho need to protect his sister.

"That old bar by Crevice Corner, the one that looks like it's about to crumble on top of whoever's inside."

I'm glad we left Jasmin at home. She pulled a double, and after working with her, I now realize how draining her job is. Not only physically, those fucking pumps she wears are a hazard, but mentally, as well. It truly takes a toll to completely shut down and put on a mask. Both a physical and mental mask, at that.

She has to put her entire personality in a box and pretend for hours to be someone she most definitely is not. I have no idea how she does it, but I have a higher dose of respect for her. And I can't stand her right now. She's the only one who knows I have feelings for two guys and that I don't know what the hell to do about it. It's easier to pretend when she isn't around.

The late afternoon sun bites at our skin, beaming down on us ruthlessly. It feels like I invited the sun to hop into my backpack, and now I'm carrying a ball of fucking fire on my back. I miss the rare bout of rain we had and wish I would've appreciated it.

I have no idea who I'm meeting, and the entire thing has me on edge. I don't want Jule to notice, though. He's so brave and eager, and I don't want to be a little bitch and cause him to feel anything but confidence. We reach the run down tavern and I notice my brother square his shoulders. I keep wondering when the fuck he grew up on me, but I'm glad he's doing a fine job for a fourteen-year-old. He's more responsible and mature than I ever was at his age. In fact, I used to be a fucking snob until I stared the grim reaper in the face.

The metal door creaks open and we rush inside to avoid being spotted. My eyes take time to adjust, and the darkness claws at my scalp. What the fuck did I get us into?

A familiar sing-song voice clears the air. "It's about fucking time."

Piper.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and unclench my fists. Jule's shoulders relax and he's smiling like a fucking idiot.

"What's with the secrecy?" I retort.

She nods, directing me to sit down on a stool perched up by the bar. "We need to talk about your latest post."

Jule's eyes grow, and he pops his gum loudly before letting out a whistle of air. He leans on the bar behind me as Piper takes a seat next to me.

"What about it?" I shrug.

A couple of days after I caught el cerro in his hole of nasty, I posted the video along with a disclaimer that the surveillance was handed to me anonymously. This was only after Jas threatened to take it down herself if I admitted to recording it. It became the newest scandal. The mayor was immediately swarmed with paparazzi, and his lawyers were scrambling to poke holes into my information. I hold back a giggle at recalling an article titled Little Justice League Wannabe isn't Credible and Here's Why. The mayor owned the press, and they were desperate.

Once the initial spur of attention died down, he became a regular at Nym-Pho, only I had yet to see him attend. A place like Nym-Pho promised discretion and anonymity. Of course, he'd end up there.

Piper looks behind her, to the same guy that asked me to present myself, and nods. He rounds the bar and calmly takes a glass, dumps three ice rounds, then pours whisky into it. She gratefully takes it and throws it back. Piper moves it toward him and when he fills it a second time, she chucks it back again. "Another," she heaves.

Jule squeezes my shoulder and I speak his thoughts out loud. "What the fuck is going on, Piper?"

She lets out a strangled breath and stares at me. "I know you're the one who recorded it, but he's convinced it was me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Stop the bullshit. I know it was you!" Piper yells and takes the glass and throws it back once more. "Carlton is my father, Justice! Mace and I just barely got away, and now he's hunting me down because he thinks I've caught his sick ass on video."

Oh shit. I wasn't crazy when I saw similarities between the three. Staring at him to figure out who he reminded me of practically burned my eyes off. But why are Piper and Macy in hiding? What is she hiding?

"What did he do to you?"

As soon as the question is out, I regret it. Piper deflates before me, the wall she's built crumbles, and her shoulders tremble. I guess it helps that her sister isn't around.

"He raped me." Her words are barely audible, and I'm not sure Jule even heard her, but when he digs his fingers into my shoulder, I know he did.

"And Macy?"

Her eyes snap to mine. "The night we left, I stopped him from…" She chokes on a sob, and I nod to let her know I get what she can't say.

The man approaches her, and he's in visible pain, his shoulders quaking slightly. He places his hands on her shoulders and it's then that she takes a breath and stabilizes herself by wiping tears that haven't yet fallen. It's like she's warning her sockets to sponge up any and all traces of moisture. Behind her, the guy gives me a cautioning glare.

"I figure he wouldn't assume we would pose as sex workers, so that's what we've been doing. Until Vork and his men caught us, and then my plan blew up in our faces."

Jule's voice startles me. "We can help you out of this. Nik, we're going to get them to safety. We can't let him find them."

I resist rolling my eyes because even though we can offer protection, I'm not so sure it's what Piper wants. I've never hidden elite patrons. This would not only be dangerous, but completely new territory for us. But the voice my brother uses is authoritative, and he isn't asking me. He's made up his mind, and he's ordering me to offer a ghost status to them.

"What are you offering?" Piper's guy finally speaks.

I sigh. "Normally, there's a firm understanding that this is strictly confidential and sensitive information." I steer my attention to Piper.

"Damn it, Nik. We did this and now we're going to fix it. Fuck protocol!" Jule's fist slams on the bar, and I freeze, frustration threatening to spark into anger. But I diffuse it by breathing slowly.

"What do you need from us?" her guy says, and I'm tempted to ask who the fuck he is when Jule answers for me.

"Complete secrecy, for life."

"Money?" he wonders.

Jule shakes his head and the nameless guy looks at Piper and nods. "You have our word."

I scoff, but when Jule glares at me, I raise my hands, surrendering. He's being erratic and stupid. We have no idea who these people truly are. I need answers before I can comfortably offer them hidden shelter and expose what I truly do.

Behind my hobby as a freelance journalist and now nightlife waitress, I offer refuge to those desperate for protection, those who need to escape from the terrorism of this corrupt city.

It's where most, if not all, of my money goes. We live in poverty-like conditions because that's exactly how we need things to appear. Jule, Jasmin, and I own a private lot with a main house, guest house, barn, and some farm animals. A trusted couple who we hired to maintain it resides in one of the homes. A few times a year, we offer housing, a sort of witness protection service if you will, free of charge. Once new identities and safe destinations are established, the people move on.

My father came from a prominent family, and when he chose to marry a sex worker, his family disowned him. He still had his own money, though, and he invested it in purchasing a farm fifty miles out of city limits. He left it to me after his death, but instead of moving there, I've used it as a refuge.

We'll move there soon. But not yet.

I glance at Piper; she looks like she hasn't slept in days, and I nod. Fuck, I hope I don't regret this. "Pack light, we leave immediately."

Jule and I have been gone for less than two hours, and by the time we return to the trailer, shit has hit the fan and I'm sure things cannot get any fucking worse. We have a new neighbor. The latest, state-of-the-art trailer is the biggest on the lot and the envy of all. The water tank is enormous, a two-thousand-gallon mammoth.

Why the fuck did he move here? To fucking spite me, that's why. To give me a heart attack. I want to bang on his door and fucking smack him.

Jasmin bites her nails and watches me, all humor gone from her heart-shaped face. Dylan is the owner of a brand-new trailer that looks like a two-story, two-thousand-square-foot, high-ceiling mobile home. He's fucking crazy. I think he even got a fucking landscaper to come and put new grass down.

It's two-hundred feet from us. He's our next-door neighbor, for fuck's sake.

"I'm going to kill him."

"Maybe he likes the neighborhood?" Jasmin offers, dry humor in her tone.

My mouth pops open, and I close my eyes as they roll to the back of my head. "I highly doubt that."

"He's outside, he's going to sit down on an outdoor chair, those that lean back." Jule is giving us a play-by-play.

"He's sunbathing?" Jasmin asks, annoyed.

Soon it will be moon-bathing. I slap the thought away. The last thing I need right now is to fantasize about Dylan bathing in anything. My renewed anger toward him helps.

"Whoa, he's got a dog. Like a big one."

Jasmin and I practically run to the window. We hit the shade, and it dances against the glass. Fuck, I'm sure he saw that. It's a black Cane Corso, and he's massive. Tall and lean, but muscular, like his owner.

I step away from the window. "I don't have time for this. Piper is waiting just outside the dirt road. I only came by for the truck."

We keep it hidden and the plates are kept under an alias. A different one from the incognito status we use for the property. We don't want anyone tracking it to any one of us. In order to get to it, I'd have to go to the shed directly in front of our neighbors that live two trailers down. The people here would never divulge what's in there. But now we have a fucking cop living next to us. Shit! How do I get it out without him seeing it?

"How do we do this?" Jule speaks my thoughts and I'm silent. I have no fucking clue.

"I say Justice goes out there."

My eyes are huge. I'm shaking my head, about to protest, when Jasmin lifts her hand up to silence me. "Hear me out. This will work, you know it will. Go out there and talk to him and I'll get the truck out."

"What if he sees you?"

She shakes her head. "He won't be looking at me… just you."

Jule squints, finally realizing the reason why Dylan won't notice anything but me. I don't even know the reason. He's got the hots for me? I don't know. What I am certain of is that he's fucking crazy.

"What the fuck am I supposed to say to him?"

"I don't know. Make something up. Ask him about his dog," she offers.

Fuck. I have to consider this option because at this point, I don't know what the hell else to do.

"And I'll signal you once it's done. That way, we walk out of here together while Jasmin waits with Piper and Macy."

I run my hand through my face and into my matted hair.

"Maybe you should change and brush your hair. Put on my cherry balm lip oil."

"Jasmin, what the fuck?"

Jule raises his hands. "No, she's right. It will help keep him distracted."

"Okay, okay. Fine."

I turn around to toss my leather jacket on the bed. Jule faces the opposite wall, and I switch my black tee for a white, v-neck tank. I sniff under my arms and shrug. Jasmin tugs my shirt down, forcing my breasts to reveal more skin than I'm used to, and then tosses me a pair of black jean shorts. I gawk at her and she shrugs. I put them on and then finish the look with my worn Converse. Jasmin is combing through my locks as I quickly wash my face and tame my brows, then I apply a thin layer of her lip oil.

"Mascara?" she offers.

"Don't push it. And be quick. As soon as he's distracted enough, pedal to the metal."

I wonder what Noah would say about this plan and instantly shove that thought into the darkness of my mind. Piper is waiting, and she needs this. If her father finds them, I know he'll enslave them and do fucked up things to them. I don't know if anyone will suspect my involvement, but we cannot risk Dylan connecting those plates to us. We've worked too hard for everything we're attempting to hold together. And I won't allow this fucker to mess it all up.

I look into the mirror; it's as good as it's going to get. What am I supposed to do? Put on my Nym-Pho attire and give him a private dance? Somewhere in the back of my mind, the inner harlot in me pants. I bite my lip. Get a fucking grip.

I look at Jasmin before stepping out and she gives me a thumbs up. Fuck.

I hop down the five steps and sashay in his direction. He's in a sitting position, legs up, leaning back slightly, with a book in hand. He's wearing gray joggers, and that's it. Holy fuck, I don't know if I can manage going through this plan without my eyeballs combing over his entire body.

His dog sits up and Dylan looks up and moves his sunglasses lower on his nose to peer at me. His lips break into a sinister smile and he says something inaudible to his dog, who relaxes.

He's tattooed all over. His muscled chest and rippled abs are covered in swirls of ink. Two ornate guns are criss-crossed over his pecs, there's a rose on his throat and wings that sprout out on either side of it, and they splay around his neck, choking him. Below the rose, between the guns, is what looks like a heart locket with an intricate design etched inside. A siren, with blank eyes and wild hair, is on his ribs, her torso is skeletal, and I can't keep looking—I'll drown in the sea of them.

I clear my throat. "Fancy finding you here."

He lifts his glasses higher up and I catch my reflection in them. I'm standing with my weight on one leg, my arms crossed in front of me. My chest is threatening to spill out. Good.

"Really?"

I scowl at him. "No. Not really. What the fuck are you doing here?" I hiss.

I realize he's got a direct view of where the large shed is, which really serves as our garage, and I move to the chair next to him on the opposite side. His dog stands, but I ignore him. This needs to work. Worse case scenario, his dog attacks, and then he'll truly be distracted. I swallow and focus on the task at hand. I glance at the dog, who is sniffing the air, trying to get a feel for me. He walks slowly toward me.

"Sit down, Max."

Max doesn't listen to his master, but instead, comes to sniff my knee and then licks it. I laugh and sit down, relaxing in the lounge chair with the perfect view of the truck. I spot Jasmin trotting behind him and unlocking the wooden double doors. Dylan faces me, stunned. He rips his sunglasses off his face. His back is completely turned to the truck.

Max sits down directly in front of me, and I pat his head then nuzzle behind his ears. He nestles into my hand and then lays his enormous snout on my thigh. Dylan stares at us, dumbfounded. He's speechless and I smile big. I'm reminded of my father's smile, all toothy and wide. It doesn't make me sad, however.

"You're such a good boy, Max," I praise and then kiss his nose.

Dylan grins and his legs move and he plants his bare feet on his manicured lawn to face me fully. He closes his book and sets it on the round glass table between the chairs. Fuck, he's hot. Okay, focus.

"Max has never done that before."

"Please, you want me to believe you got a killing machine here?" I rub my finger up and down Max's snout and his face eases onto my lap and he closes his eyes. "You're secret's out, rookie."

He laughs and I see Jasmin pulling out the deep blue, old Expedition. Time for my next move. Dylan cannot turn around. Slowly, I lean forward, and Dylan looks at my breasts, his eyes sweeping up to mine, and he licks his lips.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're trying to distract me."

Fuck, he's a detective, after all. I shrug and bend down to plant another kiss on Max's nose while keeping my eyes locked on Dylan's–holding him there.

"I came here to tell you that nothing changes. Moving to the neighborhood doesn't make you one of us. You aren't welcome here."

I catch sight of my brother approaching us. He waves at me and I stand. "Except you, Max. You're welcome anytime, aren't you sweet boy?" I pat his head and walk to where Jule waits for me.

"I'm on to you, Niki."

I don't turn around. Instead I wave, wiggling my fingers at him. I know he's looking at my ass, so I make sure to walk as seductively as possible, while at the same time ignoring the look of disgust on Jule's face.

He pretends to gag and hands me my leather jacket. I slip it on and we walk out of the trailer lot. Once we're out of view, we start running, and it takes us a total of ten minutes to make it to where Jasmin, Piper, and Macy wait. Jas scoots over and I take the driver's seat. Once the doors are closed and Jule is buckled in, I drive us out of there. The windows are tinted enough that we're not visible to those on the street. I take the highway to avoid the busy traffic in the city and gun it down.

We make it there in just over an hour, and I jump out to open the metal gate. The estate encompasses twenty-five acres and consists of four buildings, a swimmable lagoon, a stable house, and an avocado field. The main house is for Jasmin, Jule, and myself, though we've never stayed for more than a couple of days. It has six bedrooms and four full bathrooms, an enormous kitchen, two fireplaces, and an outdoor, fenced-in patio with an indoor pool.

Helena, Pedro, and their two kids live in another smaller house with an outdoor pool. I hired them a few years ago to take care of the property, and they're the true reason it thrives. Helena used to be a nurse, and she helps out with any injured newcomers.

The next two houses are kept empty for visitors. They're each similar in size, with five bedrooms and four full bathrooms, a kitchen, living quarters, and enclosed patios. The entire property is heavily gated, and we installed security cameras with motion and sound detectors. Both the main house and Helena's house have a room with monitors to view the surveillance footage. Okay, maybe I took it too far. But a fucking killer was out there, and I didn't want him anywhere near here. My father would be proud of the renovations.

Once we're in, Helena and Pedro meet us at the next gate. This one is electric and requires a passcode to get in. We change it every so often. I park the car and Jasmin rushes to Helena and embraces her. Jule and Pedro shake hands and then hug.

"Junior, you're enormous!" Pedro tells my brother.

"Helena, these two ladies will be our personal guests. They'll stay in our home for now. Do you think you can help me get the two conjoined rooms ready?"

"Of course, mija. And supper is ready."

I smile. I love Helena's cooking and she knows it. She also knows we don't ever get home-cooked meals. The makeshift kitchen in the trailer would go up in smoke. Aside from Noah's breakfasts, I've been living off of beef jerky for who knows how fucking long.

While driving to the ranch, Piper asked to stay with us for the night. She didn't want to stay in a new place all alone, especially an entire house, regardless of us being right next door. It would make this the first time someone other than us stays in our home. I would've put my foot down, but Jule is obsessed with being a host.

We're readying the rooms when Helena suddenly stills. "I've missed you."

She embraces me, and it feels a little like home, familiar. Helena was my mother's best friend, the way Jasmin is mine. She's the woman Jasmin threatened to leak my sexcapades to, although I know she wouldn't have the guts to stab my back that way. Helena cares about us, and being here with her feels right.

She stares into my eyes thoughtfully. "You found someone."

My brows shoot up and I clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm dating Noah, remember?"

"Hmm." She grabs my face between her palms and peers into my eyes as though she's searching for something. "No, not Noah."

Oh, my fucking she-devil. I'm not getting into this. I shake off her grip and turn around. We make sure the Jack and Jill bedrooms are ready. We'd placed extra bedding and towels in the closet. The bathroom has extra toiletries and there's a canister with water, as well as two glass cups, near the bedside table. Satisfied, I make sure the television works, and when I turn back to Helena, she's gawking at me.

"What's his name?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I leave the room and step into the hall that connects to the large living room.

The television is on and a freshly bathed Jule is splayed on the loveseat. He's watching an episode of a reality TV show and he's laughing. I grab a stool that's at the bar counter separating the kitchen from the living room, and Jasmin hands me a plate. She too took a shower, and her hair drips onto the back of her shirt. She's barefoot and I smile. My family is home. Soon we'll be able to be here at all times, just like this.

"You'll tell me soon enough," Helena sings as she serves us freshly made hibiscus water.

Jasmin gives her a quizzical look, and I cock an eyebrow at her and shrug. Hopefully nothing else is brought up and I'm desperate for thoughts of any other someone to vanish.

Helena looks over our shoulders to my brother. "Come and eat, Junior."

Jule is still laughing and staring at the TV when he sits down. And it's difficult for us to do anything else but enjoy our meals.