“Nicole…” My heart was pounding in my ears, but nothing could block out the way Paulo García repeated my name, rolling it around in his mouth, thick with his accent. “Well, Nicole Harris, I will look into your brother and see what debts he may have. Until then, have a drink, relax.”

One of the men beside the chair brushed his knuckles against my cheek, and I jerked away from him, only to be snapped back into the seat by a harsh grip on my shoulder. Pain radiated from where his fingers dug into my skin. When the man grinned above me I pressed my knees together, trying to shut down the fear.

This is for Chris. Just don’t let them know you’re afraid.

“I don’t want a drink. I want you to accept Chris’ payment so I can leave. Then you’ll never hear from either of us again.” As hard as I’d tried to sound confident, my fucking voice still wavered when the one with the gun approached.

Paulo shrugged. “It will depend on what I find, but my men will take good care of you. I have calls to make.” The one with the gun flashed his teeth in what I imagined was supposed to be a smile. “Play nice for now.”

For now.

The words planted ice in my veins, and I shifted under the grip of the men on either side of the chair, my eyes flicking between the man with the gun and the terrifying one on the couch who hadn’t spoken a word. As soon as I looked at him, he lifted the bottle of alcohol and took another drink, those dark eyes never leaving me.

“Yes, jefe.” The one with the gun nodded, and then Paulo García left the room.

Somehow, I’d actually felt safer with the drug dealer than I did now, and I berated myself for being so fucking stupid as to come inside. I could have stayed on the front porch, or in the damn circle driveway. Thrown the money at him and left, but, no, I needed to come in and let my temper loose.

God dammit, Chris. Who have you pissed off now?

“What would you like to drink?” The one who hadn’t touched my cheek spoke, his grip on my shoulder easing slightly.

“I don’t want a drink! I want him to clear Chris’ debt so I can leave.”

“You’re not leaving until jefe says you can leave.” Gun guy slipped the weapon into the back of his pants as he spoke. “So, you should have a drink as he suggested.”

“No.”

“Do you like tequila? Vodka?” The first man asked it again, stepping away from the chair I was still held in by the asshole that had dared to touch me.

“She looks like she drinks tequila. Probably grew up here in Miami, didn’t you?” Instead of brushing my cheek this time, he grabbed my chin, angling my head back sharply so I was looking into his dark blue eyes. Bottomless pools, and I had no doubt what he wanted.

“Diego, jefe said to play nice.” The guy who had stepped away smiled as the one called Diego released my face, the indentions of his fingers leaving ghost sensations on my jaw. “But you should play nice too, Nicole. Tell us what you want to drink. I'll make it.”

Rolling my shoulders now that no one was pressing me into the chair, I tried to stay calm, to keep them calm by playing along as I scanned the bar from afar. “Fine, sure, but I don’t like tequila. Rum if you have it.”

“Beach girl for sure.”

“Wonder if she’s tan all over?” the aggressive one with the gun asked, his gaze threatening as his eyes roamed slowly down my body. I sat up straight in the chair, pressing my hands against the cushion, fighting the urge to cross my arms over my chest. “What do you think, Marco?” he asked over his shoulder.

Marco was the one walking towards the bar, but he didn’t respond at first. Instead, he stepped behind the bar and pulled down a bottle, the clatter of ice filling the silence.

“Cabrón, you think she’s tan all over?”

“I think that jefe said to get her a drink and have her relax while he figures out the money. So, that's what I'm doing, José.” Marco’s voice was quiet, but strong, and I wanted him to come back. He seemed nicer, less scary, and, despite all my best intentions to show up like a badass and get Chris out of this shit, the others were scaring me.

Chris. My dumbass baby brother.

José laughed quietly, leaning on the matching chair across from mine. “Want to take bets on whether she has tan lines? Eh, Andre?”

All eyes went to the quiet one on the couch, and my stomach turned with the way he looked at me. His arms were covered in tattoos, with another one up the side of his neck, and his muscles more than filled out the shirt. Dark hair, dark eyes, I would have almost called him handsome, except he looked like a killer. Violence was etched in every line of his body, and when he continued to stay silent I felt a shiver rush over my skin.

“My bet is no,” Diego answered instead, but he stepped away from the chair to drop onto the couch beside Andre.

“Oh, I’d bet she’s got a few,” José said, sinking into the chair to lean forward on his knees, eyes never leaving me. “Want to help us settle a bet, belleza?”

“Fuck you,” I spat.

“Maybe later.” The laughter came from Diego, and I swallowed hard, briefly wondering if I could make it to the door… and out of the long drive, before one of them caught me.

Not a fucking chance.

“Here. Drink it.” Marco had returned, offering the glass of rum, another one in his own hand. I accepted it, and he caught my eye as he took a long drink of his own. Like some silent assurance it wasn’t drugged.

Sure, Nicky. Just drink the strange drink the drug dealer’s goons brought you. So smart.

But with all eyes on me, it wasn’t like I had a choice. Finally, I took a sip, the sweet burn of the rum not setting off any alarms, and they all smiled — except the massive guy on the couch.

He just stared, took another drink from his bottle, and stared some more. Dark eyes burning holes in my skin.

So, instead of responding I looked down, avoiding all of them. Praying silently that Paulo García would accept the last of my parents’ life insurance money, and let me go. Let Christopher out of his dumbass debt, and then I’d beat the shit out of him as soon as he was out of the hospital.