Club Joi wasn’t my scene, it was my assignment. I wasn’t a fan of watching live-action porn being played out in front of me and it was apparent Sloane wasn’t a fan either. She studiously avoided the playrooms; I no longer had that luxury if I wanted to keep my cover. The first few weeks, I had a plausible excuse; I was getting the lay of the land. Now, I had to wander in and out of the rooms and watch, especially since it would be a cold day in hell before I’d publicly fuck a woman. There was a lot I would sacrifice for an investigation, but performing or allowing sex acts to be performed on me was a line I wouldn’t cross.

But Sloane was never in those rooms. She always stuck to the large upstairs living space or the kitchens and sent one of her staff into the rooms to check on members. She was polite, always. She played the part well. But she was not happy to be surrounded by naked people fucking.

Something was off and I hoped like fuck the bad feeling I had in the pit of my stomach was wrong. Club Joi was under investigation by the US Marshals Sex Offender Investigative Operations Branch for suspected human trafficking. In recent years the SOIB had been involved in a number of takedowns, so many they needed outside help to keep up with the traffickers, and that was where Takeback came in. There were a lot of foul, disgusting parts of my job. Shit that even the best horror writer couldn’t possibly imagine. Sheer evil. Revolting. Shit that gave me nightmares.

I was pulled from my thoughts when my work phone beeped with an incoming text alert. Cole snatched it out of the cupholder and helped himself to the message.

“She said she’ll meet you at eight-thirty.”

My pulse jumped and my fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

“Did she say where?”

“The Valley.” I didn’t have to look at Cole to hear the smirk in his tone. “Looks like you’ll be headed back over Pucker Canyon.”

Fuck.

It had been nearly three hours since I’d “accidentally” run into Sloane while she was shopping. I was lucky she’d texted me at all after I’d nearly fucked up and had to scramble and come up with something plausible on the fly to get her to go to dinner with me after she told me she didn’t date men from the club. But the more I thought about it, this plan was better. I could still get close to her without doing it in a way that would fuck her over when the investigation was done. I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting her. I could get to know her while she planned a fake party and when the time was right offer her protection from whoever was forcing her to work at Club Joi.

And that was what I’d concluded—Sloane didn’t quit her jobs to work at a sex club because she woke up one morning and thought to herself, “Hey, I want to go watch people fuck and be miserable while doing it.” Not Sloane. I didn’t need to know her personally to know the woman wouldn’t purposefully put herself in an uncomfortable position, and she was uncomfortable as fuck at the club.