Maribel’s POV
Her hand was around my throat before I even got the door locked.
“Miss me?” she hissed.
My back slammed against the locker. Cold metal kissed my spine.
The lights flickered in Chérie's apartment, if you could even call it that. Cracked walls. No curtains. A mattress on the floor and a single bulb hanging like a noose from the ceiling. It stank of smoke, leather, and sweat. Just like her.
“You’re late,” Chérie said, still half-dressed. Her shirt hung open. Holster strap showing. No bra. Her knife always closer than her smile.
“I had to strip,” I muttered, locking the door. “Vittorio’s club doesn’t exactly run on schedule.”
She turned, slowly, her eyes trailing down my body like a laser. “Come here, baby.”
I dropped my bag, crossed the room. Her mouth met mine fast—no s
