5
Cade
I tear my gaze away from the complication eyeing me across the bar. My scowl needs a lot of work if Luna still can’t stop dragging her eyes all over me like I’m some tasty snack—despite her friend’s discreet jabs.
“Who’s the buyer?” I ask Hector.
“Some sheikh,” he replie s with a dismissive wave. “You know how those desert kings are. No sense of restraint. Once they set their sights on something, they’ll pay anything.”
I nod, drain my glass, and slam it on the table hard enough to make Hector flinch. Pulling out my phone, I fire off a quick text to Scar to head to the docks. I watch as Scar stands then pulls Kat with him, their exit unnoticed.
“Your boy is meeting us at the docks, right?”
Hector nods. “Ten o’clock sharp. Provided he can tear himself away from the merch. Fuck, that woman can move.” He leers.
I don’t quite get Hector’s meaning until I follow his gaze to the dance floor.
And almost choke on my drink.
Luna and Eduardo are in the middle of the floor, her ass bouncing to the beat in a way that makes my palm itch to spank her. Hard.
She’s fucking twerking on her own grave.
A couple of smoldering glances later, it becomes painfully obvious who those sexy moves are for.
Fucking hell on a stick. I look away, clenching my fists with the effort it takes not to watch her dance for me. It’s like trying not to blink while a fan blows in your face.
The last thing I need is to spook Hector into thinking I’m interested in his merchandise. Which is exactly what happens because he drawls, “The girl likes you.”
“Wrong team, unfortunately,” I mutter.
“Really?” Hector looks shocked, but he visibly relaxes at my admission.
I shrug, lean back, and change the subject. “So, is it the usual MO?”
Hector grins and shakes his head. “Not this time. This one’s high-profile. Her father will tear this place apart looking for her, and CCTV will point straight at us.”
“ Smart,” I praise, knowing fully well there won’t be any footage tonight. I already crashed it.
Hector continues, “She’ll be given something subtle. According to Delilah, she’s too classy to puke in a bag. There are no cameras in the bathroom.”
He’s planned this down to the last detail. He’ll drug her—make her feel sick enough to leave the public eye, where they can scoop her up without witnesses.
“Good one, Hector,” I force through a tight throat.
The dance ends, and Eduardo heads to the bar. He returns with a tray of identical drinks, downs his in one go, then drops a kiss on Luna’s temple before disappearing into the crowd.
My eyes narrow as I watch Luna pick up her glass. She holds it and scans the room until her gaze meets mine.
I will every ounce of fury into my glare. Get the fuck out of here. Now.
Instead, she licks her lips and then captures her lower one between her teeth. Her fingers trail slowly over her plunging neckline, and the movement makes my cock twitch.
I groan inwardly, wishing I could shake some sense into her.
With her eyes locked on mine, she gulps down the entire cocktail like she’s daring me to stop her. Then she smiles, flashing a deep dimple in one cheek, exactly like—
Fuck me.
I shut my eyes tight as a barrage of memories slam into me, sharp and painful.
“You’re going to hell, Caden.”
My mother’s soft voice cuts through my solitude as I tinker away at a bike engine, a cigarette dangling between my lips.
I straighten, drop to the steps behind me, then blow out a perfect ring of smoke. “I already live there, Matilda. Surely, you can still read o n Sundays?” I gesture to the graffiti on the cracked concrete wall behind us. “This is the Hellfire Renegades’ clubhouse, in case you missed the memo.”
She settles on the narrow steps beside me, not caring that her prim beige Sunday dress is getting smudged against the grimy concrete. It’s so different from the tight leathers she wears during the rest of the week.
“I’m talking about your soul, Caden,” she murmurs.
“Well, my soul isn’t going to Mass today,” I snap.
She chuckles wryly, green eyes twinkling, her wheat-blonde hair pinned back beneath a ridiculous fascinator. “Of course, darling. You’d rather get drunk with your father and his men.”
“He’s not my father,” I shoot back. “And I never get drunk.”
“Which is exactly why you need Jesus. Because you’re twelve years old,” she counters, not missing a beat.
“Could’ve sworn I was at least thirty, Matilda,” I snark.
She mutters, almost to herself, “What the fuck did I do to earn a son like—”
“Ah, ah,” I interrupt, exhaling another puff of smoke. “Don’t lose your Sunday salvation,”
She rolls her eyes and sighs, then reaches over and tucks an imaginary strand of hair behind my ear in that motherly way she never quite let go of.
“Fine. I’ll pray for you then.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Matilda only smiles wistfully, that same dimpled, unconditionally loving smile she wore a few weeks later when she saved my life.
And damned hers.
My eyes snap back to Luna, her teasing glances now so blatant, she’s practically begging me to come get her. This spoiled Mafia princess might flaunt sex and decadence, but she’s never truly experienced the horrors of the dark life. Which is why she’d find a man like me fascinating.
Still, that smile will haunt me forever if I let Hector go through with his plan. And since the Middle East isn’t a place I plan to extract a broken woman from, I know I have to stop this sale.
Delilah says something, and Luna laughs—but there’s a delay, the kind that happens when someone’s trying too hard to seem fine. Her eyes take a fraction too long to focus. Then she raises a shaky hand to her mouth.
It’s starting.
She blinks, her face slightly green as Delilah hands her another drink. Luna accepts it clumsily and, for good measure, throws back the second poisoned glass, swallowing hard.
“Can’t fucking make this shit up,” I mutter, grinding my molars as the urge to shake some sense into her morphs into a full-blown desire to drag her out of here by her thick, glossy hair.
Hector is supposed to be wearing concrete boots tonight, Antonov tomorrow, and Alfred Romano next week. But my carefully laid plans are curling at the edges, an imaginary flame licking through them.
“You might want to catch your princess before she falls,” I murmur dryly.
Luna mumbles something to Delilah, who smiles knowingly. Then she stands on unsteady feet and makes a beeline for the bathrooms.
“Bingo,” Hector beams.
And just like that, my countdown starts.
I re-map the place in seconds. Two bouncers at the entrance, one near the bathrooms. Security by the back door. Emergency exit behind the DJ booth—alarmed. Kitchen access to my left. I’ve got two, maybe three minutes, tops, before shit hits the fan.
The most inconvenient detail? I brought my Ducati. Hardly a rescue-friendly vehicle.
I pat my pocket, feeling the syringe of ketamine meant for Hector. Quick, quiet, and efficient. Far better than bullets.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, bringing my phone to my ear, feigning irritation. “For fuck’s sake, man, tie her up if you have to, but I want no marks. Be at the docks now.”
I end the fake call with a disgusted look at Hector.
“Idiots. Last time, my merch was sporting a black eye and broken nose on sale day.”
Hector nods in understanding and shoots Eduardo a subtle look. “Of course. Damaged goods are half their sale price.”
“Don’t I fucking know it.”
I slip out of the club, veering around the building toward the back entrance.
Get in the bathroom, get her out. Two minutes before the chaos hits.
It’s not much of a plan. But it’s all I’ve got.