Prologue

PROLOGUE

ESTELLE

"The Whiskey Straight?" I look up at the bar sign, hanging precariously from the joist. One gush of wind and that neon sign is gonna go splat .

"It's not like this is the classiest part of New Orleans," Halo replies. Okay, not her real name. But she likes it better than Lourdes and I think it kinda suits her. She's a badass, like me, but looks like a goddamn angel. That's the part where we differ.

People usually know what they're getting themselves into once they've spent more than a minute with me; I don't mince words and I get straight to the point. Fluffing around is useless and a waste of time.

Unlike Halo's sassy, five-foot-two frame with bootylicious curves, capped off with platinum blonde hair, I'm the polar opposite. Five-six, auburn hair that hangs in loose waves with a slender frame and tits I wish were bigger. Unlike Halo, I have an acid tongue.

"You got that right," I mutter.

"That's what the contact said." Halo shrugs, checking her phone again. "Wanna check it out?"

"I don't think we came all the way down here to play patty cake."

She snorts. "I see you dressed for the occasion."

I glance down at my patent leather pants and ankle boots, paired with a skintight bodysuit and a warm, faux fur pink jacket. I came to get noticed. Good.

That's what I want, but not in the way most people think.

I have one purpose, and one purpose only; and that's to find my sister. Months ago she was taken by what I now know as a sex trafficking ring. I've been trying to track her down ever since.

The police have all but given up, and even though I'm a PI and have connections, every damn lead has turned to a dead end.

I roped in Halo and a few other buddies, most of which hold down day jobs and couldn't come with us tonight. This, however, is my favorite part. One, because people, well, men, always underestimate me. I look soft and I look feminine. I look like butter wouldn't melt in my mouth, and not in a Halo kind of way; she is actually a creamsicle in disguise. I'm more like a jungle cat. One that will strike as soon as I see an opening.

"What's wrong with my outfit?"

She cocks an eyebrow. "Seriously? Are you really going to kick some ass in those pants?"

"They're stretchier than they look."

"They definitely don't look stretchy."

"You'd be surprised how flexible plastic can be in a crisis. Anyway, these pants usually get me what I want fast because men are predictable."

She snorts again.

Halo loves jeggings and any kind of oversized sweater. I don't know why she covers herself up like that, she's gorgeous. She also makes a good sidekick because she's personable and people like her. That often distracts them away from what I'm doing; which is usually casing the joint, trying to find out who's important so I can proceed to find out what I need to know fast. Questioning usually goes one of two ways; bad or worse. Or, very occasionally, they spill their guts before blood is drawn, not that it always comes to that, but I don't ever bring knives to a gunfight.

I never used to be a violent person, but that all changed when Tilly was taken.

The guys who own this bar apparently know all about the trafficking ring that got busted months ago, but ever since the mob got taken down — and subsequently the assholes who operated the network — everything has gone cold. There is no trace of Tilly, and I've got no other leads. To say I'm desperate is an understatement.

What happened to those girls? Some were rescued, but surely not all. Where is my sister?

I push the doors open.

Inside resembles one of those dark, seedy bars you see in the movies where people go to do deals in the back corner. There's a long saloon bar, then tables and chairs scattered around the room with a jukebox in one corner, and pool tables in the other. On closer inspection, it looks like a whole bunch of locals… who are now staring our way.

There's also a couple of dudes in motorcycle jackets shooting pool; a jukebox blaring out country music — okay, not my first pick for a bar like this, but whatever — and a couple of chicks on the far side of the room grinding to the tunes while some of the men on the bar stools watch on.

"We should've brought Kyle," Halo mutters.

I glance at her. "We don't need Kyle."

"But Kyle is kinda scary looking."

I pique an eyebrow. "And I'm not?"

She rolls her lips. "If I didn't know you, I'd be shitting my pants. That winged eyeliner, by the way, so on point."

"Thanks," I mutter, trying not to smile.

I head to the bar, ignoring the curious looks, and move to an open stool.

I give the bartender my full attention. He's a large, heavily tattooed man with dark eyes and a sour look on his face like he just smelled something bad. ‘Trouble' being the something bad.

"You ladies lost?" he says before I can even get a word out.

See, that just pisses me off. No greeting. No smile. No customer service anywhere in this stinking, godforsaken town. It costs nothing to at least be cordial.

"Looking for someone." No need for chit-chat, I like to get straight to the point. "Or two someones; Brew and Haze."

Either he doesn't know them, or he's a really good liar because his face doesn't move. He gives nothing away. I'm pretty sure he has his hand on a gun under the counter, but the hand that I can see rests on the bar.

I don't know what it is about me that evokes violence from the onset. I've only said a couple of words and this guy's ready to shoot me. The feelings mutual, bucko.

"Don't know ‘em."

"You sure about that?"

"Who's askin'?"

"Name's Star, this is Halo."

He snorts. "You superheroes?"

Oh, so we have a wise guy, do we? Fantastic.

Even though this guy is cute, and has a good week's worth of scruff I wouldn't mind tugging on, I refrain from admiring him any more. I'm thirty-three and single, but I didn't come here to match-make or find a fuck buddy. I came here to get answers.

"Something like that."

He leans closer, it's then I notice his eyes are green, not dark as I saw before in the dim light. They're fierce, too, nothing about them — or him — is friendly. "You don't belong here. Better leave the same way you came in before things get ugly."

Strike number two. So much for the all-knowing bartender. What a disappointment. He had so much potential.

"This a bar?" Halo pipes up.

His eyes shift to my friend. "What do you think?"

She glances around. "Well, I see people sittin' around drinkin' and shootin' pool, so I'd say that this is a watering hole establishment that serves beverages." My lips twitch. Oh, she's not done. "I'll take a club soda, please, and my friend will have a shot of vodka in a tumbler." She wags a finger at him. "Not the shitty kind, you hear? The top shelf kind, and hold the ice." Halo doesn't like to drink on the job. Me? I can drink a Russian under the table with his own vodka. Plus, if we're really gonna do this, I need my wits about me. One shot won't hurt, and it might give me a chance to scope things out a little bit more, though I can feel the eyes on us from every angle around the room.

"Your funeral," the man mutters, pushing off the bar to get our drinks.

"See," Halo sounds hopeful. "That wasn't so hard."

I turn around, my back to the bar as I scan the room. "Fuck, this place really needs to work on their overhead lighting."

"You ladies up for a game?" a deep male voice asks.

I turn my head his way and I'm met with a pair of deep blue eyes. So blue they're striking. He has a flock of dark hair which is styled long at the front, short at the back. He stands much taller than me at over six foot, maybe six-three. He's solid, muscled and has a small amount of scruff and a nose ring. A fucking nose ring. He's attractive and he knows it. It's all in the smirk on his perfect looking lips.

He's so pretty that I hear Halo whisper beside me, "Holy fuck."

"You a pool shark?" I toss back.

He smirks wider. He's also got a pretty mouth, but I'd be betting he's not a day over twenty-five. A quick scan of his body tells me he's also a biker; he's wearing a cut-off motorcycle jacket with the emblem on the front; a dirty patch reads: Tail Gunner.

His arms are completely covered in tattoos and when he sees me looking, his mouth turns up at the side.

I've been around long enough to know what one of those is. He sits at the back of the pack on a run with the club, protecting the flock. He's young, so he must be trusted to be given a position like that.

He rubs his chin and all I can think about is how that would feel between my legs. "Maybe."

I give him a chin lift. "Looking for some people. Brew and Haze."

Unlike the unhelpful bartender, this guy's eyebrows shoot up. "And you might be?"

There's no point beating around the bush. "Star, this is Halo."

My best friend holds out her hand as his eyes dip to it. I could facepalm myself. She always brings her manners. "Hello."

I glance at her quickly. Why does she always have to sound so cheerful?

Unbelievably, he reaches out his hand and shakes hers. "Haven't seen either of you around these parts," he begins, leaning on his pool cue looking down my body. "I would've remembered."

"Really?" I cock my head. "That's the line we're going with?"

He glances back at me, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Wouldn't be polite of me to ask you to get down on your knees before you've even had your first drink now, would it?" Goddamn asshole.

"You wish," I mutter.

"What Star means is, have you heard of Brew or Haze? We urgently need to talk to?——"

"Hey, I know where—" Another man walks toward us. He's also covered in tattoos, but he doesn't even get to finish his sentence.

Blue Eyes punches him in the stomach, making him cough and sputter. "Don't mind him. You were sayin'?"

"Brew. Haze. We don't have all night," I spit.

"I'm Brew."

I take a closer look. "Really?"

"Uh, huh. Though, I'll be anythin' you want me to be, Estelle ," he draws out my name. "Why don't you use your real name?"

Wait. My real name?

How does this meathead know Latin?

"The name's Star, knucklehead."

"I'm also good with constellations." He gives me a wink.

The guy he punched shoves him in the side. Glancing at us, he does a double take at my bestie. Judging by the way he checks her out from head to toe, followed by the low whistle between his teeth, he likes what he sees.

So bikers really are all misogynistic assholes just like in the movies. Shocker.

"Ma'am?" the bartender calls and I glance his way. Tossing a twenty down on the bar, I turn back to the two idiots in front of me.

"Stop wasting my time, Pretty Boy. I need to know where they are."

Blue Eyes holds his hands up, palms facing me. "What you gonna do if I don't comply, Mama? Arrest me?"

Mama? Oh, he's gonna get his ass whooped. I can feel a storm brewing.

Meathead number two, Secretary — according to his dirty patch — snickers.

"She's a PI," Halo blurts out. "So technically she can't arrest you, but she's trained in martial arts, excels in stakeouts, surveillance and obtaining classified information from illegal databases." Okay, that last part didn't need to be shared as it isn't exactly legal. "So it may be wise to just answer our questions and we can get outta here and all go home in one piece."

"You wanna stakeout my bedroom?" Blue Eyes snickers.

"Sure your mommy won't mind?" I toss back.

His smile drops, but his friend explodes with laughter as he pats Blue Eyes on the back.. "She psychic, bro? How does she know you still live with your mom?"

I'm glad to see my instincts are not far off.

"I think I'm in love." Blue Eyes holds a hand over his heart, his eyes squeezed shut. When he opens them, he adds, "Oh, and for the record, honey , my mom lives with me because she's recently single and I'm a good son who looks after those he cares about. I treat all the women in my life like they're the only woman in my life." Fuck me if he doesn't check out my rack.

He looks after his mom? Well, I'll give him that. And I'm sure with a face and body like that, he's had plenty of women, but still. Cocky much?

"She looks like she's gonna count to three then nail your ass," his friend laughs.

"So what do you know about the trafficking ring that got busted a few months ago?" I throw at him. "Sources tell me you're the one who knows about it."

He palms the back of his head. "You know, I'll admit I lied about who I am. But the bartender knows exactly who Brew and Haze are."

"He does?"

"He should, he's their older brother."

I turn to look at the dude. He's still watching us and not even making it conspicuous.

"Should you be telling them that?" his friend whispers loudly.

"Nah, but it'd be good to see someone kick Hustle's ass."

We're wasting time.

"What do you wanna know about the trafficking ring?" Blue Eyes gives me a chin lift.

I'm not spilling my guts to him right away. I don't trust him as far as I could throw him, or anyone in this room, aside from Halo.

"Everything. Someone I care about is involved."

"Brew and Haze weren't there for that takedown," Blue Eyes explains.

"But you know someone who was?"

Silence falls between us. "That's classified, unless you go out with me."

The cocky little son of bitch. Of course, he has no idea I'm fighting for my sister's life, but still. He just found out I'm looking for someone involved in a sex trafficking ring. This guy is so gonna end up on his ass — which is probably as perfect as the rest of him — and I won't need to pay money to see it, I'll be in the front row.

"How about you tell me what you know and I won't fuck up that pretty face of yours."

I wore knuckle dusters for a reason and I'm not afraid to use them.

All I care about is my little sister. Everyone else can go to Hell.

"I don't have that information," he says. "But I know someone who does."

His friend elbows him in the ribs. "Cash won't be happy," he mutters.

Cash?

I make a mental note to look up the NOLA Rebels MC as soon as I get out of here.

Names are better than nothing, though I still don't know if he just lied about these two characters, or if he's just trying to throw me off the scent. The fact is, I have nothing to live for. I don't care if something happens to me. I just want my sister back.

"My Prez, but he's out of town," says Blue Eyes. "But I'll get your number and text you when he's back."

I narrow my eyes. "If you're playin' with me…"

"Is that the sound of a dinner date?"

I wish he wasn't so cute. I don't need complications right now; I just need answers. But I'm tired. I haven't slept properly in months. Finding Tilly has become my new obsession, and every time I get a new lead, I run with it.

"No, but if you give me his number, I'll make it worth your while." As in, I won't kick your ass.

He rubs his chin again, eyeing his friend. "Prez won't be happy."

"Prez definitely won't be happy," he agrees.

I move toward him, running my palm up his chest. His eyes drop to watch my movement. Holy crap, is he… hard?

If the asshole's jeans weren't so tight, I wouldn't be able to notice his huge dick through the material. But then again, perks of the job?

"Give me his number."

"Say please."

"Please," I purr.

He grins. Man, he smells good; clean, like he just had a shower, but also wild. Like even his cologne can't be tamed. It's a heady concoction of cognac and spice and all things nice. Focus!

Our eyes meet and the heat in his eyes stuns me for a moment. This man wants me. I mean, I'm not the prettiest girl in the room, but I keep myself looking as good as I can. I wear makeup, I always have. It covers my dark circles and takes away the nights I don't sleep. And tonight, I wore a bright pink lip gloss to match my jacket, it brightens my face and makes me appear awake. Sometimes I like matchy-matchy.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm playin' with fire?"he says.

Our lips get closer as I flatten my palm over his heart. My pulse is racing as I stare at him, uncaring about anyone else around us. I need this information.

"Give me the number, Blue Eyes." I try not to grit out the last words.

"I think I like Pretty Boy better. And you're just shit outta luck, sweetheart. My Prez will have my balls in a sling if I go givin' out his number?——"

I move fast, tripping him from the inner corner of his ankle and like clockwork; he goes down. He's a stocky guy, but he still falls. Lucky for him, I didn't go for the balls.

I've been doing martial arts for twenty-five years and I can take this punk. I may not be physically stronger, but I'm fast and I know all the weak points. Half on his ass, half on his side, I flip him over as whistles and shouts sound out around the bar. He's now on his knees, and I have a blade at his neck.

This could turn very ugly. I'm beating up a biker and his ego's gonna be hurt.

"Star!" I hear Halo cry, but I'm too far gone.

"You're pissin' me off, Pretty Boy . And if you like your balls where they're currently hanging, I'd give me somethin'."

"Woah, Mama." He doesn't even have the audacity to sound mad. He's… amused? "We should save this for the bedroom."

"I should cut your tongue out. Give me your phone."

He reaches for it. Just as I'm about to take it from him, a distraction at my right is enough for him to get out of my grip as the knife clatters to the ground. He quickly scoops it up before I can kick it away, shoving it in his back pocket. He grips the lapels of my jacket, his eyes dancing in the dim light.

"Don't break anything!" someone shouts.

"She's gonna kick your ass, Nevada!"

Nevada? So this asshole has a name. Good. It'll be easier to hunt him down later if I have to.

"That wasn't very nice." He backs me up against the wall. I break his hold by slamming my wrists into his arms until he lets go, but before I can duck and escape, he plants his hands against the wall on either side of my head.

"Embarrassed in front of your friends?" I snarl.

"I'm the one holding the knife, Mama."

I smirk. "Check again, numb nuts."

He glances down. My pocketknife aimed at his balls; I have another larger one in a sheath under my jacket. "Shit."

"So, if you plan on using that thing ever again, you'll give me what I want. This has already taken up enough time."

His eyes find mine again and I hate myself for the way the blood pulses through my body; the way my nipples pebble and my pussy throbs. It's been a while and this little shithead just so happens to tick all the boxes. Not that I usually go for younger men, assuming he is younger, who knows these days. What I do know is there's electricity buzzing, and that has nothing to do with the fact knives are involved.

"Oh, I'll give you what you want, the question is, will you let yourself enjoy it?"

"Don't test me, asshole. You don't scare me."

"You're in a bar full of bikers and low-lives and you really don't give a shit, do you?"

I steel my jaw. "I just need Cash's number… Anyone's, please!" I sound desperate but I don't care. This is my last hope.

His cocky grin turns south quickly. His hand grips my chin, forcing me to keep looking back at him. "What's really going on, Estelle?"

"Stop calling me that! I told you, my name is Star."

He ignores me. "If I give you what you want you have to promise me I'll get something in return. This kind of information isn't free."

"Your dick sucked?" I throw back. "Fuck you and your friends?"

His voice turns to a growl. "No other man is gonna touch you, got me?"

I swallow the lump in my throat. I hate how hot I get when I hear him say those words. "What do you want?"

He stares at me then says, "I want you to say my name."

I frown. Huh? "What? Why?"

He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, uncaring the pocketknife is ‘this close' to cutting his nads off. I keep my blades sharp, something I hope he doesn't come to realize because I will cut him if I have to. It would be a shame to ruin that pretty face…

"So I can memorize it for the day you say it willingly."

My eyes widen and a snort shortly follows. "You can't be serious."

"Say it."

"What's your…" I know it, I heard that guy yell it out, but I want to hear him tell me.

"Nevada," he says.

My eyes dip to his mouth and I can hear Halo calling my name, her tone worried and frantic.

"Nevada," I whisper, hating myself.

"Say it again."

" Nevada."

His mouth moves to my ear. "That's it, Mama. You keep recitin' that name, pretty girl. Because when we meet again, you're gonna be screamin' it for all of New Orleans to hear. You got me?"

He's dreaming, but I still nod. I need that fucking number. I'm so close…

I never thought I'd honestly walk into the Whiskey Straight and end up using two knives, but life has a funny way of working out.

And this Nevada guy is my only hope at finding my sister.

For that kind of information, I'll do and say anything. I just don't mean any of it…