“Working.”
“Cool. Same.”
His gaze drops over me, taking in my dirty jacket, scratched hands, and boots.
“You’re sneaking around Salazar Huntington’s villa in boots loud enough to wake the dead.”
“They were on sale.”
His jaw flexes.
I think he might be trying not to smile.
Rude.
“Name,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“Your name.”
I hesitate. “I’m Talia.”
His expression shifts, just slightly. Less irritated. More careful.
“I’m with the Saints,” he says. “Got a tip about a sale here tonight.”
The word sale makes bile rise in my throat.
I grip the front of his cut before I can stop myself.
“My stepsister,” I whisper. “Brianna Hardy. She’s missing. Her boyfriend works for Salazar. Someone said she was seen here last weekend.”
He goes still.
Dangerously still.
“How old?”
“Twenty-one.”
“How long missing?”
“Three days. Maybe more. She texted, but it didn’t sound like her, and her boyfriend, Landon, keeps saying she’s busy, and I know how insane this looks, okay? I know I should have called someone. Should have had some backup.”
“You have.”
I blink. “What?”
His gaze stays on mine.
“You have me.”
Something about that lands too deep.
I do not like it.
I am not here to have feelings about a biker named whatever his name is while my sister is trapped inside a nightmare house.
