Page 127 of Damián

And if the deaths and the drugs are a lie, then…

Dios mío…

“Zara… How much of Oliver’s public persona is a lie?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

“…Everything about him is a lie.”

Everything… even his hookups were a lie.

And just like that, it all makes perfect sense. From his physical reactions, to the way he moves, to the way he clings to my body and sighs at the smallest touch.

Oh crap…

I’ve been pushing him to walls, and grinding against him.

Madre Santa… I need to apologize to this man.

But first, I need to find him.

I look up at Logan, unable to hide the fear in my eyes. Oliver is lost and in danger, but I can’t just abandon the mission.

“Go,” Logan says as he loads his duffel bag into the van.

“I can send Harry or someone else to find Oliver.”

“Go,” he repeats. “I need every man’s concentration to be one hundred percent on the mission; yours isn’t. Go find him.”

I put the phone back to my mouth. “What party, Zara?”

“Private party at the Os.”

“Keep looking for him. I’ll be there in ten.” I hang up and take a small revolver from the glove compartment, just in case.

I’m barely securing the gun in my holster when Björn snatches the van keys from my hand and slides into the driver’s seat. “Yeah, yeah, go. It’s not like you bring anything to the table anyway.”

I let out a laugh. “Ass…”

Björn closes the door and waves through the open window. “Love you too. Now shoo-shoo, go save your man.”

“Keep me updated and call if you need backup,” I say, and Logan nods.

Without wasting more time, I run toward my car, turn on the engine, and leave the garage, heading in the exact opposite direction from the Harknett vans.

Carajo…

This is the first time I’ve left my team for a raid this size, but Logan is right… I can’t be of any help to them if my mind is somewhere else, or in this case, on someone else.

I arrive at the club, park my car at the back, and knock four times on the back door. Five seconds later, a tall Japanese man with long hair opens the door and hands me an earpiece connected to a radio.

“I’ve let the waiters and security know to be on the lookout. The radio will let you know if they find anything.”

I put on the earpiece and clip the radio to my pants. “Thank you, Hiroshi. I owe you,” I say, and pat him on the back as I walk inside.

Inside, the music is loud, and the place is beyond packed.

What the hell, people!

It’s freaking three PM on a Tuesday… does nobody work?