Page 18 of Vapor

Also, the girls wouldn’t have been there. They wouldn’t have risked losing their merchandise to a motorcycle club. We didn’t leave any evidence behind, but the cartel will suspect us. They won’t have proof, but I have no doubt they’ll be looking for the girls.

We’re going to have to get them into our underground network as soon as possible. If we can locate their families in Mexico, and if they weren’t the greedy bastards who sold the girls in the first place, then we’ll try to reunite them. But if their families were involved, we’ll find better homes for them in either Mexico or the U.S. It’s up to the girls to choose.

But right now, I’ve got other shit on my mind. Like Blue. Why would she pass me this information? Was her father involved? What about her fiancé? I need her to tell me everything she knows, as well as why she dragged me and my club into this.

I’ll have to find a way to talk to her at Saturday’s gala. I want answers and she’s the only one who can give them to me.

Chapter 5: Blue

I stand in front of my ornate, full-length mirror, the centerpiece of the opulent bedroom my mother designed. My room’s a lavish blend of historical elegance and modern luxury. High ceilings, adorned with intricate crown moldings, frame the space, while a crystal chandelier casts glittering light over everything.

The walls are painted a delicate shade of lavender, perfectly complementing the antique white furniture. My grand four-poster bed, draped in rich, cream-colored silks and accented with plush, violet cushions, stands against one wall.

Beside it, my elegant vanity table, cluttered with vintage perfume bottles, a silver brush set, and a scattering of jewelry, testifies to my busy preparations.

French doors open onto a wrought-iron balcony, overlooking the vibrant the acres of land around my father’s antebellum plantation mansion. Our family has lived here since before the Civil War, and I’m not proud of our history. Once upon a time, slaves worked this plantation, and although that ended over a hundred years ago, sometimes I swear I can still hear their cries.

My dress for the charity ball hangs on a nearby wardrobe door, a masterpiece of couture fashion. The gown is a deep emerald green, chosen to complement my auburn hair and striking green eyes. It’s made of the finest silk, with a fitted bodice that flows into a voluminous skirt, adorned with delicate lace appliqués and shimmering beads that catch the light with every movement. The off-the-shoulder neckline highlights my collarbones, and a subtle train adds a touch of dramatic elegance.

I slip into the dress and make a few final adjustments, ensuring every detail is perfect. My father expects nothing less than excellence. Until he invited Vapor, I’d planned on developing a terrible headache before the party. Now, I can’t wait to see the huge, sexy motorcycle man who’s played a starring role in my fantasies ever since I met him.

My hair is styled in soft waves, pinned back on one side with an heirloom emerald comb that belonged to my grandmother. My makeup is classic, with a touch of bold red lipstick to add a pop of color against my fair skin.

I step back to admire my reflection, taking a deep breath as excitement and nerves flutter in my chest. The charity ball is one of the most important social events of the year. It’s also the only time I’ll be able to get Vapor alone. I’m dying to find out if he was able to rescue the women in Black Snake Bayou.

With a final nod of approval at my reflection, I pick up my matching emerald clutch and slip on my satin heels.

I’m about to step out of my bedroom to descend the grand staircase when someone knocks softly. Before I can open the door, it swings in, nearly knocking me over. Justin strolls in.

He’s wearing a classic black tuxedo, tailored to fit him perfectly. The black jacket is cut in a traditional style, with satin lapels that catch the light subtly. It fits snugly across his broad shoulders, tapering down to his trim waist.

Underneath, he wears a crisp white dress shirt, the pristine fabric contrasting sharply with the deep black of the jacket. The shirt is adorned with black stud buttons, adding a touch of sophistication to the ensemble.

His black bow tie is perfectly knotted, sitting just under his neatly trimmed goatee. A pocket square, folded with precision, peeks out from his breast pocket, its white fabric a subtle contrast to the darkness of everything else.

The sharp creases in his black dress pants are impeccably pressed, adding to his polished appearance. A pair of black patent leather shoes complete his look. His cufflinks, small but intricately designed pieces of silver, glint in the light. A gold and diamond wristwatch wraps around his left wrist, reminding everyone he’s one of the wealthiest men in New Orleans.

I’m not shocked by his appearance in the least. He’s always well-dressed. What does surprise me is his presence in my room.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“I came up to see my fiancée so I could escort her to the gala. You look ravishing.” His lascivious gaze slithers down my dress past the curve of my breasts down to my feet. Although he hasn’t touched me, I feel the need to shower.

“How did you get up here?”

“Your father showed me the way.”

“He did?” My stomach drops. Maybe I should have warned my father about the improper advances Justin has been making since he and my father announced our engagement. Would it even matter?

“Your father understands the value of developing relationships.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“Don’t tell me you’re unhappy to see me.” He slides his hands across my waist before yanking me hard against his chest.

“We don’t have time for this,” I gasp, attempting to push him away.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Your father has already left. We have all the time in the world. Or at least an hour before anyone would notice we haven’t arrived at the gala.”

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