It's all her fucking fault.

And the woman had the gall to be throwing shit at me? I should have tossed her ass out first thing when I'd kicked everyone else out. Nah, scratch that… I shouldn't have let her stay in the first place.

"Is anything you need me to do this morning, boss?" Michael, stealthy assassin that he is, has let himself into the apartment without making a sound. I bury my hands into my hair, scowling out the window over the city. Why do I do this to myself? I've been just fine. More than that, I’ve been completely fucking happy. I ran as fast as I could two years ago after I slept with Sloane because I knew. I fucking knew this would happen, and now look at where we are.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Send out an email to the group. Let them know all future gatherings have been cancelled until further notice."

This is such bullshit. She's ruined the whole thing. Because now, when I think about screwing someone that isn't Sloane, it just feels flat. Pointless. I'm not in love with the girl. I'm not. There’s just something about her that I need.

I forget about the skyline and focus my foul temper on Michael. He's not big on words; I like that about him. Today he doesn't need to say anything, though. His thoughts are right there on his face, plain as day. Bastard thinks this is hilarious.

"And you can wipe the smirk off your face too,” I snap.

"I'm not smirking, Zee. Just merely observing something I never thought I'd witness."

"What are you running your mouth about?" I could happily go for a fight right now—smashing my fist into something would go down just great, but Michael is just being Michael. Besides, we’re two evenly matched for a quick brawl; it would take a lot to ground him. He grins at me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Just this girl. And you. And cancelling your monthly parties. Says a lot, is all."

"It doesn't say anything. Just quit…just quit smirking. Have you heard from Rufus?"

Michael buries his smile and becomes all business. "Yes, actually. He said a report came back from Julio. A girl matching the description you sent out works out of one of his compounds."

"Works?" I know what that means. Julio is one of the biggest pimps in California. His compounds are known all over the country, hell, all over the world for the depraved shit that goes down there.

Michael nods. "Works."

Shit. I should just unhear this information. Julio’s not a guy to be fucked with, and if Sloan's sister has been based there for the past two years, then she’s definitely not the same girl Sloane remembers. She’ll be someone quite different by now.

"Benji sent me a shot he managed to snap off when he was there yesterday. Wanna check it out?" Michael asks. Benji used to be one of Charlie's boys, young, stupid, before he got sent away in disgrace after royally fucking up an armed robbery he was committing his in own time. Three blocks from where he lived. Charlie thought that was stupid. No shitting where you eat and all that.

"He took a picture? Crazy son of a bitch. Julio’ll kill him if he finds out he has a cell inside his walls."

Michael shrugs. "Kid’s been working for the Mexicans here and there. They trust him marginally more than the other runts they've got running for them." Michael talks as he flicks through his phone. He finds what he's looking for and shows me. On the screen is a blurry shot of a young girl with a mass of chocolate colored hair. She's wearing a loose t-shirt that swamps her small frame and her face is only half turned toward the camera, but I can see that she's Sloane’s sister as soon as I lay eyes on her. I blow out a sharp breath.

"Is it her?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it sure is."

"How'd you want to proceed?"

"Fucking carefully." Charlie and Julio were rivals once upon a time. About three years ago Charlie disappeared for a week, told me to stay home which was weird enough, and when he came back things were roses with the Mexicans. I'd been suspicious as fuck at the time—an accord like that is usually only birthed by business, and Charlie's drugs and guns move south instead of north. I'm not some stupid kid, though. I've learned to keep my trap shut instead of asking dangerous questions. "We go up there, Charlie’s gonna know about it."

Michael considers this. The guy’s more than just muscle—his brain is damn lethal, too. I might not appreciate or like it sometimes but he's always got advice on hand, especially when it comes to stuff like this.

"Tell the old man you’re stopping through. And tell Charlie you’re going up there visiting family. You leave it another three weeks and he'll know you need to get a taste of pussy as if you're missing your monthly treat. It’d make sense that you go see Julio."

I grunt. Charlie knows the only family I have in the world, let alone in California, is the deadbeat wife of the uncle who used to beat my ass raw. But it might work, maybe. If I can spin it the right way.

"You wanna take a team up there with you?"

"Fuck no. If I rock up with a pack of boys, we won't even get through the front door. No, I need to keep this small."

"Could take a girl?"

I arch an eyebrow at him, pressing my knuckles into my lips. "What do you mean, take a girl?"

"He'd be expecting that. Sounds like Charlie sends girls to him all the time. He picks up virgins mostly, but occasionally he collects a girl with a little experience. He sends them over to Julio to pass on for profit up in LA. The clientele have a less discerning taste there. Don’t split hairs over how many dicks have already ridden a chick."