Chapter 17 Isabella
The door to Ice’s bedroom creaks open, and I leap to my feet. Ice’s silhouette fills the doorframe for a second before he steps in and shuts the door behind him. I rush toward him, my relief almost tangible as I throw my arms around his broad shoulders.
“Tell me,” I plead, pulling back just enough to search his face. “How did it go? Are you okay? The kids—did you find them?”
He nods, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “We found the children. They’re safe for now.”
A weight lifts off my chest, but the gravity of their situation remains. “What’s next? Are you going back to get them?”
“Not quite yet. Pack a bag,” he says, urgency lacing his words. “We’re heading to Vapor’s. We need to plan out a simultaneous rescue for the women and their children. Two warehouses, two teams, one shot to get this right. We’re staying the night, so bring enough for at least a day or two.”
I waste no time gathering my things, stuffing clothes into the duffel bag Ice hands me. He packs his own bag, then waits for me to gather my toiletries. I grab his toothbrush too. Men! Always forgetting to bring the important stuff.
When I’m done, we head outside to his bike. I climb onto the back, wrapping my arms tightly around him. The engine roars to life, cutting through the silence.
The ride is a blur of sensations—the hum of the motorcycle beneath me, the wind whipping past, and the steady pressure of Ice’s back against my chest. We weave through the French Quarter, past iron-laced balconies and jazz-infused air, toward the Garden District.
Vapor’s three-story house, complete with a turret, is stunning, like something out of a fairytale. Blue greets us on the porch, her coppery red hair is a fiery beacon. She welcomes us into her home, which has oak floors with intricate inlays, soaring coved ceilings, original pocket doors, and period moldings. As we walk deeper into the house, I stop to stare at the gorgeous millwork. They don’t make houses like this anymore, that’s for sure.
Blue leads us upstairs to a bedroom that speaks of rest and sanctuary, but there’s no time for that now. We quickly drop off our bags before heading downstairs.
“Want to join me in the kitchen for some tea?” Blue asks.
“Am I joining the meeting?” I ask Ice, seeking confirmation.
“You are. Give me a second though.” Ice jogs into a nearby room, leaving Blue and I in the hall.
Blue shakes her head while her emerald-green eyes study me. “Women aren’t typically involved in club business. You must have something they need.”
“They need to know about the warehouse where I worked. Does being excluded from club business ever bother you?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“Not really. It’s safer if I don’t know anything,” she replies without hesitation. “Vapor tells me anything I need to know. The rest doesn’t matter. Ignorance can be bliss. Besides, they’re all good men who are doing the right thing, fighting for justice. That’s really all that matters.”
Her admission is interesting. I would have thought she’d want to know everything, but I guess being left in the dark has its appeal, too. In this world, knowledge is as dangerous as it is powerful.
Ice pokes his head out of the room. “Come on in. We’re ready for you.”
As I walk into Vapor’s office, my eyes dart from face to face, taking in everyone’s expressions. Blue says they’re good people, and I believe her. Her certainty eases the knot in my stomach. These men—my unexpected allies—are committed to a cause larger than themselves. I admire their devotion to integrity because it mirrors my own.
“All right, let’s get down to it.” Vapor’s voice cuts through the silence, his presence dominating the room.
We gather closer as Fang tacks the blueprints onto the wall with a sense of purpose. The paper crackles under his fingers as he smooths it out. “This is the layout of each building. I’ve marked the textile factory to indicate what we know about the guard schedule.”
“Isabella,” Vapor prompts. “Tell us everything you know about the drug cutting warehouse.”
My heart pounds as I step forward, the details spilling from my lips. “The guards work in shifts—three rotations. They’re always armed, but,” I pause, swallowing hard, “they get sloppy toward the end of the night. The workers go home at 9 p.m.”
“Good.” Ice nods and gives me a comforting smile. “That’s our window.”
I watch as they pore over the layout of the drug cutting warehouse. Tank points out possible entry points, while Bones taps on the main entrance, the most heavily guarded area. Their conversation is a low hum, punctuated by Diablo’s occasional questions.
“We need to coordinate the extraction,” Vapor says, pointing to the textile factory on the other blueprint. “Timing has to be precise.”
As their strategy unfolds, I offer what I hope are helpful suggestions. The men listen to me, adjusting their strategy slightly to accommodate my ideas. No one has ever listened to me this closely before. I feel respected in a way I never felt with my own family. Juan never took time out of his day to pay any attention to my thoughts and feelings. This is a refreshing change.
Ice leans over the map. His hair catches the light, and something inside me tightens. He’s putting himself and his friends in danger because of me. I have no doubt now that they’re good men who are trying to do the right thing. They wouldn’t risk their lives if they were terrible people. My brother would never put his neck out to save anyone, but these men would.
“Every second counts,” Bones says, studying the strategy mapped out on the blueprints. “We can’t afford to miss our entry time. If one warehouse warns the other, we’re fucked.”
“Agreed. And once we have the kids and women, we move fast,” Vapor says, his jaw set. “No one gets left behind.”
“Right,” Ice murmurs, and the others echo their agreement.
The stakes couldn’t be higher, and as I listen to them lay out the escape plan for the children, I’m struck by the weight of our impending actions. There’s no room for error. No second chances. Lives will be lost if anything goes wrong. I’ll never forgive myself if any of the people we’re trying to save die because of me. Right now, they’re trapped in a terrible situation, but at least they’re still alive.
My fingers trace the lines on the blueprint, my eyes scanning every detail, every mark we’ve made. “I think it’ll work,” I say, more to convince myself than them.
Vapor’s gaze sharpens. “That’s not good enough. We need certainty.”
“She’s given us everything she’s got,” Ice says, coming to my defense. “From here on out, if shit goes south, that’s on us.”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Bones says. “This isn’t the first time we’ve broken into a cartel warehouse, and it won’t be the last.”
“It’s settled then. Fang, Bones, and Tank, you guys will be in charge of the crew going to the women.” Vapor’s orders are crisp and clear. “Ice, Diablo, and I will handle the kids. We do this clean, no mistakes.”
“Where are you taking them?” I ask.
“Somewhere safe. We never disclose safehouse locations to anyone outside the club. Also, it’s better than you don’t know,” Ice says. “We’ve got this, Bella. We will get those women and kids out of there. Trust me.”
Ice’s confidence is infectious. For a moment, I allow myself to believe in a future where the women and children are no longer trapped in the cartel’s shadow. If everything goes well, tomorrow will be the last day the women have to cut drugs and the kids have to sew clothing.
Vapor disbands the meeting, sending us out of the room. The men’s voices fade as they head upstairs to get some shut eye. Blue steps into the hall from the kitchen. She flashes a dazzling smile at Vapor, who steps to her side. He kisses her softly. “Babe, can you get Isabella something to eat?”
As president of the MC, his authority is absolute, yet there’s a softness in his tone when he speaks to his wife. He clearly respects her.
“Of course. Do you want anything?” Blue asks.
“I’m good. Thanks, babe.”
“Come with me.” Blue smiles.
I follow her into the kitchen, where the scent of simmering spices envelops me in a homely embrace. A woman stands at the stove, stirring a large pot. Her spiky white hair defies gravity, while her muumuu dress adds a splash of color to the room. She reminds me instantly of my grandmother, with the same nurturing eyes and same smile that hints at untold stories.
“Babet, this is Isabella,” Blue says, introducing me.
“Here, chère, take a taste.” Babet hands me a wooden spoon dipped in gumbo, her accent rich with Louisiana’s soul.
I blow gently on the steaming liquid before tasting it. The flavors dance on my tongue, but something is missing. “It needs more salt,” I say after a moment.
Babet laughs, a sound like wind chimes on a breezy porch. “Exactly what I thought. You’ve got a good palate.”
“I learned it from my grandmother when I was growing up in Mexico. She was an excellent cook,” I say with pride.
“Do you still have her recipes?” Babet asks.
“I do. They’re not written down anywhere, but I have them all right here.” I put my hands over my heart.
“I’d love to learn a few,” Babet says. “I know many traditional creole dishes, but not Mexican. I’m always looking for new recipes, especially those that come from grandmothers.”
“When the club is done taking care of their business,” Blue begins, “you’re more than welcome to come over at any time. We could cook Sunday supper together.”
“You have Sunday supper?” I ask, although I’m not sure why I’m so surprised. This club feels more like family than my own flesh and blood.
“Every week,” Babet announces, smiling.
“I’d love to join you.” I beam.
“Let’s finish this up.” She hands me a large grinder filled with pink Himalayan salt. “Go ahead and put as much as you think it needs.”
I add salt then take another taste, adjusting the amount until the gumbo sings with perfection. Babet tries a small spoonful and clucks her tongue with pleasure. That’s how we know it’s ready.
After ladling gumbo into three bowls, Babet, Blue and I sit at the kitchen table. I used to do the same thing with my grandmother, so I feel even more at home than before. It’s like I’m meant to be here.
“How did you meet Vapor?” I ask Blue, curious about her. She snagged the president of the MC, so she’s got to be special. As much as Vapor scares me, I can also tell that he’s exactly the right person to oversee the club. He’s smart, analytical, and the other guys seems to really respect him.
Blue smiles, and it’s as if I’m witnessing a private moment unfold. “Vapor saved me from a life I didn’t choose. My father wanted to marry me off to an old associate of his. Vapor showed up like a knight in shining armor, but with a whole lot of leather instead.”
“Sounds like a fairytale rescue,” I comment, a wistful note in my voice.
“He sure knows how to make an entrance,” Babet says, laughing.
“Oh?”
“He stopped the wedding,” Blue says. “My wedding. My first one, which was never finished. Thank God.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“He burst into the church and all hell broke loose. It was a huge scene. Shootout. The whole thing.” Blue grins. “I wasn’t sure my real wedding to Vapor could top that, but it did. We got married last year.”
“What happened to the guy you were being forced to marry?” I ask.
“Vapor killed him. In self-defense,” she quickly adds.
“Wow.”
“He’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” Blue says, glancing toward the hallway where Vapor left us earlier.
It’s evident that she’s utterly and irrevocably in love with Vapor. And I wonder, not for the first time, what it would be like to have someone fight for me that way. I’m also trapped in a situation I can’t escape, but Ice is working to free me. Sometimes I wonder if what I feel is simply gratitude, but no, there’s more to it. I’m falling in love with everything about him. He’s smart and funny, very protective, and sexy as hell. I can’t forget that.
“She’s a lucky girl,” Babet says.
“Are you with any of the bikers?” I scoop a spoon of gumbo into my mouth. The rich flavors melt on my tongue.
Babet chuckles, a soft, knowing sound. “Those boys? Nah, honey. They saved my life, though,” she says, wiping her hands on a floral apron. “Years back, when I was all tangled up in the wrong kind of living.”
“Wrong kind of living?” I prompt, my curiosity piqued.
“Ran a brothel for the cartel. It was a different lifetime.” She shakes her head, and there’s a shadow behind her eyes that speaks of a past too dark to revisit.
I’m taken aback, my spoon pausing mid-scoop. Never would I have guessed that this punk-grandma figure, who radiates warmth and care, once managed such an establishment under the cartel’s thumb. The very same cartel my family is part of.
“Was it when my father was running the cartel?” I ask.
“Yes. I knew Antonio well.” Babet looks away.
“I’m sorry, Babet, I—” I start, but words fail me. How do you apologize for a legacy of ruin?
“Don’t you fret about it,” Blue interjects. “We can tell you’re nothing like them—your brother or your father.”
“Still, I…” I trail off, guilt gnawing at my insides.
“None of this is your fault,” Babet says softly.
“I just wish I could stop Juan.”
“What will you do after the rescue?” Blue asks, her voice gentle yet probing.
I blink, caught off guard. “I… I didn’t think women were allowed to know club business.”
Laughter spills from Blue and Babet.
“Honey, these men might act tough, but they let things slip more often than not,” Babet says, winking. “If you pay attention, you pick up on things.”
“Trust me, we’re just as kick-ass as the men, but we don’t feel the need to get involved in every detail.” Blue’s declaration rings through the room.
“Interesting,” I murmur, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. Here, in this warm kitchen, among these formidable women, I find a strange sense of belonging, a fierce, unspoken bond of sisterhood that defies the chaos outside.
Babet gets up to clear the dishes and put up the gumbo. I offer to help, but she insists I sit and be her guest for the night.
As she rinses the bowls, her eyes alight with pride while she recounts another tale of club valor. Blue tells me more about how the club rescued a girl who was working at Lulu’s and about how the brothel was closed for good. They also talk about the aftermath of the bombing at the clubhouse. Their strength is infectious, and their resilience a testament to the life they’ve chosen—or perhaps, the one that chose them.
“Isabella?” Blue’s voice pulls me back from my thoughts. “You okay?”
“Just thinking about tomorrow,” I admit.
“Hey,” Babet chimes in, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder, a touch both grounding and reassuring. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”
“Thanks, Babet.” My gratitude is sincere, my affection for these women blooming like night jasmine in the humid New Orleans air. There’s a part of me that wants to stay, to stand beside them, to be part of this family bound not by blood but by choice, by the fierce desire to carve out justice in the city’s dark corners. But do I really want to stay in this life? Even though they’re fighting for justice, they’re still living a dangerous life.
Still, Ice is becoming more than just an ally. Every hour I spend with him brings us closer together, weaving a tighter and tighter bond between our hearts. The thought of severing our connection feels like ripping away a piece of myself. Can I really disappear once the rescue is over? The very idea sends a shiver of fear through me, colder than any threat my brother could muster.
“Time to get some sleep, Isabella.” The low rumble of Ice’s voice cuts through the kitchen like a beacon, drawing my eyes to where he stands in the doorway. When his silver-blue gaze locks onto mine, a shiver of desire runs through me.
“Bed time already?” Blue teases, though her smile is warm and knowing.
“Big day ahead,” Ice responds, his look lingering on me with a silent message that sends my pulse racing.
“Goodnight, Blue, Babet.” My heart races as I follow Ice’s tall frame out of the kitchen. His presence is a force, one that I’m drawn to even as it threatens to upend everything I’ve ever known.
We climb the stairs to the bedroom. The house is quiet, save for the distant hum of New Orleans nightlife, echoing the restless energy coursing through me. The room is a haven, simple yet inviting, and I’m grateful for it.
“Thank you,” I say softly, turning to face him in the dim light, the depth of my gratitude spilling over in those two words.
“I need a shower.” Ice heads toward the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder to add, “You coming?”
It’s more than an invitation. It’s a plea for closeness without words, a silent acknowledgment of the storm we’re sailing into. This could be our last chance to be together before Ice heads out to rescue the children.
Following him into the bathroom, I close the door. As we wait for the shower to get hot, my fingers work deftly at the buckles and zippers that hold him encased in leather and denim. After removing his cut—the vest bearing the emblem of his loyalty and life—I rest it on the large bathroom countertop. Returning to my task, each layer falls away, revealing the lean, muscular build that I’ve come to know with both my hands and heart.
The roles reverse as Ice’s hands work at my own clothes, stripping away barriers until there’s nothing left but skin on skin, vulnerability on vulnerability. We step into the shower together, the water enveloping us, a cascade of warmth that feels like absolution.
Ice’s hands start gentle, tracing paths along my body with soap and water, washing away the day’s grime and fears. But the gentleness soon gives way to urgency, desire flaring between us like lightning across a night sky. Our movements become a dance, each step a claim, each touch a promise. We lose ourselves in the heat, the rhythm of water mingling with the sound of our heartbeats.
Joining as one, I revel in the feel of him inside me. He presses my back against the wall while I wrap my legs around his waist. Each thrust binds us closer together as we race toward a climax.
I come undone, moaning his name as pleasure washes over me. He thrusts deep, spilling his seed and warming me with his love. He clings to me, pressing his face into the crook of my neck for several minutes. Although he doesn’t speak, I feel everything he’s thinking. Tomorrow, we might lose everything. We might lose each other. I can’t even imagine life without this man, and I’m sure he feels the same.
Afterward, the quiet is profound. Ice wraps a towel around me, his movements tender as he dries my skin. There’s a reverence in his touch, a depth of emotion that belies the roughness of his biker exterior.
We crawl into bed, the sheets cool against our still-flushed skin. Ice pulls me close, his arms a fortress as he holds me tight against the uncertainties that await us with dawn’s light. Lying in each other’s arms, we become one with the darkness.
His voice brushes against my ear. “Things are gonna get dangerous tomorrow, Bella. I want you to know… I care about you. A lot.”
I pause, unsure of how much I should tell him. Confessing my love feels like I’d be putting too much pressure on him. I don’t want him distracted tomorrow, so I simply say, “I care about you too, Ice.”
“Still thinking of leaving after?” he asks.
The question hangs between us, heavy and charged.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I confess, a note of despair in my voice. “One day at a time is all I can manage right now.”
“Sometimes that’s the best way,” he says, his breath warm against my skin. As he drifts toward sleep, his final words anchor me despite the tempest roiling inside me. “I hope you stay.”
I hope you stay.
If I could, I would, but I’m stuck at the crossroads, weighing my options. If I stay, what will my life look like? Will we ever truly be free, or will Juan always be there, a shadow waiting to strike?
As much as I wish I had a clear choice, I don’t. A clean break would mean that I won’t ever have to deal with Juan again, but that would also mean losing Ice. I don’t know if I can handle that, not after everything we’ve been through together. At least I don’t have to decide yet. I can wait to see what tomorrow brings.