I’m afraid. I think I have a right to be, at this point. It’s been two days now since our house was destroyed, and we haven’t made a bit of progress yet. I sit in the SUV, chewing my nails down to the nubs, waiting for Monster to come out of some house in the Eighth Ward. Not any old house, but a drug dealer’s house.

Or that’s my best guess, anyway. Judging by the fact that there’s a guy with a machine gun out front, casually holding it and drinking an orange Big Shot with his free hand.

What Monster should be doing is trying to figure out where the heck his brother is. While he just rolled his eyes and claimed that Dryas was just messing with both of us, I’m not so sure. Those chills down my spine felt awfully real to me.

I shift in my seat, clearing my throat. Jack looks back at me from the passenger seat, unimpressed.

“You need to calm down, Miss Fiore. You’re making me nervous, you hear?” He looks back out at the house, taking in the young man with the gun.

“I’m sure that you’re used to all this, huh?” I ask. Jack just grunts, noncommittal. “Driving around to drug dealer’s houses… this is new to me.”

Jack looks at me and sighs. “It’s not part of my usual routine if that’s what you’re asking. Homie over there looks like he’s barely awake, yet he’s strapped. That shit makes me nervous.”

I nod, looking out the window at the guy we’re talking about. “He’s awfully casual about it.”

As I watch, the front door opens. Monster comes out, followed by one bodyguard. The dark circles under his eyes are even more pronounced than they were yesterday. When he slides into the back seat beside me, I see him wiping what looks like blood off of his knuckles.

Raising my eyebrows, I nod to his knuckles. “I assume it got violent, then?”

He nods, looking tired. “Yep.”

“And?” I prompt.

He looks out the window, a sigh on his lips. “I got the name of someone who is reasonably certain to have been involved.”

“According to the person you just… interrogated?” I point to the cuff of his coat, which has a smear of blood on it.

He doesn’t react other than flicking his cuff so that the blood lands in a blob on the back of the passenger seat. “Yes. At least I’ve got a name. Arturo diSlava, who is tangentially connected to the Salvadorian mafia. We drove them out when we rolled into town. We can keep pressing forward with that.”

“So, where to next, then? Or have you realized that you do have to sleep sometime?” I reach up, stroking the hair back from his temple.

He leans into my touch for a second, his eyes closing. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

My lips twitch. “I see.”

Monster speaks up. “Driver, take us to the Penthouse Club. It’s just off Bourbon Street, on Iberville Street.”

A strip club? I can only hope that Monster’s business there will be brief.

The SUV pulls out. Monster is quiet, thinking God knows what. I slip my hand into his, entwining them. He looks at me, those grey eyes of his shining, speaking of unknown depths.

I grip his hand, letting him know without words that he can rely on me. That I am here for him, no matter what.

He smiles a little, squeezing my hand back. The SUV navigates us to the French Quarter, pulling up outside a trashy neon sign declaring it to be the Penthouse Club. It’s only early evening, not even six yet, but already there are half-dressed girls hanging out of the Club’s doors.

“I’ll be back,” Monster says with a sigh.

My brow knits. “Can I come with you?”

“In here?” he asks, looking at the Club. “I mean… sure. I guess it’s not going to be anything you haven’t seen before.”

I shake my head, climbing out of the SUV. It’s only a few short steps to a waiting bouncer, who asks for our identification. The handoff of a hundred bucks from Monster to the doorman is so smooth, I almost don’t catch it.

“Go ahead,” the door guy says, stepping aside.

“Thanks,” I say, going through the tall wooden doors.

Monster is right on my heels, blinking at the ill-lit space. Jack, the bodyguard, is behind him, the other one staying with the car.

It’s louder than I expected here, a popular rap song booming. First, we have to walk through the marble-topped bar area, where a bartender pours a beer for her sole patron. Then we come out into the main room. It consists of two platform stages for the dancers, with a sea of little tables in between the two, pairs of heavy green plush chairs pushed up to them.

There are only a few people here, men who are already drunk. On the main stage, one brunette strips lazily. A stick-thin blonde in a pink G-string gives one of the patrons a lap dance.

I look to Monster, who scans the whole room. I only notice the second floor of private dance rooms because I follow his gaze there. He jerks his head toward the stairs.

“That way.”

I follow him up the dark carpeted stairs, taking everything in. This is my first time in a place like this, so I have plenty to look at. He pauses when he sees the back hallway, with its employees only sign.

“I think you should stay here,” he says, his expression hardening.

“They burned my house down too,” I remind him gently.

He looks at me for a second, then nods. “All right.”

We head down the innocuous looking hallway. It’s beige, with unmarked beige doors. Monster pauses outside each doorway, leaning close to listen. What he’s hoping to hear, I have no idea.

On the fourth door, his hand goes up. “Here, I think.”

He looks to Jack, nodding to the door. Jack takes the door down with one big booted foot, and it crumples beneath his assault. Feminine screams issue from inside the room. I move to get a glimpse of girls in their panties, standing around a table and packaging up little baggies of white power.

At Jack’s intrusion, the girls put their hands up as one, stepping back from the table. This isn’t the first time they’ve been interrupted doing this kind of work if I had to guess.

“Where’s Arturo?” Monster asks, seeming almost bored. “I don’t want any of you. It’s him I have the beef with.”

One of the pretty Latina girls points to the next office. “He’s there.”

His smile is thin and dry. “Thank you. I’m going to leave my girl here to look after you, so behave.”

Me? I try not to look so shocked. He and Jack storm out of the room. As I stand here, looking at the young Latina girls, I hear the door being breached and several men yelling in Spanish.

“Who is he?” one of the girls asks me, jerking her chin toward Monster.

“Arsen Aetós. He’s taking over New Orleans.” I shrug. “Sorry to interrupt your work day. We’ll be done soon, I imagine.”

And I’m not wrong about that. After a lot of loud swearing in Spanish and some screaming, Monster pokes his head in the room.

“We’re leaving,” he says as if he was just telling me the time.

Shrugging awkwardly at the girls, I follow them out. Monster hustles me down the hallway and outside, his expression grim.

“What, did you not get what you wanted?” I ask.

Monster puts his finger to his lips, making eye contact with me. The SUV pulls up and he practically shoves me inside before he gets in and closes the doors.

“Drive,” he orders, barely glancing at the driver. To me, he smiles. “We got what we wanted. The names of some places where Arturo spends time, and some people connected to him.”

“Should we go back to the hotel?” I suggest gently. “I’m tired.”

Not a lie exactly, although not entirely true. It’s just that Monster is looking ragged. I’ll say I need sleep if it means he’ll rest too.

I look at him, see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Reaching out, I place my hand on his thigh and bite my lip.

“Please?” I ask. “I need you. I need you right now.”

His eyes flash. “Driver? Back to the hotel.”

We’re close to the hotel, and it isn’t long before Monster is carrying me into our suite. His touch is like fire, burning into my skin. I didn’t lie, after all.

I do need him.

The early evening slides away, passing in a blur of mouths and tongues, groans and murmurs. Long after we’ve fucked twice, we lie in bed, drowsing together.

His lips are on my neck, half of his face buried in my hair.

“Your skin is so soft,” he says, whispering into my skin. I shiver and stretch, smiling. “How do you do that?”

“I bathe in the blood of young virgins,” I tease lightly, looking over at him. His hand skims down my bare hip, slipping beneath the sheets that I wrapped myself in.

He touches the top of my thigh, next to my pussy. Swirling his fingertips there, his lips finding a sweet spot on my neck, he is tempting me to initiate another round of intense sex. I know him by now, know how he operates.

I can read his mind, at least where my body is concerned.

“It’s working,” he comments idly. Sliding his hand around to cup my ass, he makes a satisfied noise.

I turn over to face him, cupping his cheek with one hand as I press my lips to his. To my surprise, he doesn’t take control right away. Instead, he seems content to let me set the pace.

My heart starts to thud when I find myself wondering if this is what normal people do. Is this how you kiss when you’re in love? Slow and passionate, like you’ll have all the time in the world with your lover?

I release his lips, leaning my forehead against his. He smiles and pulls my body closer.

“Mmmm. I wish we could stay like this forever.” The words leave his lips, but they could easily have been my own.

I’m careful not to make a fuss. The last thing I want is to make a dramatic scene about how something special is definitely growing between us. I don’t want to scare Monster away.

Let him figure it out on his own. It’s better if he thinks the idea is his and come to terms with it, I think.

So, I lie here, being gently touched by Monster, and I don’t smile.

But I want to. And I think one day soon, I will be able to without repercussions.