Salsa (Sultry Nights Book 1)

by Melanie Munton

  “If she doesn’t, I want my money back.” He winks and walks off.

  My smile is still stretching across my face as I head toward my car. That’s when I feel an odd sensation, like I’m being watched. I thought I felt it this morning when I was leaving my house for the studio. At the time, I shrugged it off as paranoia.

  But if I’ve learned one thing over the years, it’s to trust my instincts.

  And my instincts say the suspicious-looking silver sedan parked across the street isn’t empty. I can’t see who’s behind the wheel because the windows are too tinted. I try not to be obvious as I commit the make and model to memory.

  Is Diego having me followed?

  Why would he do that? I haven’t done anything. He has no reason to suspect me of any wrong doing.

  Something tells me I’ll really have to be on my toes tonight at the club. And not just on the dance floor. If Diego has some sort of agenda he’s working behind my back, my senses will need to be on high alert.

  The worst thing about snakes is that they strike when you least expect it.

  Chapter 8

  Max

  Despite getting almost zero sleep last night, I have a plan.

  A plan that’s probably ass backwards crazy, but a plan nonetheless.

  In fact, a lot of things I’ve been thinking lately seem to be generated from the head between my legs rather than the one on my shoulders.

  I didn’t tell anyone about the bag of coke Sophie gave me last night. Not even Ian, my fucking partner who I’m supposed to trust with my life. It’s wrong on so many levels, and that’s not how I operate. I don’t skirt rules and protocol in my job. I’m not one of those agents.

  But there’s never been a Sophie before.

  I never prepared myself for a woman like her to become part of the job. Her involvement shouldn’t change anything, but it has. Too much. Case in point, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.

  My God, I fell asleep last night with her face in my mind and my hand wrapped around my dick. I followed her to her damn job this morning, like a sick, psycho stalker. I could call it surveillance, but who am I kidding? I’m curious about her, and I just wanted to see her again.

  An inexplicable obsession with a woman—a possible witness—is so not the way to begin an undercover operation.

  My background check on her didn’t reveal much. Sophia Fuentes was born in Colombia, her parents immigrated to the United States when she was a kid, and her father went missing thirteen years ago. His body was never found. She lives with her mother and younger sister in a small house in a run-down part of town, and she works at a dance studio during the day, something I was pleased to discover. It’s befitting of her. I like the thought of her teaching dance and doing something she loves in a much safer environment than the one I met her in.

  She has no arrest record, and there is no official information that she has any affiliations with Diego Suarez.

  I have my suspicions, though.

  I read the missing persons report on her father. The fishy stench coming off of it was appalling. If I had to guess, I’d say her father had a run-in with some shady characters—possibly Suarez—and something went wrong. His body was never found because men like Suarez don’t leave evidence of their crimes. And if Sophie’s working for Suarez, there has to be a logical explanation. He must have something big on her or her family, or—

  He’s simply threatening her.

  Whatever the reasons, he has to be controlling her somehow. I consider myself a pretty good judge of character, and nothing else makes sense for a woman like her to even know Suarez.

  The whole situation fucking pisses me off.

  I have to find out what kind of power he’s wielding over her and demolish it.

  Which is why I’m back at Calor for the second night in a row, setting in motion my ill-conceived plan.

  I approach the big dude standing at the entrance to the VIP area. His dark skin and tattoos suggest a Pacific Island heritage, possibly Samoan. His facial expression suggests a take-no-bullshit-from-anyone type of personality.

  “Tell Diego I’m here to see him.”

  I don’t offer my name because I know I don’t need to. Suarez would have spread the word to his men about who I am.

  He sizes me up for about two seconds before turning away to speak into his headset. He’s speaking Spanish, so I catch every word. Being based in Miami, I’ve had to become fluent in Spanish or else I’m at a huge disadvantage. Due to my Italian heritage I’m also fluent in Italian, but that doesn’t come up as often in cases.

  He turns back to me, the same hard expression on his stony face. “Go on up.”

  I make my way up the red carpeted stairs, dodging women decked out in dresses that would be illegal on the streets. They all give me their best bedroom eyes, one even slinking her hand up my arm when I pass. I politely smile but otherwise ignore them. When I reach the second floor, I find Suarez near the same booth we sat in last night.

  But the rest of the scene is not the same as last night.

  He’s menacingly standing over some guy on his knees, snarling in his face with a furious expression. I slow my steps as I watch the situation unfold. The man on his knees looks like he’s pleading with Suarez, tears running down his cheeks. He already has a split lip that’s oozing blood and a black eye. Suarez grabs him by the hair and roughly yanks his head back. I can’t hear what he’s saying from my position, but I can guess this is someone who probably works for him and the guy has screwed up.

  The next thing I know, Suarez fucking loses it.

  He just starts pounding on the guy with his fists. Suddenly, I can’t hear the music downstairs over the sound of flesh meeting flesh. I show no reaction, quietly observing from the shadows. He’s got a pretty mean right hook, I’ll give him that. I’m finally seeing firsthand why he’s so feared in this city. He’s showing absolutely no emotion as he delivers blow after blow to the man’s face. His eyes have glazed over in a way that tells me he’s enjoying beating this man to within an inch of his life.

  Finally, he stops.

  And with careful control, Suarez stands up straight, slicks his hair back with his hands, and re-buttons his suit jacket. Completely ignoring his bloody knuckles and the sweat dotting his brow.

  It’s at that moment that he notices me. And he smiles.

  “Ah, Señor Ramirez. I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

  I step forward. “Nor did I. But I have a proposal I’d like to discuss with you.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Sounds intriguing.” He flicks his wrist toward the man sprawled on the floor, but doesn’t spare him a glance when he speaks to his men. “Get this panocha out of my sight.”

  I redefine my impression of Suarez a little as I watch him take his place across from me in the booth. Last night I saw the cutthroat businessman. Tonight I’m seeing the ruthless dictator who never hesitates to use force and violence to get whatever he wants. I knew all of this about him beforehand, but seeing it in person helps refresh my awareness of who I’m dealing with.

  Sizing up my opponent and all that.

  “What can I do for you?” he asks as he meticulously wipes off his bloodied knuckles with a lily-white handkerchief. “I trust this is about our deal?”

  “Actually, this involves another matter.”

  His eyes gleam with interest. “Do tell.”

  My eyes flick over to the balcony that overlooks the dance floor. She’s down there somewhere. My skin itches with the need to go find her.

  “I confess that a particular woman caught my eye last night,” I say. “I believe she may work for you. And since I’m going to be here for at least the next two weeks, I suddenly find myself in need of…entertainment.”

  His mouth slowly spreads into a vicious sneer. For him, I think it’s the equivalent of someone looking genuinely happy.

  “I understand your plight, amigo. I’m sure I can arrange for this woman to keep you occupie
d. Which one was it?”

  “She said her name was Sophie.”

  His sneer vanishes.

  Shit. She better not be his woman. If she lays in bed with him every night, I might have to shut this place down and arrest his ass tonight. Undercover operation be damned.

  “Sophie would be a good choice,” he says slowly, as if testing out the words. “I’ve known her for many years now. But I’m afraid she isn’t available for loaning out. Perhaps I could interest you in some of my favorites? I can guarantee they’re all experienced and know how to satisfy a man.”

  I fist my hands underneath the table. I hope to God he’s never had Sophie satisfy him in such ways. Otherwise, he’s signing his own death warrant right fucking now.

  “I have no doubt they do,” I muse. “But let’s just say my appetite has been whetted. And when I get a taste for something, I don’t like to move on until I’m completely satiated. You can understand that, I’m sure.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticks. I’m pushing my luck, I know it, but this has to happen. I know it in my gut. So, I decide to sweeten the deal.

  “In exchange for her, I’ll give you that first shipment of bombita for fifteen percent less than my normal price.”

  He narrows his eyes. “I’m sorry, but Sophie is too valuable to my operation.”

  He’s playing hardball.

  Well, I can play, too. After all, it’s not my money we’re dealing with.

  “Twenty percent,” I throw back. “And you must understand this is the only time I’ll ever offer this. The offer will expire in approximately five minutes when I stand up and leave this booth. And I don’t change my mind.”

  He tucks the reddened handkerchief back into his jacket, another man’s blood smeared around his cuticles. His eyes never leave mine. He’s looking for an angle, wondering why the hell I’m so willing to lose out on money for one woman. I can’t explain it to him even if he asks.

  Maximus Ramirez might be brokering this deal.

  But Max Romano is the man who really wants Sophie.

  “My little Sophie must have really impressed you with her…skills.”

  I suck in the expletives that want to fly off my tongue at the implication that Sophie is his anything. “You could say that.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “She is lovely, isn’t she? A fine piece indeed.”

  My hands clench again. He says it like he knows firsthand, in an intimate sense. Or he could just be messing with you. I can’t stand the thought of him touching her with his slimy, psychotic hands. A woman like her being tainted by a bloodthirsty man like him makes me sick to my core.

  “She is,” I finally manage. “Do we have a deal?”

  He responds with a slow nod. “Twenty percent less and Sophie is yours for the duration of your stay.”

  Sophie is mine?

  My dick stirs in my pants.

  Sophie is mine.

  Fuck. Yes.

  Chapter 9

  Sophie

  Am I wearing my sexiest dress tonight in hopes that I run into my dark stranger again?

  Hell no.

  Am I lying right now?

  Posiblemente.

  But whatever.

  He may have rejected and humiliated me last night, but I haven’t been able to get him off my mind. And I feel extra feisty in the slinky red number that dips low and ties in a crisscross fashion in my cleavage, the flirty skirt hitting well above my knees. My silver jeweled heels are the sparkly finishing touch.

  The look gives me the extra confidence I’m going to need tonight when I talk to Diego.

  Juan has my shot of Aguardiente ready for me before I even get to the bar. I immediately snatch it up and pour it down my throat. If I’m going to ask el diablo to give me a waitressing shift, I need all the liquid courage I can stand.

  And when I say waitress, I mean it in the loosest sense of the word.

  The girls here at the club might bring drinks to their customers and work for tips, but they also serve as moving eye candy in the barely-there crop tops and microscopic skirts that Diego forces them to wear. It incites a lot of groping and manhandling that Diego’s goons sometimes stop and sometimes don’t. Some of them don’t really care because they like giving the girls a good squeeze themselves. A few of the guys actually do step in, though, when needed.

  Speaking of waitresses, the one person I can actually call a friend in this place strides up to the bar next to me with an empty tray.

  “How you doing tonight, sugar?” Cece asks.

  I don’t know much about Cecelia “Cece” Ward, but I do know she hails from the swampy Everglades of Florida and still carries the accent around with her, is a former beauty queen, and has a whole lot of dark secrets lurking in her ice blue eyes.

  I hold up the empty shot glass in front of my face. “I’m seriously considering another one of these if that tells you anything.”

  Her eyebrows fly up to her blond hairline. She knows I never have more than my one shot. “Any particular reason? Or is it just one of those nights when you feel like a part of your soul has died from working in a place like this?”

  I smirk. “Maybe just that.”

  She bumps her shoulder with mine. “Buck up, babe. Only a few more hours, and then you can go home to your vibrator.”

  We both giggle.

  “I’m spending all day at the beach tomorrow if you want to come along.”

  That’s another reason why I like her so much. There’s so much sweetness—kindness—underneath her layers of makeup and teased hair that just doesn’t fit in at a place like Calor. If I didn’t detect a distinct edge to her at times, I would say that she’s too soft to work here. But I’ve seen her street smarts. Witnessed the sharp knowledge that only comes from a life predicated on only having yourself to rely on. The girl has seen a thing or two in her life and part of her has hardened because of it. Just like me.

  Suddenly, making a new friend doesn’t sound half bad. Lord knows I don’t have many.

  “I might just take you up on that. How’s the waitressing game tonight?”

  She throws a look of disgust at the rest of the room. “Gearing up to be a dodgy one tonight. And by that I mean I’ll be spending the majority of my time dodging all the lingering hands. There’s a table of suits that are already drunk off their asses and thought it would be cool to start grabbing mine. Kai had to come over and actually pull one of the douchebags off me.”

  Kai No Last Name—at least, I don’t know his last name—is one of Diego’s goons. A hired hand that will do whatever needs done, including working security at the club, roughing up some of Diego’s customers for reneging on payments, and other stuff I probably don’t want to know about. An enforcer, of sorts.

  He started at the club around six months ago, just before Cece did. But I can’t say that he’s like the rest of Diego’s men. For one, he doesn’t touch the girls. Just assholes who cause issues around here. And he’s probably the only one of the henchmen I find attractive. Okay, he’s smoking hot. Has the whole tall, dark, and badass thing going on. And a whole lot of scary. Broad, linebacker shoulders, thick arms roped with muscle and decorated with tattoos. Dark skin and hair as black as night, tied in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. I’m guessing he’s Samoan. I have to wonder how the hell he wound up working for a man like Diego.

  It’s interesting to hear that he has once again protected Cece from handsy customers. That’s happened a lot ever since she was hired. Not that I’m surprised. The man’s eyes never leave her when she’s on shift. He sees everything when it comes to Cece, including every time another man gets too close. It would seem that Kai wants to be the only man noticing her. And she doesn’t seem to mind the attention. In fact, I’ve seen her blush in his direction a time or two. Very interesting.

  My dark stranger’s face flashes through my mind. He hadn’t seemed to like another man getting too close to me either. Which makes zero sense. He doesn’t know me.

  I la
y my hand on her arm comfortingly. “Just remember that when you have to smile and flirt a little with them, you’re not condoning their behavior. You’re just taking more of their money.”

  She chuckles as she loads up her tray with drinks. “Damn right, sugar. And mama’s about to go get her some of that.”

  She sashays off at the same time I notice Kai approaching me. Well, approaching me but watching Cece like a hawk. His eyes never stray from her until he’s right in front of me. Hm. He’s definitely got himself a thing for our little blonde.

  “Boss wants to see you,” he growls at me.

  “What about?”

  He shrugs. “Didn’t say. But he wants you upstairs now.”

  He stalks off without another word, knowing I’ll follow because no one ignores an order from Diego. I step back from the bar to head toward the stairs when a hand grabs my upper arm, stopping me. I snap my head around, ready to unleash holy hell on the bastard who thinks he can just go around grabbing women when I see who it is.

  “Hello again, Sophie,” my dark stranger purrs, leaning his face down to mine.

  Hot damn, he looks even better than last night. The white shirt he’s wearing underneath his black suit contrasts with his golden skin, making my fingers itch to unbutton the whole thing just to see what he’s hiding underneath.

  “You,” I breathe. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  His eyes briefly drift down to my chest before meeting mine again. “Oh, I think you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on.”

  My brow furrows. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He flashes me a hint of his white teeth. More contrast to his dark skin. My pulse races. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  My heartbeat stutters in my chest. What is he talking about? Whatever it is, I’m not sure I like the sound of it.

  My vagina, however…she’s definitely sure she likes the sound of it. That bitch.

  His heated gaze lowers to my parted lips. “Scared, Sophie?”

  Um, a little?

  “Should I be?” I whisper.

  I can’t help but be mesmerized by his dark brown irises. And that scar above his upper lip that gives him a rakish quality. Like a pirate, ready to pillage and plunder. Not to mention it looks like he hasn’t shaved since yesterday morning. I know what it feels like to have that stubble scratch my cheeks and dios mio, I want him to do it again. Until it burns.