“See ya.”
I get on my bike, smiling as I remember McKenna’s wobbly legs when I dropped her at home. For being so damn prissy, that girl is a firecracker in the bedroom, and I worry that I’m getting too attached.
Fuck, I am too attached. Something about her, sweet and sexy and stuck up as all hell, and still, I want her. I want to fight with her and fuck her until she pants my name in those breathy little whispers that never fail to drive me crazy.
“Get your head on straight.”
I say the words out loud over the roar of my bike and head to my meeting with Dominique. The dive bar she sent me to is about fifteen miles outside of Angel Harbor, which suits me just fine. It’s early enough in the day that only the serious drinkers are there, half-sloshed just to make it through the day.
“Chatterbox! Over here.” She waves me over with a dimpled smile, sunglasses on, even in the darkness of the bar.
I growl as I make my way to her. “I told you to stop calling me that.”
Dom tosses her head back, blonde hair spilling over her leather jacket and down her back as she laughs. “I know, but the expression on your face is worth it.” Her slight Russian accent is thicker today, which means she must have spent time with her family. Reluctantly. “How are things?”
“Shitty and complicated,” I answer. “You?”
Dom’s lips twitch with humor and turn to an out-and-out smile when I glare at her. “Good. Work is good. Really good.”
Ah, right down to it then. “Good for you.”
Dom shakes her head. “Business, right? You know, Ace, if you actually spoke too many words, you might shock me into a coma.”
Her smile is playful, and I know she’s not offended by my gruff demeanor or my curt responses.
“Can’t have that happen.”
She laughs again. “All right. So Nico, short for Nicolino Giovanni Seppi. He’s from the east coast. New Hampshire, to be exact. His father, Nicolai Seppi, died of cancer about five years ago. His mother, Gianna Seppi, was so distraught they moved to Los Angeles about three years ago with her best friend, Ariana Barzetti. It’s just Nico, his mother, and her friend. His mother works in the garment district. But Nico? He belongs to your guy, Hector Santos.”
I sat back with a long sigh. “Belongs to as in he’s a piece of ass or he’s part of the Iron Kings MC?”
Dom smiles. “Unknown to the first, and yes, absolutely to the second. He’s just a grunt, not an exec, but he’s been missing for more than a week.”
Shit. “Missing? Reported by who?”
“Mommy. She’s worried about him, but knowing his affiliation with the Kings, the cops are less worried.”
“Last known location?”
Dom sighs and pulls out her phone. “Last confirmed sighting is here, just outside the lobby entrance of Angel Towers with your dead girl.”
She holds up her phone, and I get my first glimpse of Nico and Grace.
“Any photos of other Iron Kings loitering nearby?”
“No,” she sighs. “Which is weird because they never come out, not through the lobby or the underground parking. I assume someone was waiting for them down there, probably the next morning when they went for breakfast or something.”
Her theory is plausible. “Any vehicles belong to the Kings?”
“No. But I’m pretty sure this van is the outlier.” Dom swipes and points to a photo of a nondescript van with no windows except in the front. “No plates, but I have a guy working on it.”
“You have a guy?”
She nods. “You gave me a second chance at life, Ace, and I’m trying to expand my business so I can help people who have helped me. That means I need a guy for shit like this. He’s like my very own Wild Man.”
I shake my head at the hero-worship in her eyes. “I rescued you from that place, but you saved yourself, Dom. Made a life for yourself, a damn good one.”
I shake my head again because I can’t help but think about the young Dominique I rescued from the Russian child traffickers at the port and the woman in front of me today. They are night and day, the victim and now the victor, and I try for a small smile.
“Just be careful with this new guy.”
“Always am. Always will be.”
“Good. Thanks for the intel.” I pull an envelope from my kutte and set it on the table.
Dom’s blonde brows dip into a scowl. “On the house.”
“Dominique,” I sigh.
“You didn’t ask for this. I volunteered, so let’s not do this again. Besides, you paid me handsomely to look into Charles Marin. We’re good.”
She picks up her glass of whiskey with the one ice cube fully melted, shoots it back, sighs, and walks out of the dive bar with all the confidence in the world.