“How ’bout you stop wasting my time and hand her over, Perez? That way we can get out of your hair and you can get your ass to bed.”

Julio grunts, clearly unhappy. He pulls the door of the car open wider and moves aside, and there she is, sitting on the back seat. The blurry girl from Cade’s security footage. The girl who witnessed my uncle being murdered. Her hair, thick and dark, has been pinned up into fancy twists and knots. Dark eyes peer out of the darkness, fixed on me, wide and round—she’s afraid. I can see it on her the moment our gazes lock. She’s wearing some sort of dress, looks like a fucking prom dress. All poofy and flouncy. That’s the last thing I fucking need.

Julio jerks his thumb at her, gesturing for her to get out of the car. She slides forward, gathering up the dress so she can clamber out into the night. She’s taller then I expected. Still a foot shorter than me, but taller than she appeared in that video as Hector Ramirez’s men tossed her in the back of that van. She doesn’t move. Looking from me to Carnie and then back to Julio, she doesn’t seem to know who to be more afraid of. I take a step forward.

“What’s your name?” She looks at me, throat bobbing, eyes shining brightly, and shakes her head. “What, you’re not gonna tell me your name?” I ask.

She shakes her head again.

“All right. Suits me fine.” I turn to Julio. “Andreas has proof of funds. We’re done here.”

Julio paces toward me, his wide body swinging as he walks. He speaks so only I can hear him. “You may have me by the balls, but you know me. You know the type of man I am, Rebel. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“You’re telling me that you’re working on a way to kill me, I’m betting.” Julio just stares me in the eye, neither confirming nor denying. I slap him on his shoulder. “Good luck with that, man. You know where you can find me.”

But Julio won’t kill me. He won’t even fuck with my club. He knows there are measures that have been taken. He knows the repercussions, what will happen to him and his familia if he does.

His men have gathered in front of the villa, glaring at us, as Carnie and I begin walking toward the gates. As we pass by the car, Carnie takes hold of the girl’s wrist and tugs her along behind him. He’s firm but not rough. She looks like she’s about to have heart failure, though. She pulls back, trying to wrestle her arm free. Carnie doesn’t let go. He doesn’t give her any other option but to follow us. She stumbles, crying out, but Carnie simply pulls her to her feet and carries on walking.

If Julio’s gonna shoot us in the back, now’s when it’ll happen. But as we reach the gate, the high wrought iron barricade slowly swings open.

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t come back here,” Julio calls after us. I don’t look back. Neither does Carnie. We walk right out of the compound, the girl in tow behind us, to where we’ve left our rides.

Carnie starts the engine of his bike, revving it so we can’t be heard. “What we gonna do about the dress?” he asks. He’s having the same thoughts I did as soon as I saw what she was wearing. The girl can’t get on the back of a motorcycle wearing something so big. It’ll get caught in the wheels or something. I turn to the girl, scanning her from head to foot. She’s started to cry low, exhausted, barely there sobs that shake her whole body.

“What are you wearing under there?” I ask her.

She looks up at me, and bam. It hits me at possibly the most inopportune of moments: she’s fucking beautiful. Even when she’s crying, face covered in running mascara, she’s breathtaking. I can’t afford to be standing around like an idiot in the desert, checking her out, though. “Did you hear me? What are you wearing under that ridiculous fucking dress?’

“Nothing,” she whispers. Her lip trembles, making her look really young. In fact, how old is she? She looks like a kid. A kid in a bullshit dress, wearing nothing underneath.

“Carnie, give me your knife,” I say.

Carnie hands it over, slapping the well-honed blade into my palm, handle first. It’s a serrated, mean-looking thing—great for scaring the ever-loving shit out of people when they’re not behaving themselves. The young woman standing in front of me turns a ghostly pale white when she sees it.

“Please. Please don’t hurt me. I—”

I grab the hem of the long dress she’s wearing and I begin to hack at it. The girl stops talking. I work quickly, cutting the skirt of the dress so that it rests about mid-thigh, throwing handfuls of tulle and other lacy shit onto the ground. When I’m done, I straighten up and the girl’s arms are locked around her body, her eyes clenched tightly closed. Her legs are on show now, and they are mighty fucking fine.

“Which bike you wanna ride on?” I ask her, pointing to them. She looks at me like she doesn’t understand what I’m asking her. “You pick which bike, which means you pick which one of us you’re trusting to carry you.”

“What if I don’t trust either of you?” she asks carefully.

“Then I pick you up and put you on the back of my bike anyway,” I tell her. She lets go of herself long enough to wipe the tears out of her eyes. “That one, then. The bigger one.” She points to my bike. I grin so hard it feels like my face is gonna split apart.

“Good choice.” I’m aware of the fact that Julio hasn’t closed the gates after us; he’s still watching us from the entrance of his villa, bulky form silhouetted against the light spilling out from inside. I start the engine of my Ducati Monster, snapping my wrist as I gun it, warming up the cylinders. I climb on, turning my attention back to the leggy girl at my side. “Get on,” I yell over the roar of the Ducati.