Castro is on me in seconds. His hands hold my wrists firmly. “Sit, we need to talk.” His eyes never leave mine, and his face is full of guilt and regret. I look between the six other guys and narrow my eyes in suspicion.

“No!” I hiss at him. “You need to talk! Who the hell is she?”

“She was a guest last night,” he replies, still not meeting my glare. He’s lying to me. I can spot it a mile off. I should know, having perfected the art many years ago.

“A guest or a prostitute?” Something is definitely going on here, I sensed as much when he spoke...