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“Switch, it wasn’t our enemies that took her. It was a human trafficking ring.”
CHAPTER 2
STELLA
A MONTH EARLIER…
“Fuck no.”
The words hung heavy between us as I stared out the window, watching the pool shimmer in the early morning light. The hedges that surrounded it were all trimmed in perfectly straight, symmetrical lines. A tree limb overhead swayed in the breeze, but there was probably a gardener outthere somewhere whose job it was to make sure no leaves fell onto the water’s still surface.
This place was more of a museum than a home. Signed paintings adorned the walls, and he had artwork displayed in glass cases or sitting atop marble columns. More than once I’d thought about turning a statue on its side just to see how long it took his staff to fix it.
I would applaud their level of efficiency if it didn’t utterly creep me out. Who ironed paint-stained coveralls or neatly folded a thong? Not that I’d ever asked for them to do any of it. My clothes would be on the floor when I went to sleep and in the morning they’d be in the chair by the door.
“What do you mean fuck no,” he bit out, his Spanish accent thickening around the word no as if he wanted to strangle it.
Hell, he probably did. Men didn’t like to hear the word no, and Antonio Sanchez was a man used to having people obey his every command, often while they kissed his ass. It was really rather nauseating, and it took a massive amount of effort for me to refrain from making gagging noises.
Other girls might go gaga over being with a man that had that kind of wealth and power, but it didn’t mean shit to me. We had an understanding. He distracted me whenever I needed it, and in return I didn’t make any demands or ask any questions.
Most of the time, our arrangement worked. Then again, he’d never tried to keep me here.
Crossing my arms, I turned to face him. “Just because I called you papi once in the sack doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”
His lips twitched despite the cold fury lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. Unfortunately, it doesn’t change the fact that my enemieshave figured out who you are and what you mean to me. Until I can track down the source of the leak, I need you to remain here for your own protection.”
I snorted. “You know who my father is. Do you really think this is the first time I’ve ever been in danger?”
“The authorities constantly breathing down your father’s neck is hardly the same thing,” he pointed out as he smoothed his hand down a navy suit jacket that probably cost more than my rent.
The nerve of this motherfucker. That’s okay, he’d soon learn that he couldn’t boss me around like the trust fund babies and socialites that had graced his bed before me. My tiara was made from twisted metal and thorns, not gold and diamonds. I was the daughter of a biker, born with the wind in my face, and I didn’t do hemmed in. No matter the danger.
Antonio’s enemies, whoever they were, couldn’t be any worse than my father’s. His club, even back when he was VP, distributed more drugs than all the various mafia families combined. So, it was never just about the authorities. When you were at the top of the food chain, there were a lot of hungry wolves constantly nipping at your heels.
“You’re right.” I sauntered up to him, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on my face.
If he’d known anything at all about me, aside from how to give me the occasional orgasm, he’d know this didn’t spell good things for him.
“The DEA is my only concern nowadays, but there was a time when that wasn’t the case. Back when my father was VP, I had to worry about some asshole using me to tear down the club he helped build.”
His dark brow furrowed as I gazed up at him, my hand smoothing out the breast of his suit jacket. “Do you know what my father gave me for my sweet sixteen?”
“A motorcycle?”
“Good guess, but no.”
Pain sliced through my chest as images of Switch and me, side by side, bent over the bike my father dragged home from the junkyard assailed me. We worked for hours on end trying to get that piece of shit to start because my father had said if I could get it running, I could ride it. Thirteen-year-old me had wanted that first taste of freedom almost as much as I’d wanted Switch to kiss me.
After a couple of deep breaths, I shoved those memories back into the dark recesses of my mind, hoping they would never again see the light of day. They belonged hidden among the graveyard of useless facts I carried around with me, like most car horns are in the key of F, because it didn’t matter. At least, not anymore.
“He gave me aBeretta Pico 380with the club’s emblem on the grip.” His eyes followed the motion of my hand as I patted the pocket of my overalls, his brow arched at the visible outline of the butt of the gun. “He taught me to shoot it too. Would you like a demonstration before I head over to the shop?”
“Since you obviously can’t be reasoned with,” he growled low in his throat. “Jules will have to watch over you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.” To emphasize my point, I patted my pocket again, the gun’s weight against my side reassuring.
“Jules will watch over you, with or without your consent.” He bit out each word, his fists clenched at his sides. “I have enough going on right now without having to deal with blowback from your father’s club because you refused to listen and wound up dead.”
