I squinted at the cell phone screen, angling the map in different directions.

The Halcyon Casino and Resort was the ultimate in Las Vegas luxury, a five-star hotel sitting above a bustling casino, and home to theatres packaging run-of-the-mill strip shows into tastefully erotic stripteases and live sex into titillating fantasies come to life. I could imagine the massage services at the day spa.

On the surface, it looked just like any other casino on the Strip, which it was to the foot traffic that wandered in off the street, but the adult-only vibe resonated the deeper into the building people went. It had the families running in the opposite direction. Fast.

Sloane rolled over on the bed behind me and sighed. I felt the same way. All the talking over the past couple of days had me emotionally exhausted. At least my black eye was fading. My rugged good looks were coming back with a vengeance.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting beside me, naked as the day she came into this messed-up world.

“We need to get to work,” I replied. “We can’t wait for Gasket. It’s not realistic.”

“Now who’s getting impatient.”

“Fortitude could be dealing with the renegades for years,” I went on. “They could have joined a rival club or be devising a strike on the compound. We can’t bank on their help with the Hollow Men. Besides, there are still things we can do while waiting for the heat to die down.”

“I know,” Sloane said in agreement. “What do you have in mind?”

“It’s been a long time since I was undercover. Things would have changed. The best place to start is contacting some old informants from my FBI days.”

Her brow creased. “Is that smart?”

“It’s a risk, but the Hollow Men know our faces. We can’t just walk into that casino and expect not to be picked up on the security feeds. They’ll have facial recognition.”

She nodded, realizing our predicament. “So we need another way in.”

“I know a guy. It’s a long shot, but he might have some actionable information.”

“An informant?”

“Yeah. I kept in touch with him for a while after Madison died,” I explained. “I’d planned to go back in and finish off King, but other things got in the way. It’s been a few years, but I think it’s worth the risk. He wanted to see the Hollow Men dismantled as much as we do.”

“Common enemy…” she mused. “Who is this guy? Is he FBI?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Guys like him are usually criminals looking for a deal. They’ll turn for anyone who’s got something they want. A get out of jail free card, money…”

Sloane grimaced and reached for one of my T-shirts I’d flung over the back of a chair. Pulling it over her head, she muttered, “Somehow, I don’t think we’ve got anything he wants.”

“Like I said… It’s a long shot. The guy was flaky back then, and when he realized I wasn’t going to do anything about King, he split.”

“So now that we’re on the hunt, he might want back in?”

I shrugged. “Assuming he’s still around.”

“Okay, so when are we going?”

I glanced at her and narrowed my eyes. There was no way in hell I was putting Sloane in a vulnerable position. She didn’t need to be there, getting her face more known than it already was.

“No,” I said. “You’ll stay here.”

“What did I say about wrapping me in cotton wool?” she exclaimed. “I want to go. I need to be a part of this, Chaser.”

“And I don’t need you spooking the informant,” I replied, keeping a lid on my anger. I admired her strength, but there was this thing she had with letting it snowball into stubbornness. “Besides, I don’t trust him. There’s a chance he’ll pull a double cross the moment I show my face. Like I said, allegiance can be bought.”

She hissed and leaned back in the chair, resting her foot in front of her. Hugging her knee, she eyed me warily. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s a risk.”

“A really big one. When are you going?”

“Now,” I replied.

“Now?”

“If I want to catch him unawares, I need to make this a fast turnaround. The less chance he’s got to rat me out, the better.”

Sloane sighed, and her shoulders slumped.

“We’ll only get one chance at this,” I murmured. “We’ve gotta do it right.”

“I know. I’m just…worried about you.”

I kissed her on the lips and leaned my forehead against hers. I traced the curve of her lips with my thumb, studying the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and breathed in her scent.

“This is what I do,” I murmured. “I’ll be fine.”

* * *

Las Vegas hadn’t changed much over the past seven years.

The Strip was wall-to-wall people, the heat was unbearable, and the neon was still in overdrive, as were the showgirls hustling wide-eyed tourists to pay ten bucks for a selfie.

Pushing past a man touting the latest triple-X sex show, I turned down the seediest lane ever and found my way to the back streets. No one in their right minds came here unless they were trying to rob someone, score the latest hard drug, or had a death wish that landed in the gutter.

After all these years, I still couldn’t get over how dull Las Vegas seemed to my eyes away from the flashy casinos. The buildings ranged from beige to gray, the roads were cracked like mud that had baked too long in the sun, and even all the plants looked like the constant barrage of UV rays was bleaching them.

Monroe’s was a classic American diner that sat just north of the Strip, but it may as well have been in another world. Watching the building from across the street, I wasn’t surprised to find the place empty. Back in the day, it used to be bustling. There would be a row of motorcycles sitting out front, a brawl would spill out onto the pavement at least once a week, and the bacon, eggs, and pie flowed like the information Monroe himself gathered for the highest bidder. Until the Hollow Men tightened the screws. That had a lot to do with me, unfortunately, but I wasn’t a remorseful kind of guy.

Thirty minutes waiting in the sun was enough for me. I crossed the street and slinked down an alley a few buildings down, then circled back toward the diner. Waiting by a dumpster wasn’t my idea of a good time, but Monroe would have to come out eventually.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. The back door opened, and Monroe stepped out, caring a full garbage bag. He was a middle-aged African-American man, Las Vegas born and bred. I remembered him being this muscled monster of a man, but he’d put on a few pounds and had evolved into a different kind of solid.

I watched as he lifted the trash into the dumpster, bottles clinking. Didn’t he know recycling was a thing these days?

I coughed, and the man jumped, spinning on his heel.

“Gunnar Mason,” he drawled the moment his gaze met mine. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Still shoveling shit, I see,” I retorted, leaning against the wall.

“I thought you’d be six feet under by now, man.” He shook his head and closed the lid on the dumpster. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and flipped it open. He offered it to me, and I shook my head. “Shit, and you gone straight, too. No smoke?”

“I quit.”

“You quit a lot of things, so I sees.”

“Life has a messed up way of coming full circle.”

Monroe eyed me, then glanced up and down the alley. “Come in. It’s fuckin’ hot out here.”

He opened the back door for me, and I stepped into the dreary diner. The kitchen was just as empty as the front, and the sole waitress could be seen through the partition, mopping the floor of the restaurant.

“Heather, take a break!” Monroe called out.

The waitress scowled and dumped the mop, letting it clatter to the floor. She muttered something foul under her breath and stormed out of the diner. A second later, the bell rang furiously, then the door slammed.

“Raging bitch, that one,” Monroe drawled. “You want a drink?”

I nodded, and he turned to take out a bottle of soda from the refrigerator. Opening the lid, he placed the Coke in front of me. A little vanilla for my tastes, but it was cold.

“So what is it this time?” he asked, settling on the chair opposite. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“You’re barely fifty,” I replied, curling my hand around the cool glass.

“You know me, Gunnar. Without this pile-of-shit diner, I’d be out on the street begging for pennies.”

“So, nothing’s changed?”

He inclined his head. “Once you’re in, you never leave.”

I snorted and took a sip of the soda. Bubbles ran down my throat, doing nothing to quench my thirst.

“Why are you here?” Monroe asked. “I know your kind. You never stop by for a friendly chat.”

He was right. Things never got personal between us, though when I was still undercover, I did my best to keep the heat off the guy. Back then, Monroe’s diner had been a hotbed of underworld information gathering. The best way to describe it was the crossroads of the dregs of society. A trading post of sorts. It wasn’t spoken aloud, but Monroe had always been under the Hollow Men’s thumb. In our world, information was more valuable than the shady goods we peddled.

“They tried to hurt someone close to me,” I said. There was no use hiding my reasons. They weren’t unique in the slightest. Revenge was a mill that kept on grinding around here.

Monroe raised his eyebrows and blew through his teeth. “Again? Once wasn’t enough for you, Gunnar?”

“Believe me, it’s a situation I’d rather not be in.”

“So… I assume you want to go back in?”

“Like you said, I never stop by for a friendly chat.”

“Who’s buying?”

“I pay in blood. You know that.”

“Only because you don’t have King’s money anymore.”

“What good is money when your enemies are still breathing?”

“No cash, no deal.” Monroe stood and pointed toward the door. “You know how things work around here. Get your sorry ass out of my diner, or I’ll have to let them know you were here.”

I smiled up at him, realizing he was old. Not in the age sense, fifty wasn’t ancient, but living his life on the edge of the law had worn him down. His skin was sallow, his eyes watery, and there were lines around his brow and mouth usually reserved for old men. The poor guy had a few liver spots forming, too.

“How long have you had this place?” I asked, staring up at him. “Twenty, thirty years?”

“Gunnar, I’m warning you.”

“I noticed a distinct lack of customers on the way in. The economic downturn doesn’t cater for bacon, eggs, and refillable coffee, does it?”

“What are you getting at, boy?”

“It’s a metaphor, Monroe,” I drawled, smiling at the fact he’d called me boy. “You’re becoming obsolete. Instead of rolling in dirty money, you’re barely keeping the doors open. No one comes north of the Strip.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Depends on how you look at it. I like to view it as an offer.”

His eyes narrowed. “Which is?”

“You get me a way into the Hollow Men’s operation, I’ll get you out of Las Vegas and set you up. I know a crew who’d appreciate bacon and eggs.”

Monroe snorted and sat back down. I had him.

“What kind of crew.”

“Fortitude MC.”

“No way in hell.” He waved me off. “You want to put me under the thumb of another madman?”

I grinned, thinking about Sloane. “It’s under new management.”

“Marini…”

“Is dead.”

He scratched his head and frowned, the cogs in his mind working overtime.

“Changes things, right?” I raised my eyebrows, waiting for his answer.

As I saw it, he didn’t have much choice. Even in Fortitude’s current state of turmoil, it was a far sight better than waiting for the diner to go completely under. That was if the Hollow Men didn’t decide putting a bullet in his head was better for everyone. With the MC, Monroe had a chance at a better life. One that could be a family. Bikers were like that, despite the criminal undertones.

“I know you, Monroe,” I continued. “You’re not a bad guy. You’re just a victim of circumstance, profiting the only way you know how. When I knew you before, you wanted to get out. You wanted out so bad, you were willing to sell out King himself. Well, here’s your last chance.”

“How do I know you won’t cross me again?”

“You don’t.”

I stared at him as he stewed over my proposition. Asking a man like Monroe to have faith was like asking for the impossible, but put him between a rock and a hard place…

“I can tell you what I know, but it isn’t much,” he warned. “Like you said, times have changed.”

I downed the last of my Coke and slammed the glass bottle on the table.

“I’ll take whatever I can get.”