ALESSIO
Human trafficking? The words hit me like a gut punch.
I stare at her, genuinely thrown for the first time tonight.
I'd never touch that shit. It's fucking despicable.
Even in our world, there are lines. We deal in guns, product, gambling, protection, but moving people like cattle?
Especially women and girls? That's a special kind of evil I want nothing to do with.
Why the hell is she asking me that?
Then the pieces slam together in my head. The Black Canyon Reapers have been running with a Mexican cartel lately. And those cartels… they're neck-deep in human trafficking. My stomach turns.
I finish my drink. "Did someone you love get trafficked?"
Beccs looks suddenly so lost, so forlorn, it knocks the air out of my lungs. I barely resist the urge to pull her into my arms and crush her against me.
She whispers it like it hurts to say out loud. "My sister."
Fuck.
"And you think the Reapers had something to do with it?"
The pain in her eyes is brutal. It cuts deeper than it should. "She vanished four years ago. Not a trace. But the same day, an MC gang came through town. I found out it was the Black Canyon Reapers. So yeah… it's the only lead I have right now."
I ball my fists so hard my knuckles crack. I want to shake some goddamn sense into her.
"So let me get this straight," I growl, barely holding onto my control. "You think the Reapers might have had something to do with your sister's disappearance… and your brilliant plan is to go work for them?"
She doesn't answer. Just looks up at me with those big, exhausted eyes.
"Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?" My voice rises despite myself. "Walking into that clubhouse, flashing that innocent face around men like Flea and Razor? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Beccs meets my gaze head-on; something raw and broken flickers across her face. “I have nothing to live for.”
The words slam into me so hard I actually take a step back. Fuck. This woman. This reckless, brave, devastating woman. I turn away and pour myself another drink, knocking it back in one burning swallow. She sips her beer slowly, watching me like a deer who's accepted her fate as the wolf closes in.
I slam the glass down. "Does the name The Collector mean anything to you?"
She shakes her head.
"How about El Recaudador?"
Again, nothing. Just a slow shake of her head. And for a split second, I see a spark of desperate hope light up in her eyes.
"Why?" she asks, in a faltering voice. "Do you think he might have something to do with Rach—"
"No." I cut her off hard.
I stare at her for a long moment, searching her face. I've seen the best actors in the world try to lie to me. Nobody is that good. This isn't an act. She has no idea who the Collector is. She's clean.
I'm not ashamed of the accusation. Not ashamed of what it took to get the truth out of her, either. In my line of business, that's the job. But something twists in my chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Empathy. Sympathy. I don't have a name for it. I've never needed either one before.
" Trafficking." The word tastes like something I want to spit out. "I don’t touch that,” I assure her. “Never have. I've buried men for less."
She studies me for a long moment, deciding whether she believes me. Then she nods.
Alright. But now we have a different problem. I'd bet half my empire she's on the Collector's radar now. Which means I'm going to protect her. Whether she likes it or not.
I watch her carefully, reading every flicker cross over that expressive face of hers. She's stubborn as hell. If I push too hard, she'll dig her heels in and run straight back into danger just to spite me. I need to offer her something she can't refuse.
I set my empty glass down and meet her eyes. "Would you stop working for the Reapers if I offered you my help?"
Suspicion flashes across her face instantly. "Why would you do that?"
Good fucking question. I rub the back of my neck, buying myself a second to think.
I can't tell her the full truth yet—that I'm already half-obsessed, that I can't get her out of my head, that the thought of her walking back into that clubhouse makes me want to burn the whole place down.
I need a reason she'll accept. One that protects her and gives me what I need.
"Because I can," I say finally, stepping closer. "I've got resources you couldn't dream of. People. Money. Connections inside places the Reapers would never let you near. I can dig into your sister's disappearance faster and cleaner than you ever could alone."
She watches me warily, arms still crossed like a shield.
I continue, voice low and steady. "But I'm not doing it for free. And I'm not letting you keep working there. It's too dangerous."
Her eyes narrow. "So what's the catch, Vitali?"
I hold her gaze, letting the heat between us crackle.
"You pretend to be my girlfriend. Publicly.
At the clubhouse and wherever else I need you.
It gives me an in with them without raising too many questions, and it keeps you under my protection.
No more sneaking around. No more putting yourself in the line of fire.
You help me with the Reapers… and I help you find your sister. "
She stares at me, lips parting in shock. The air between us feels alive again, thick with distrust, desperation, and that same raw, electric pull that's been driving me insane for a month.
I push my advantage. "You'll move in here with me."
Her head snaps back. "What?"
"You heard me."
"No." She steps back, arms crossing tighter, putting air between us like it'll help. "I’ll agree to pretend to date you for a few weeks so I can find my sister. That's the deal. "
"And I'm adding to it. You’ll live here with me, where I can protect you."
"Convenient." She raises an eyebrow. "So let me get this straight. You decide I'm in danger, and somehow that means I move in with you?"
"You think I'm inventing threats to get you in my bed?"
"I think—" She stops, jaw working, considering her words. "An hour ago, I wasn't sure you weren't the reason women go missing in this city. Now you want me sleeping under your roof. Forgive me if that's a lot to swallow at once."
That lands harder than I expect. Fair. I gave her every reason to think it, and I let her sit in that fear longer than I needed to.
"You're not moving in because I want you in my bed every night," I growl.
"Though I won't pretend I'd mind." I hold her stare so she knows the next part isn't a line.
"Razor's crew has your face now. The second they connect you to me, you're not just a mechanic anymore; you're leverage.
I can't watch you every hour of the day if you're sleeping behind a lock some kid could pick in thirty seconds. "
She goes quiet, chewing on that instead of the accusation.
"I don't need a keeper," she mutters, but the heat's mostly gone out of it.
"No. You need someone who can put a bullet in a man's skull before he gets close enough to touch you. I happen to be very good at that."
Her mouth twitches—not a smile, not yet, but close. "That's a horrifying thing to find attractive."
"Welcome to my world."
She's silent for a long beat, arms still crossed, but the fight's draining out of her shoulders. "If I do this, I keep my own room. My own door. My own lock, if I want one."
"Fine."
"And you don't go through my things."
"I already know everything worth knowing about you, Beccs. Going through your things would be redundant." That earns me a glare. Worth it.
She exhales, long and unhappy, like she's furious at herself for the answer she's about to give. "Fine."
I shrug, letting a slow, heated smirk curve my lips. "You like having sex with me."
She lets out an amused huff. "Yeah."
"So let's make the most of this bargain."
She snorts, shaking her head. "Why do I feel like I'm being hoodwinked?"
"You're not," I say, stepping closer until I can feel the heat of her body. "Trust me."
"Trust you?" She laughs bitterly. "I'd rather walk hand in hand with the devil through hell."
I make a show of glancing at my watch. "It's getting late. Let's go to bed."
She gives me a flat look.
"To sleep," I sigh. "You need the rest. Tomorrow morning, when we wake up… all bets are off."
"Fine," she huffs, but there's a spark of reluctant heat in her eyes. "Alright."
I take her hand—surprisingly, she lets me—and lead her down the hall to the master bedroom. She gasps the second we step inside. The room is dark and masculine, dominated by the enormous bed and the same sweeping view of the Strip.
I show her the bathroom next.
Another gasp.
"This bathtub is the size of a small pool," she cries, staring at the massive marble soaking tub.
I shrug. "The shower's nice too. I prefer showers to baths." My gaze drags over her body. But with her… suddenly I'm picturing her wet and soapy, pressed against the glass, and my cock hardens instantly. Fuck. I need to get my shit together.
"There are towels in there, soap, whatever you need."
"Are you telling me I need a shower?" she grins, that smart mouth of hers curving.
"I'm offering," I correct.
I start unbuttoning my shirt. "I'll take one in one of the guest bedrooms."
"Of course," she agrees sweetly. "Ever the gentleman."
I growl and yank her against me, kissing her so hard her knees nearly buckle. When I pull back, my breathing’s ragged.
"That mouth of yours," I grumble, ripping her clothes off.
"I thought sex had to wait until morning," she laughs breathlessly.
"I changed my mind."