☆

THEY NEEDED SOMEONE QUICK AND DIRTY, someone who could learn fast, play dumb, and act on instincts.

Yeah. They needed him.

It was a dive. Even for her. A shallow space of long-lost records of the '80s and blurry polaroids tacked to the walls and stickers for indie bands out of Brooklyn, tucked under the J on Broadway, teetering dangerously on the edge of Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.

And there he fucking was.

Leaning forward, elbows propped on the bar, speaking lowly to a group of girls beneath the sound of Van Halen. A lazy smile on his face.

One of the girls said something, and he backed away, a playful glimmer in his eyes. It was almost mesmerizing, watching from a safe distance as he held her gaze, reaching for glasses and bottles, twisting wrists and quick fucking hands. All with that flirty grin.

"Hmm." A soft smile settled on her lips. "Interesting."

Suddenly, his gaze flickered to her. Surprise flashed in his eyes, but it was fleeting, vanishing as quickly as it had come, only to be replaced with the teasing glint that made her want to hit him.

As she took a step forward, he cocked his head to the side, those dark eyes wandering down her body. One side of his lips quirked up. "Will you look at that?"

Her brows rose in a silent question.

"Ay, está bien," he snickered, sidling down the bar to level her with a knowing look. "La Estrellita is looking a little dim tonight."

The three girls giggled quietly, already sipping on their drinks, batting eyelashes, following his movements with fucking thirsty admiration.

Fuck him. Maybe Blue was their leader, but in here... Vans was the King.

Well, these bitches didn't know her.

A scowl twisted at her lips as she swiveled, shooting them a dark look. Her patience was wearing thin tonight, but it was satisfying when all three of the girls stiffened and fucking scrambled away from the bar with soft apologies.

"Seriously?" Vans grumbled, shaking his head. "I've been working on that all night. Pretty sure I was going home with all three of them."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she offered with a sweet smile, twisting a lock of hair around her finger innocently. "I didn't realize that you were into barely legal college girls that put out for the first guy who knows how to make a drink."

His expression fell.

"My bad." She shrugged, peering up at him with a taunting smile. "Vans."

Slowly, so fucking slowly, that flirty fucking grin returned. "Did you track me down?"

"I just want a drink," she said, feigning innocence.

"Mmm." Vans leaned over the bar, holding her gaze with something hot. "Okay. Do you want your drink with holiday spice and everything nice, baby?"

There he was. Vans bounced back, resilient and reckless, and that was what they needed.

"Sí. Everything... nice."

Vans snorted. "I'm on it."

It worked with Vegas and Cadillac; it had to work with Vans. It was another fucking weakness. Men. All you had to do was dress yourself up as a good girl... looking for a good time.

Nice.

"So this is what you do," she chirped when he turned away to grab a glass.

His shoulders lifted in an impish shrug. "This is what pays the bills, baby."

For now.

Vans needed money.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean, until I win the lottery," he snickered, turning, dressing up her drink with a lime, flashing her a dry smile. "Or I steal a priceless piece of jewelry from the Met Gala."

"Funny."

"You didn't tell me how you found me."

"Because it doesn't matter."

"Well, it does." Vans tutted her teasingly. "Because you must want something."

Sure. Smart. Maybe Vans was smarter than she'd thought, but nothing was that easy. Her fingertips traced along the edge of the glass, and the straw twisted, clinking through the ice quietly. Another sweet fucking smile. "Why are you assuming I want something from you?"

"Oh, por favor, don't break my heart," he drawled, leaning forward until their lips were only centimeters apart. Their hands brushed. "Whatever you want, estrellita."

It was barely a whisper, hot breath fanning her lips with a seductive promise. Vans kicked back, his brows raising expectantly, and her heart stuttered. "Whatever I want."

"Mmm."

"I need your help."

In the dim light, his eyes darkened. "Even better. Whatever you need. You've got it, babe."

Her bottom lip snuck between her lip as she nodded curtly. This would be easy. "What time do you get off?"

"We've got an hour or two before we close," he said with a shrug, gesturing to her drink. "Think you can hang around?"

She lifted her glass with a sarcastic smile. "Yeah, I think I'll be around."

Two hours later, and three or four drinks in, everything was blurry. When Vans roped an arm around her waist, a wistful sigh tumbled up her throat. "Mmm."

"Alright, hey, you're good, right?" he asked cautiously, his grip tightening as she stumbled out onto the sidewalk. "You're okay?"

"Just a little tipsy."

Maybe a little more than tipsy, but whatever.

Vans chuckled. "Whatever you say."

Whatever she said. That's what they kept saying to her, and maybe it... should have been a warning sign. Maybe they were...

"Wait." Her heels ground into the concrete, and she blinked quickly, too quickly, taking in the stoop that they were standing in front of. "Do you live here?"

"Yeah, right around the corner from the bar." Vans hummed, unlocking the door and tucking her into the hallway. A door to the right opened, and then they were alone, suddenly so fucking alone in a dimly lit apartment. "Just don't go through any of my mail."

"What?" She giggled. "Your mail?" 

"No real names, babe."

Right. That sobered her up instantly.

Steadying, she shot him a shaky look. "Yeah. Right. I know. Yeah, I just..."

"No te preocupes," he snickered, reeling her in to his chest. His dark eyes fell to her, and there was something... too... hot... "So what is it that you need my help with, baby?"

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

Fuck. Frantically, she fumbled to pull her phone from her pocket, and it was clumsy, so fucking clumsy, a less than graceful attempt to unlock it and dig up the article that Cadillac had showed her.

Vans didn't say anything. No, that motherfucker didn't say anything. They watched the video together silently. 

"Mierda, that is sharp," he hissed suddenly, swiping a finger across the screen to pause the video. It was beautiful—a somehow menacingly beautiful shot of the blueish-white star on a support stand. "That star is scary."

"Each crystal is sharp," she said with a snicker, echoing what the man who created the star said just a few seconds before. "To represent the city."

Vans scoffed. "Or to kill."

"Like..." Her lips twitched. "...the city."

Despite the way his eyes sparkled with mirth, Vans didn't fucking bite. One brow quirked. "I still don't know what you need from me."

"I told you. I need your help."

"Is this about Blue?"

"What?" Her stomach lurched; her throat tightened in dread. Vans knew something, something, something. "What about Blue?"

All the color drained from his face. Vans fucking paled. "Nothing. Nothing. Nothing."

☆

**GAHHHH. I— 

mucho amor bbs ❤️