“She’s finally agreed to meet in person. I can’t stand her up.”
He straightened his jacket and gave me a playful smack on the ass that made me gasp.
“Go get her, Montgomery.”
I snorted. “I’m not one of your former teammates.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I’ve never smacked any of my former teammates on the ass, gorgeous."
I laughed when he winked and walked out with, “Good luck and be careful."
The upscale cafe where I was meeting Nyla was nestled between a gallery and a boutique. I stepped inside, my sneakers thudding on the marble floor. I felt underdressed, even for a cafe in Hollywood.
I spotted Nyla in a corner booth wearing sunglasses that concealed half her face. I approached slowly, heart thudding. She looked up and smiled when she saw me.
“You came,” I said, sliding into the seat across from her.
“I almost didn’t.”
We sat in silence for a beat, the hum of espresso machines and quiet conversation filling the space between us. Then Nyla reached into her bag and pulled out a slim folder. “I brought everything,” she said. “The transfers, the customers, the texts…”
My breath caught. “And you’re really ready to talk?”
Nyla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m ready to be free.”
We held each other’s gaze for a while.
“Thank you for trusting me, Nyla,” I finally said.
“I wish you hadn’t lied to me in the beginning."
I inhaled sharply. “I couldn't tell you I was a journalist. I didn’t know if I could trust you. Surely, you understand. You trust me now, right?” I pressed. While I had all the information I needed, Nyla agreed to share the dirty details that couldn’t be found in a deep web search. She’d had personal contact with both Rourke and Vauxhall.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “You can even name me as your source, Ava. I don’t care anymore.”
I shook my head. “That will put you in danger.”
“More danger that being a fucking drug mule?” She hissed. She then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated.”
“I get it.”
“You can protect me.”
My eyes widened. “Me? No, Nyla…”
“Your boyfriend, Lincoln. He has a lot of pull with some big names. I saw all those important people at his party,non-celebrities. I bet he can get me away from my manager after this thing blows open.”
With a resigned sigh, I said, “I’ll see what I can do.” Lincoln might kill me for this… or not. Someone needing protection wasn’t something he’d balk at.
Nyla stared at me for a moment, so intently, I knew she was searching for something. Whatever it was, she found it because she nodded. “I’ll tell you everything.”
I sat, riveted, while she recounted how her music career got sidetracked. She’d encountered all the wrong people—sharks looking to take advantage of a young girl who had no experience and no strong support system.
“They started with promises,” she said. “Studio time, exposure, a spot on a tour. I was eighteen and desperate. Ididn’t know what I was signing. I didn’t know who I was blindly trusting. Then came the favors. ‘Hold this package for a friend.’ ‘Take this envelope to a producer.’ I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want to know. But eventually, they stopped pretending. They told me what I was moving—cocaine, fentanyl, pills I couldn’t even pronounce.”
I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting with sympathy and fury on her behalf.
“It’s a distribution ring,” she continued. “It runs through everything—music, sports, film. Celebrities, agents, managers. People with power and reach. I was just a pawn. When I tried to back out, they threatened me. They said they’d leak photos, ruin my career, hurt the people I care about.”
