WESLEY HUGHES

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"I'm not going in there."

"You are."

"No—"

"We have an agreement."

"But—"

"Wesley," Manolo glanced over at me with an exasperated expression. "You will be fine."

My eyes drifted back to the building in front of me with the name "Faulkner's" written on the front of it. Well, I assumed it was supposed to say Faulkner's, but the n was missing, making it say "Faulker's" instead. Either way, it wasn't a place I wanted to be. The atmosphere and people standing around outside told me two things about the place: these people had money and they were trouble.

"Is this really the best way to go about this? What if Boreal or Lionel find out—"

"Neither Boreal nor Lionel would be caught dead here," Manolo said, dragging me to the door. "This is a Lionel hate zone. Just relax."

That didn't do much to make me feel better.

I didn't get the chance to argue anymore. Manolo stopped at the front door but kept his hand around my list as if he were worried I'd take off the moment he let go. I couldn't blame him though—the opportunity was tempting.

"Is that you, Manolo?" A burly man who seemed to be a bouncer asked once we were close enough. "Shit, it is you! Last we heard, you were MIA."

Manolo gave one of his signature smiles. "It's nice to see you too, Braxton. I've just been...taking a break. Is Tia here by any chance?"

The bouncer, Braxton, raised an eyebrow. "You know she is, but I have to ask. Who's the..."

"He's here with me," Manolo replied simply. "He's harmless."

Braxton looked me up and down. "If you're vouching for him then "I suppose I'll have to let him through," Braxton muttered, still eyeing me with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "But don't make me regret this, Manolo."

Manolo gave him a friendly nod, then turned to me with a brief, reassuring glance. "See? Nothing to worry about."

I wasn't convinced. Not in the slightest. The moment we stepped past Braxton, I could tell I was out of my league and way out of my stratum. Like Manolo, many of the guests were dressed up in expensive outfits and elaborate jewelry that could probably cover my rent for months. Some were flashier than others, but you could tell they all had money nonetheless. It was a jarring experience, especially seeing as I was wearing one of my worn pairs of jeans and a stupid striped shirt I'd found at the thrift store years back.

"You should've let me stay in the car," I grumbled to Manolo, feeling extremely out of place.

He glanced at me briefly and said, "You're fine. Calm down."

"I stand out like a sore thumb and look a hot mess."

Manolo paused, looked me up and down, and tilted his head to the side as if I'd spoken another language. "You have some issues, but your looks are not one of them, Wesley. Just smile and try to look confident, yeah?" He pulled me closer to him and continued walking before I even had the chance to consider his words. "Just stick with me," he encouraged. "And for the love of everything holy, stop fidgeting."

I shot him a glare, but it was useless. He was already moving through the crowd, completely unfazed by the whispers and the eyes that followed us.

We passed several groups of people who whispered behind their hands or exchanged knowing glances. I wasn't sure whether it was because of my presence or because of Manolo, but either way, I didn't like it.

Manolo stopped in front of a private room, the door guarded by yet another bouncer. This one, a man with short-cropped hair and a stoic expression, barely gave us a second glance before stepping aside to let us in. The room beyond was a sharp contrast to the rest of the club—luxurious, dimly lit, and even more extravagant. The kind of place where deals were made in whispers and everything had its price.

At a table in the back, a blonde-haired woman sat, draped in a dark green silk dress that shimmered as she shifted in her seat. Her grey eyes locked onto Manolo immediately, and a slow, knowing smile crept across her face. It was as if she was expecting him.

"Manolo," she greeted him smoothly, her voice carrying an unspoken power. "I see you've decided to grace us with your presence."

Manolo flashed a grin. "Tia, it's been too long."

She glanced at me again, her gaze lingering with quiet curiosity. I could feel her assessing me, and the weight of her gaze made my skin itch. I was no stranger to being judged by looks, but this felt different. It wasn't just the surface-level glance; it was like she could see straight through me as if she knew things I hadn't even figured out about myself yet.

Tia's smile didn't waver as she turned back to Manolo. "So, who's this you brought with you?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement but also something else—something sharp, like a knife concealed beneath silk.

Manolo didn't hesitate. "This is Wesley. He's... a work in progress."

I bristled at his offhand description, but before I could say anything, Tia raised a hand to stop me, her fingers delicately tapping the surface of the table as she leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Work in progress, huh? Interesting." Her gaze flicked over me again, taking in every detail, no doubt storing it away for later.

"Don't mind her," Manolo said, his tone light. "She likes to size people up."

Tia didn't seem offended by the remark. If anything, it seemed to amuse her more. "It's my job, Manolo. I like to know who I'm dealing with, especially when they show up at my doorstep uninvited." She paused, the hint of a challenge in her voice. "And I do hope you're not wasting my time."

"He didn't show up uninvited I did. I just brought him with me," Manolo corrected.

"Then tell me what brings you here. Last I heard the rumor mill was saying you were buried beneath our feet."

Manolo scoffed. "You know better than to believe the rumors. Surely you know what actually happened, yes?"

I perked up at this. I knew bits and pieces, but Manolo had made sure I didn't know the full story of what happened to him before he showed up on my couch. I figured that was on purpose, but seeing as he took me here, that must've meant something changed, right?

Tia glanced my way and then back at Manolo who nodded slightly before she spoke. "Lionel's men tried to kill you at your home. I heard it was quite a mess, but that hasn't stopped the men from gloating about killing you."

"Why would Lionel try to kill his own brother?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. Tia and Manolo both turned to me. Tia raised her eyebrows before her gaze shifted.

"You weren't joking when you said he was a work in progress. You haven't told him anything?"

Manolo exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck like he was already regretting bringing me here. "He's on a need-to-know basis," he said flatly, shooting me a quick, pointed glance. "And until now, he didn't need to know."

Tia leaned back in her chair, her lips quirking into a half-smile as she regarded me with something between amusement and pity. "You really brought a lamb into the lion's den, didn't you?" she mused. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she turned her attention back to Manolo. "How...uncharacteristic of you."

Manolo's voice was firm when he responded. "Wesley's here because I brought him, Tia. Let's not make this more complicated than it already is."

Tia arched an elegant eyebrow but didn't argue. Instead, she reached for a glass of dark, amber liquid sitting on the table and took a deliberate sip. "So, Lionel tried to kill you. Hardly shocking," she said, her tone casual like she was discussing the weather. "But that still doesn't explain why you're here. What do you want from me?"

Manolo didn't answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his expression unreadable. "I need names. I need to know who's backing Lionel, who's pulling his strings. He's not doing this on his own, and we both know it."

Tia's smile sharpened, like the edge of a blade. "Of course, he's not. Lionel's many things, but a mastermind isn't one of them. Still, asking me to expose his allies...That's a dangerous game, Manolo."

"I'm already in the game," Manolo replied. "I just need a little leverage to make sure I don't lose."

Tia regarded him for a long moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the glass in her hand. Finally, she spoke. "Fine. I'll help you. But you know my price."

Manolo's jaw tightened, and for the first time since we arrived, I saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. "I know."

"And you're still willing to pay it?" Tia pressed.

Manolo nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Tia set her glass down and leaned forward, her smile returning but with none of the warmth it might have held before. "Then we have a deal. But don't expect this to come cheap, Manolo. Helping you could very well paint a target on my back."

Manolo nodded again, his expression grim. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Tia's gaze flicked back to me. "And what about you, Wesley? Are you prepared for the fallout of whatever mess Manolo's dragging you into?"

"I think I'm already too deep into it even if I wanted to say no," I admitted.

"Honest. I can appreciate that," she said. "But honesty won't protect you, Wesley. You should remember that."

"I assume you have the names I need?" Manolo asked, steering her back on course while I mulled over her words.

Honestly won't protect you.

"Of course. You wouldn't have come here if you thought otherwise." She reached for a small envelope and slid it toward Manolo. "Consider this a down payment. The rest comes after you fulfill your end of the deal."

Manolo opened the envelope and peered inside, his expression unreadable. He gave a single, curt nod before closing it again. "It's a start."

"It's more than that," Tia corrected, her tone almost scolding. "It's a lifeline. Don't squander it."

Manolo stood and said, "I won't. You'll get what you want soon enough."

Without another word, Manolo turned and walked out of the room, his grip firm on my arm as he dragged me along. I didn't dare look back at Tia, but I could still feel her eyes on me.

Once we were outside the room and back in the crowded club, I finally let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "What the hell was that?"

Manolo didn't slow down, weaving through the crowd with ease. "That," he said, "was the price for good intel."

"And what exactly is the price?" I pressed, struggling to keep up with his pace. "What did you agree to?"

"Car," he muttered.

I let out a frustrated breath but didn't say anything else until we were both buckled up and back on the road, leaving Faulkner's behind us.

"So?" I pushed.

"Tia is an information broker and a damn good one at that. Getting anything out of her always comes with a price or, in this case, a trade. Information for information."

"And what exactly are you giving her?"

As if on cue, Manolo's burner phone rang and without looking away from the road, he tossed it to me.

"What does that say?"

I glanced at the unknown number and clicked on the text. "Davina Wright."

Manolo cursed to himself. "Of course."

"Who's that?" I frowned.

"One of the most irritating women you will ever meet," he grumbled more to himself than to me. He let out a short hum and then asked, "Do you work on Saturday? If so, take off."

"I can't," I objected and before he could argue, I added. "I work three jobs not because I want to but because I have to. If I suddenly start taking off and yet, still have the money for rent and debt then Boreal will get suspicious."

He remained quiet, knowing I was telling the truth. After a minute, he let out a sigh. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry about it, just be ready for Friday."

"What's happening Friday?" I frowned.

He briefly tore his gaze away from the road to look me up and down. "We're going shopping."