Page 37 of Draven

Louise giggles. “Make it good and hard, baby cakes.”

We return to the main part of the club, and the second we’re out of sight, we burst out laughing.

“Fucking baby cakes?” I ask.

Louise grins. “That was fun.” Then her smile falls. “He’s the one, huh? The one who took Kiera and all those other women?”

“Possibly. Although at the moment, we only have Moretti’s word, and he’s a sick sonofabitch too, just like Shala. For all we know, Moretti could’ve given us Shala’s name to try to stop another trafficker usurping his patch while he’s banged up. Until we get hard evidence, I’m taking nothing for granted.”

She nods. “So, what next?”

“Now we know he’s here, we go back to the car, wait for him to come out, then we follow him.”

“You think he’ll lead us to where the women are being held?”

I hitch a shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not. We won’t know unless we track him.” I tuck a lock of fake hair behind her ear. “You ready?”

“You betcha ass I’m ready.”

“Then, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Chapter 14

Louise

Draven’s choice of music leaves a lot to be desired, so I change the radio station from heavy rock to something a little more mellow. With a yawn, I shift my position. We’ve been sitting in my car waiting for Shala to appear for over two hours. My ass is numb, my legs are stiffer than a dead body in rigor mortis, and I need to pee, but I’ll have to hold it. I’ve hung on plenty of times before. Stakeouts are nothing new in my profession, and fortunately, I have a killer pelvic floor. Thank you, Pilates.

I slip off my shoes and toss them on the backseat before changing into a pair of sneakers. If we have cause to travel anywhere on foot, clip-clopping down the street in heels isn’t a good idea. I glance out of the corner of my eye at Draven, who hasn’t taken his eyes off the exit to the club since we got back to the car. His long legs barely fit in the passenger footwell, despite the seat being pushed all the way back. He must be uncomfortable, but he hasn’t made a single murmur in complaint.

Swamped with an unexpected gratefulness, I blurt, “Thank you.”

He casts me a brief glance. “For what?”

“For helping me. For being here.”

He returns his attention to the club. “You’re welcome.”

“Seriously, Draven. I mean it. After what happened between us all those years ago, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d told me to fuck off.”

“I did if you recall, and I got kicked in the nuts in response.”

My lips twitch. “No, you got a knee to the balls for manhandling me.”

“I’ve manhandled you since then.”

And I’m hoping you manhandle me some more.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, well, thanks anyway.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t achieved anything so far, and you still don’t know what payment I’m going to demand once all this is over.”

My heart skips a beat. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

He favors me with a roving gaze, brief but powerful. “Not a chance, sweetcheeks. I always collect what’s due, one way or another.”

An excited tingling sweeps through me, and I fidget in my seat. I don’t get to reply because the side-entrance door opens, and Shala walks out, flanked by the two security guards Draven and I had engaged outside Shala’s office. A third man follows at the rear.

“Showtime,” Draven says, sitting up straighter and banging his head on the roof of her car. “Fuck’s sake. If we have to do any more stakeouts, we’re renting a bigger goddamn car.”

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