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Joaquin pushes me down on the brown leather chair and motions for London to start dancing. “I have some questions.”
London nods and starts to swing her hips in time to the thumping Latin beat drowning out all conversation in the club. “Somethin’ wrong, Willow?”
“I’m looking for Sandee,” I tell her honestly. “I haven’t heard from her, and I’m worried. Really fucking worried.”
Her gaze darts to Joaquin and then back to me. “Me, either. It’s been more than a week, and she’s missed a few shifts.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Joaquin asks, his tone all business as she gives me an energetic lap dance.
London shoves her tits in my face with a sexy shimmy and gives me her back, rolling her hips against my lap. I’m glad the dance customer is me and not Joaquin. London is really pretty and sexy.
“It’s been at least two, maybe three weeks, I think. Nogales came in and bought out the champagne room for the night. He took her with him, and that’s the last time I saw her.”
Fuck. That’s what worries me. “He’s still obsessed with her?”
London nods. “Yes. No other girl will satisfy him, just Sandee.”
Shit. The guy is a psychopath, and he’s been fixated on my friend for months. “Has he been in looking for her?”
London freezes and gives my question honest consideration before she shakes her head. “Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen him either. Damn, Willow. Is she all right?”
“That’s what I plan to find out, London. Thanks for the dance, babe. If I had a dick, it would be rock hard right now.”
She laughs and saunters off to the next customer.
We buy three more lap dances and talk to the club manager, Saul. “Haven’t seen her in a few weeks since she left with Nogales. Figured she was moving up in the world.”
Even the DJ answers our questions. “She left before her last dance with that limping biker dude. Haven’t seen her since, but I only work here part-time,” he admits. “Sorry.”
My shoulders fall in defeat after a dozen interviews turn up not one fucking clue about Sandee’s whereabouts. I smack a palm on the bar and order a shot to calm my nerves.
“Come on,” Joaquin whispers in my ear before leading me out of the club and into the stark sunshine of late afternoon in Southern California. “How are you holding up?”
“Honestly?” I sigh and shake my head. “I’m fucking pissed.” I pace the parking lot as I go over all the stories we just heard from the club employees. “Is it me, or are all their stories a little too in sync?”
His dark brows lift in surprise. “Come again?”
“There’s the truth, and then there’s whatever the fuck that was. It’s like they were all reading from the same damn script.” I stare at him, silently begging him to understand what I’m saying, to tell me he saw it too.
He nods. “Yeah, they were all lying, but what we don’t know is which part they were lying about. Did she leave willingly with that asshole, or did he snatch her while they all looked the other way?”
“Shit,” I mutter. “I hadn’t thought of that. Sandee usually tried to keep the peace with Nogales to keep him from going over the edge.”
Joaquin hands me his spare helmet. “With guys like Nogales, going over the edge is inevitable. Nothing your friend did or didn’t do could stop those urges. Sorry.”
“Thanks,” I grumble and slam the helmet on my head with more force than needed, all because I’m angry. Joaquin takes off, and not even the feel of the wind whipping against my skin can temper my anger, my frustration, and my worry about Sandee’s well-being.
I can’t help but think of all the women and girls found floating in the water near the port lately. Any one of them could be Sandee one of these days, and my heart stills whenever a breaking news alert sounds.
So far, thank goodness, none of them have been her, which only tells me that my time—her time—is running out.
“You good?” Joaquin asks over the roar of the bike as we head back to the clubhouse.
I nod in response, but it’s a lie. I’m not good. I’m nowhere near fucking good because I’m scared and worried, and I feel useless. Helpless. Hopeless.
“Liar,” he grins and revs the engine, speeding up because he thinks it will help, but it doesn’t. It can’t, not now.
I squeeze his hard midsection and rest my cheek against the center of his back as the bike eats up the road, taking us closer and closer to safety, to refuge. To booze. To calming the vibrations between my legs.
