“Got it.” I nod, folding my arms over my chest and digging my fingers into my biceps where he can’t see.
He leaves as quickly as he came, leaving me alone with Nico and his dumb-shit followers.
I don’t wait for him to say anything; instead, I walk out the door. I’m sure Nico will have loads to bitch about to me, and at me, later. But for now, it’s fucking showtime.
The music is obnoxiously loud tonight. The booth I’m sitting in is off to the side; Nico is front and center because he wanted the “best view”, leaving me to contemplate how much longer I can do this.
I’ve always been the undercover man. In my sixteen-year stint with the U.S. Marshals, I’ve thrived on infiltrating the worst of the worst situations. Creating different personas is a skill I’mdamn good at. But ten months is a long time for me. Our goal is to arrest the drug dealers, the traffickers of goods, and once I’m in the inner circle, that usually moves quickly. Not this time, though. The longer I stay in this fucked-up world of Oscar Cano, the more I fear I’ll lose myself to the evil for good.
Maybe I just need to call it a day once this is finally over.Ifit’s ever over.
I’m sure Kellen Woodcroft, my friend and leader of his own fugitive task force under the U.S. Marshals umbrella, would have a spot for me on the team in some other capacity. Although, paperwork sounds like my version of hell.
“Next up on stage is Nova,” the announcer calls, pulling me from thoughts of my future and reminding me of my assignment.
My attention turns to the stage, lit up with purple and pink lights, as the deep bass of the next song pumps through the speakers. The first thing I spot are legs as long as the eye can see. They slowly reveal bikini bottoms covered in sequins that the lights bounce off of. The next act—Nova—finally steps fully out onto the stage, leaving my brain completely blank. My assignments, both with the Marshals and Cano, are no longer pounding in the back of my skull. They’re replaced with the vision on stage.
Fifties-style pin-up hair, which I can’t tell the color of with the lights on her, leads to perfect bright-red lips. Her dark eyes captivate and draw me in because it almost looks like she’s assessing the room. Most dancers here have blank stares. They can engage the room, but there’s no life to their eyes. It’s why I never come here unless I’m specifically requested to. It’s unnerving.
Not Nova, though. She’s taking in every inch of the room. She glances at every face like she’s mentally clocking all thescumbags in here. When her eyes reach me, I hold her stare. She faulters for only a moment before resuming her sensual dance.
I tilt my head—a sort of question, if you will.What are you looking for, Nova baby?
Her hands rise above her head, then trail down her cheeks to her chest as her hips swivel to the beat. I can’t look away. I can’t even pretend there are other people here, which is bad news for my actual job.
When she bends at the waist, dipping down before rolling her lush, curvy body up, the break in eye contact forces me to refocus.
Shit.The last thing I need right now is a distraction. I look around, seeing that there isn’t a single person who isn’t looking at the stunner on the stage.
Nico is damn near drooling as he leans forward, trailing his finger up her leg when she gets closer. I jolt in my seat, standing up before I even realize I’m doing it. The table next to mine shoots me a dirty look, so I toss my hand up to placate them before flagging down a waitress.
“Tequila on the rocks,” I order. No niceties, no “please” or “thank you”. I can’t. In order to be a believable dealer and higher-up in Cano’s circle, all politeness goes out the window. I also rarely drink on the job. I can almost always find a way to get soda water with lime. Tonight it feels needed, though.
Nova.
What the hell is she doing in a place like this? Does she know who owns this club? Usually, the only women who are strippers here are the ones who owe Oscar money. They or their families. Nova doesn’t fit somehow. I’m not sure why. I know nothing about her, sure, but there’s no clear desperation on her face, no look that says she’s barely surviving and ready to end it all.
There’s confidence in Nova that I haven’t noticed in any of the women I’ve ever seen at Bella’s before. It’s intoxicating. Intriguing. It makes me curious as hell. And that’s a bad thing.
I can’t be curious about anyone right now. If I get curious, I’ll want to save them and, realistically, I can’t save them all. I had to come to terms with that early on in my career. It almost cost me more than my job, leaving me with a nasty scar running along the length of my back—forever a reminder to stay on task, to keep to my objective.
As if it knows my mind is straying, the long-healed scar starts to itch—a subconscious reaction to being so far from my duty.
My attention turns back to the stage. Nova now has her top off, but unlike every other woman who performs here, she has pasties covering her nipples. They’re glittery, like her bottoms, and no one seems to mind that she’s still keeping some semblance of modesty. But I notice. Another tick in the abnormality that is this woman.
There may not be time to talk to her backstage, but I’m going to try. It’s reckless, stupidity of epic proportion, to talk to her and find out why she’s here. It has the potential of blowing my cover, and Ineverrisk blowing my cover. Plus, I’m supposed to be collecting artifacts, dammit.
But there’s something about Nova. Something in her eyes that tells me there’s a reason she’s here out of the norm. If nothing else, maybe I can tip her off to get the fuck out of here before she ends up somewhere much worse.
I may not be able to save them all, but just maybe I can save one.
“Who are you liking tonight?” Oscar’s voice pulls me out of my very dangerous thinking.
“Got some new ones. They look interesting. Different from the usuals,” I say in a bored tone.
“Vinny did some recruiting the other week. Seems he did well.”
I nod, hoping the fact that I’m grinding my teeth isn’t noticeable.
