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  I believed him. A man with a knife against his dick tends to tell the truth.

  “I’m looking for my sister. Fender had her last I heard.”

  He shrugged. “That Russian bitch? Butch and Blade are probably giving her a ride out front. You wanna join her?”

  I tucked the knife in closer and felt him tense. “Not her. The little girl Fender picked up from the Fixers last night. He took her. I need to find her, or find Fender.”

  The man’s breath came out in a hiss. “I don’t know nothing about little girls. I don’t fuck with that perverted shit. None of my boys do. Fender neither. He doesn’t screw kids.”

  “Where is he?” My finger tightened on the trigger. One wrong move and this guy was going to be minus a chunk of brain as well as his dick. “Fender picked her up. Does he keep the girls with him until they’re sold?”

  “Fender’s just a pick up and delivery guy,” he scoffed. “He wouldn’t have her. I don’t know who he’d take a kid to. That’s not part of the business I deal with. I just manage the chop shops and parts sales. That’s all I do. I don’t know nothing about kids.”

  He was lying. I don’t know how I knew this, but I did. Pushing him closer to the Acura, I nicked him with the knife. He let out a high-pitched scream, then shut up as I pressed the blade so tight the slightest move would emasculate him.

  “Who has my sister? Give me a name.” Someone probably heard that scream, which meant I had seconds until one or more guys came to investigate, even if they thought it was the Russian girl screaming.

  “Desiree, you crazy fucking bitch,” he breathed out in a pained whisper. “He would have taken a kid to Desiree. She runs that side of our business.”

  “And where’s Fender?” I demanded.

  “Fuck if I know.”

  “You said he’s down by the airport. Where?” I couldn’t go searching all over LA for this guy, and I doubted by the airport meant in the airport. Fender could be anywhere from Torrance to Hawthorne, and that was way too much ground for me to cover.

  “I don’t fucking know.”

  I didn’t have any time left for this. And unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of options that would allow me to kill this guy silently, so I pulled the trigger at the same time as I yanked the knife up and away. Blood and brain matter all sprayed all over the Acura frame.

  I ran, my sliced arm stinging and still bleeding as I held tight to my pistol, my other hand and the stolen knife wet with the man’s blood. I ran, and didn’t look back, my ears ringing so loudly from the gunshot that I couldn’t tell if someone was after me or not. Darting down side streets, weaving in and out of alleys and crossing main thoroughfares, I didn’t stop running until I was a good mile away. People looked, but then quickly turned away, not wanting to know what was going on. Just another day in New Hell, seeing a blood-splattered figure fleeing with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.

  I washed off in a public fountain that still had a few inches of oil-slicked water in it, then yanked a bandana out of my cargo pants to tie around the cut on my arm. I was pretty sure I looked a mess with a slice across the front of my jacket, and splattered blood all over my clothes. But that didn’t matter because I had a name.

  Desiree. I hadn’t expected a woman to be allowed into the Disciples as more than a groupie. Clearly the gang was more enlightened than I’d thought, although not so enlightened that they thought twice about selling kids into slavery.

  I still didn’t know where Nevarra was, or how to find this Desiree, or even Fender for that matter, but I was getting closer. And if I had to interrogate and kill every Disciple one at a time, I’d find them. Then I’d find Nevarra.

  Chapter 12

  Once I cleaned most of the blood from my hands and arm, I backtracked, got my bike, and headed to the second address that Bags had given me. The chance that Fender would be there was slim to none, but whatever Disciple hung out there might know where I could find him or this Desiree. Then I planned on stopping by Suerte to see if Bishop could shed any light on the information I’d gathered.

  I pulled into the lot of an In-N-Out Burger in south Burbank, checking the address before driving around to the back and parking my bike where I could make a fast getaway if I needed to. There was a sweet black Harley Roadster a few spaces down. I admired it. Then I admired the helmet sitting on the seat. If it was still there when I came out, I was so going to steal it.

  The helmet, that is. As much as I was drooling over the Harley, I liked my old bike too much to give it up.

  The Disciples weren’t the typical gang with geographic territories, they were a broad organization that handled certain types of business all through southern California. If a gang had a lot of clout, the Disciples would pay a toll for doing business in their area. Otherwise they flipped the local gang the bird and did whatever they wanted without interference. The auto parts store didn’t surprise me. The fast food joint did. But even members of organized crime needed to eat, and we locals did love our In-N-Out Burgers.

  I left the Harley alone, for now, and walked in, not sure what to expect. In-N-Out wasn’t a franchise organization. I got that a member of the Disciples might come here regularly for lunch, but Bags had made it sound like they had some sort of office set up here. It was weird, but everything was weird in LA, especially the last two years.

  Scanning the customers, I dug a ten out of my pocket and got in line behind a very sweaty teenage boy, and a man who looked as if he might have spent the morning on the inside of a cement mixer. It was a bit late for the lunch crowd, but there was a family with two loud toddlers parked at a table close to the exit, a woman with a gigantic fountain drink smack in the middle of the room, slouched in her chair and reading a book. A bald man with a tight, sharp dark beard lining his jaw sat in the front right corner. His back was to the wall, his table stacked with papers. He looked ridiculously oversized crammed into the little plastic seat, like someone had squashed a heavyweight boxer into a children’s playset. Tattoos covered his bronzed arms, and a pair of mirrored Aviators shielded his eyes. He had to be one of the Disciples. Everything about the guy screamed gang.

  I got a soda and made my way toward the man, not quite sure how to handle this situation. It was one thing to hunt down bad guys in a warehouse, or outside a building full of stolen auto parts, it was another to start a gunfight in a burger joint with innocent civilians eating ten feet away. There was a family with toddlers here, for heaven’s sake.

  The man suddenly looked up and pulled off his sunglasses, his eyes locking on mine.

  Crap. What should I do? The guy looked to be in his late twenties, and was pretty hot in a jacked-up, tattooed, bad-guy kind of way. Should I flirt? Act like I was hitting on a good-looking guy in a burger joint? I would have totally tried that approach, on a day where I wasn’t wearing blood-covered clothing and a ripped jacket.

  Surprisingly the guy waved me over with a grin that I got the feeling was supposed to look friendly. It didn’t look friendly. It looked like he was about to chomp me in half and gnaw on my bones. Still, I’m an idiot so I went over to his table, hoping if we got into it he’d be a good enough shot not to kill the little kids.

  “I’m Piers and you must be…Andre Delgado.” The guy looked down at the paper in front of him and shook his head. “Fuckers downtown screwed up again. I’m guessing it’s Andrea and not Andre?”

  What the hell was he talking about? I stared at him for a few seconds before my brain kicked into gear. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

  “It is, but I’m not going to turn you away when you drove all the way from Crenshaw. Sit. Sit. I’ll bet traffic sucked giant donkey balls.”

  I dropped into a chair across from him. “It’s LA. Traffic always sucks giant donkey balls.”

  He chuckled, then steepled his fingers and regarded me. “I hate to tell you this, honey, but Disciples don’t bring on women unless they’re working a corner or someone’s bitch. I respect that you look like you can handle
yourself in a fight, but we’re not the gang for you. Unless…” He pursed his lips, dark eyes focusing on my face then traveling down to my boobs.

  Piers. Bags had mentioned that name as being someone who occasionally worked for Fender. That was a connection I wanted to use, if only I could figure out how to bring it up without getting shot.

  Looking at the paperwork in front of the man I saw a list of names, addresses, and phone numbers as well as a second list of job titles. It seemed that Piers had turned this In-N-Out Burger into his recruitment center, and today was the day for interviews. Hopefully Andre Delgado didn’t show up, because I was going to run with this and see what I could get. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to pull my pistol.

  “Do I look like I turn tricks?” I leaned back in the tiny plastic chair and tried to appear badass.

  His mouth twitched. “I’ll bet you clean up real nice. Besides, some guys are into hot, tough women.”

  I got the impression he was including himself in that group. “I prefer to make my money in other ways and keep the banging strictly recreational.”

  He grinned. “I can respect that. Unfortunately that’s the only job I can offer you right now. Now if you’re looking for some recreation, that I can offer.”

  He was pretty hot, although these arrogant guys tended to be shit in bed. The edge of danger that would come with fucking a gang member was a real turn-on. It made me want to take a chance, even though the experience might end up being less than satisfying.

  Maybe later. Right now I needed to find Nevarra, not screw a tattooed guy in the back room of a burger joint.

  I returned his cocky grin with one of my own. “You sure you don’t have a job for me? Because I heard you guys make exceptions now and then when it comes to working with women. Desiree, for example.”

  Piers sucked in a breath. “You might look tough, but you’ll never be in Desiree’s league. Unless you’ve got horns and wings, that is.”

  Desiree was a demon? Damn, that would really complicate things. I felt pretty confident about my odds against a human, especially if I could take them by surprise. But a Demon?

  “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, but Disciples just don’t work with women.” He leaned back in the plastic chair and spread his arms wide. “Not my policy. If it were up to me, you’d be in. It’s not up to me, though.”

  He knew Desiree. He might not know her personally, but he might know where I could locate her. Fender had given Nevarra to this Desiree. Demon or not, she was the best lead in finding my sister.

  I pouted and leaned forward, pressing my boobs together and wishing the neckline on my T-shirt was a few inches lower. “See, I’ve heard otherwise. I’ve heard when it comes to your team, it is up to you. I might not have horns and wings, but I’ve got skills. If you made an exception for Desiree, then I don’t see why you can’t make an exception for me.”

  His gaze lingered on my chest for a few seconds before he lifted his eyes to meet mine. “I can’t force the other guys to respect you and I don’t want to spend all my time listening to them bitch and moan, or driving you to the hospital because they knifed you. It’s not gonna happen, honey.”

  “Then get me a job with Desiree’s team.” I pointed to the papers. “I’m pretty sure she and her team won’t have any problem working with a woman.”

  “Do you realize what that division does? They deal in trafficking. They’re pedo-pushers.” His face twisted with disgust. “I fucking hate that shit. Look, maybe I can get you some contract work helping out with the whores, but trust me, you don’t want to mess with the trafficking side of the business.”

  I shrugged, trying to put aside the fact that this guy had just gone up a few notches in my opinion. “We all have to do shit we don’t like nowadays. I don’t like pedos either, but business is business. These little kids…they deserve to be kept calm and comfortable. That’s not a job for a man. That’s a job for a woman. I’m a woman, and I need a job.”

  He sat back in the chair, his expression turning thoughtful. “I’ve heard there have been problems. Kids cry, and refuse to eat, or make themselves sick. Sometimes they hurt themselves.”

  I forced a smile to my face. “Like you said, I can clean up nice. I’m young, and I’m female. I can make things easier for them. I’ve got two sisters. I know how to set little kids at ease.”

  Piers crossed his arms and frowned. I sat absolutely quiet, because this was one of those instances where the first person who spoke lost.

  “You really don’t want to do this, Andrea.” He leaned forward. “You said you’ve got sisters…how are you gonna feel when you get attached to these kids and in a week or two they’re gone? And you know what’s going to be happening to them? How are you gonna sleep knowing that?”

  Damn it, I kind of liked this Piers guy. I hoped I didn’t have to kill him. And I really hoped he didn’t have to kill me.

  “I don’t want to do this, but I need a job. And if I can make a difference in these kids’ lives before… I just need a job. I’ll do it if I have to, and deal with the sleepless nights.”

  He sighed, actually looking disappointed. “Gotta run this by a few people. This isn’t an open position for us, and someone needs to clear the budget. Plus, Desiree likes to hire her own people. She’d probably need to meet with you first.”

  Fear and excitement warred within me. Desiree would know where Nevarra was. And I got the idea that she was probably more likely to turn me into a pile of broken bones and torn flesh than anyone else in the Disciples.

  “That’s cool. I’m happy to meet with her anytime, anywhere. Oh, but I’ve got a new phone,” I recited the number of my stolen cell phone, watching as he wrote it down.

  “Good.” He crossed out the other number he’d had for Andre Delgado. “I’ll call or text you as soon as I know something.”

  I stood and picked up my drink. “Do you think I’ll at least get an interview by tomorrow? I really need work within the next few days.”

  Piers stood as well. “I’ll do what I can, but no guarantees.”

  “Where does Desiree work out of? Maybe I can just swing by today, since I’m up here.” It was a long shot, but I didn’t want to have to wait for a phone call, and there were probably thousands of women named Desiree in LA. Even if I could manage to get a list of names and addresses, I wouldn’t find the right one in time to save Nevarra.

  And if she was a demon…I doubted demons were in the phone listings.

  Piers shrugged. “Downtown somewhere? Fuck if I know.” He eyed me once more. “Sure you don’t want to take an hour off for a little recreation?”

  I hesitated. It had been so long since I’d had a man’s hands on me…

  The timing sucked. I needed to find Nevarra. After I had her home and safe, then I’d think about a one-and-done.

  “Tell you what,” I purred. “You get me an interview with Desiree. That will definitely put me in the mood for some recreation.” I put the straw between my pursed lips, took a long drink of my soda as my eyes met his, then I lowered the cup, smiled, turned around, and walked to the door.

  I tossed the remains of the drink in the trash can, swiped the helmet as I walked by, got on my bike, and headed north.

  Horns and wings. That was going to be a problem. If Desiree was a demon, then I really didn’t have any way of defending myself against her or taking her down. I doubted my stun gun skills would do more than piss her off, and although I could fill her full of bullets, I’d heard demons could shrug them off like they were Nerf darts.

  I needed one of those guns with the white muzzles—the ones that could negate a demon’s powers as well as other magic. Unfortunately, they were expensive and not as easy to find as regular guns. The cops had them. Some gang members had them. In all the years I’d known Bags, none had come through his pawn shop. How the hell was I going to face this woman without one? She’d kill me with a flick of her taloned hands.

  Bishop. The guy had a weredog buddy. H
e could compel people to spill their secrets. He could twist someone’s head around like a fucking top. I wasn’t sure how he’d stack up against a demon, but if I was going to need to go up against Desiree, he was the one I wanted by my side.

  Chapter 13

  The parking lot at Suerte was empty. I wasn’t even sure they were open, but the door wasn’t locked, so I went on in, plopped down at the bar, and waited. After a few seconds, HB peeked around the corner of what looked to be the store room.

  “Give me a second. I’m checking kegs for the order.”

  She vanished without waiting for a reply, leaving me to look around as I waited. The bar was furnished with an eye toward easy cleanup. Stainless steel, vinyl, tan walls with high-gloss paint. The bar was oak planks with a layer of poly that was probably two inches thick. The floor was the only thing that hadn’t held up to the regular use. The wood was scuffed and scratched as if someone routinely dragged the metal tables around. Or perhaps it was clawed animals that had been dragged around. I could imagine Bob would do some serious damage to a wood floor.

  HB popped out of the store room, wiping her hands on a cloth. “I assume you’re here to see Bishop and not grab a beer?”

  I nodded. “I got some additional information on who might have my sister.”

  She poured me a glass of iced tea while I told her the abbreviated and sanitized version of what went down at the warehouse last night as well as my activities today.

  “A demon?” She shuddered. “Are you sure?”

  “No,” I confessed. “The Disciple I spoke to hinted that she was a demon, though. Given that this particular gang doesn’t work with women, it makes sense.”

  “You really don’t want to mess with demons,” she warned me.

  “No, I don’t, but I might not have a choice. She’s got my sister. She’s the only lead I’ve got. If Fender handed Nevarra off to this Desiree, then she’s my only link.”

  HB leaned her hands on the bar. “Have you ever been up close to a demon before?”