“The exit’s at the front,” he informed me.

“So?”

“That means you exited out back.”

“Jeez, Zano!” I clipped, pulling out of his hold, taking a step back and putting my hands on my hips. “What’s with the interrogation? Who cares how I exited Club two months ago?”

He ignored my question—and my outburst—and kept at me.

“A few minutes after you took off toward the bathroom, some guy shot outta that hall lookin’ freaked, as well as clearly so stoked on blow it’s a wonder his heart didn’t explode. You know that guy?”

“I know I’m not a big fan of being woken up in the middle of the night and getting treated to random twenty questions about a night that happened months ago.”

“Just sayin’, babe, you’ll get a very not random twenty questions if Benito Valenzuela decides to make a meal outta you.”

I clamped my mouth shut.

Oh shit.

That was the dealer who had his hooks into Garden Girl’s brother.

“Yeah,” he whispered, examining my face carefully. “Though, if Valenzuela gets more interested in you, you might not be available for twenty questions.”

Okay, somehow Ren had cottoned on to my activities, and I knew this was definitely not good. He might not be a member of the Hot Bunch, but he was a full-blooded Italian hot guy member of a crime family. So I was thinking his rabid alpha behavior either equaled or rivaled any member of the Hot Bunch, including Luke, who, in my opinion, was totally OTT.

And the Hot Bunch guys had a definite aversion to the women in their lives being around danger.

“How do you know this shit?” I asked quietly.

“Dom gets around,” Ren answered immediately. “Had a meeting with him tonight. He doesn’t know about us, but we share an acquaintance with your brothers. Both of them. I think you get why, without me explaining, we tend to keep our eye on their activities. And tonight, in passing, Dom says that he’s heard you’re getting around.”

Fuck.

Not good.

Ren kept talking.

“He thinks you’re doin’ shit for Lee. He heard a coupla nights ago you were with Darius Tucker in one of the bars Valenzuela’s girls work. Says he also heard Tucker was makin’ some enquiries about some new talent Valenzuela has for sale. Sweet piece. Catholic schoolgirl type.”

Crap.

Again not good.

Ren didn’t know a little. He knew a lot.

He leaned slightly into me, his eyes no less intent or probing. “The real kind of Catholic schoolgirl type. In other words, somehow her shit got fucked, and this is not an unusual situation for Lee Nightingale to sink his teeth into. Problem is, even Valenzuela thinks Lee swung you out there, and this guy is a lunatic. Anyone else, even a whiff Lee’s involved, they steer clear. This guy, he’s likin’ that your piece is on the chess board. Thinks it’s interesting. Wants to keep his eye on that shit, which means he wants to keep an eye on you.”

I kept my mouth shut, but mentally added a phone call to Darius to discuss this unpleasant news first thing in the morning.

Ren kept going.

“Dom told me and Vito. Vito is not about swingin’ women’s asses out there. He knows you, likes you, and if he gets in the mood to blow, he blows. So it’s late and he still doesn’t hesitate pickin’ up the phone and tearin’ your brother a new asshole. Problem is, Lee has no clue what the fuck he’s talkin’ about.”

This also wasn’t good.

“Figure, though,” Ren went on. “He intends to find out.”

That was a definite.

“I—” I began.

“What were you doin’ at Club, Ally?”

“I was—”

“And what the fuck were you doin’ in a bar that Valenzuela works with Darius fuckin’ Tucker?”

I felt my back snap straight. “Darius is a friend.”

“Darius was a friend, he wouldn’t be sittin’ with you in that bar havin’ a chat. He’d be haulin’ your ass out of that bar and laying into it to get your head sorted for bein’ in that bar in the first fuckin’ place.”

Oh no.

He didn’t say that.

“What the fuck are you into?” he bit out.

“None of your business,” I snapped.

“Right.” He leaned back. “Was gonna have this discussion with you when I wasn’t pissed at you, but it needs to be said, and now’s a fuckin’ brilliant time to say it,” he started in a way that I didn’t find very promising.

Then he kept going.

“I’m thinkin’ the nature of our relationship is movin’ beyond casual. I’m thinkin’ it’s gettin’ into the non-casual zone, seein’ as we spend practically every night together, even if you roll into my house at three thirty in the morning after a shift at Brother’s. This suggests to me that we can’t get enough of each other, and since you haul your ass to my place most of the time, you can’t deny that.”

This was true. I couldn’t deny it.

He wasn’t done.

“So I’m thinkin’ we’re in the zone where we actually go out and eat a meal and get to know each other better. Not wolfing down breakfast, you go your way and I go mine. Or I make you spaghetti because you’ve been behind a bar all night and haven’t eaten, then the minute you’re done, we fuck each other’s brains out. So, to end, if we’re not casual, it is my business.”

“I’m not feeling the love for not casual right about now, Zano,” I shared.

He lifted a hand, palm out my way, and shook his head.

“Sorry, my mistake,” he began and dropped his hand. “That came out like you had a choice. Which you don’t. Tomorrow, you’re in a nice dress. My pick is the one you wore to Club, unless you’ve got another one that makes my dick harder faster, which, babe, just sayin’, will be a feat. Then I’m takin’ you out to a nice dinner, and you’re gonna share with me all your hopes and dreams. But right now you’re gonna tell me what the fuck you’re into.”

Although one could not say I didn’t like that he liked my dress—and why—I still crossed my arms on my chest and declared, “We’re not going out on a date.”