Page 75 of Trigger Happy Ending

She bolts towards UVIP.

I stay at the railing, counting numbers and examining exits. My heart’s already beating in fight rhythm, but I force myself still. I’m relying on my heavy makeup and platinum wig to disguise myself, and I pray to whatever god that listens they don’t recognize me.

Derek kicks over a table, sending chairs flying. The music was already cut, the DJ not long gone. Two security guards (who, I might add, are fucking useless) are being manhandled, their hands tied behind their backs.

“Cherry,” Derek calls, voice booming in a threatening, singsong tone. “Sweet Cherry, where are you? I know you’re here, babe. Come out—I miss you!”

There’s a feeling in the air before violence breaks out. A tension that crackles. I know this feeling well. Often I’m the reason for it. I rush behind the VIP bar, press the panic button hidden underneath the counter, and prepare for my best act yet. The panic button sends a direct alert to Carson’s private security team. And this team? They do not fuck around. They’ll be on site within two minutes. Carson says it’s for the protection of the staff, but really, it’s for incidents with high-profile clients.

And violent surprises like this.

Derek stomps up the stairs with two of his men, boots thudding on each step. I lower my eyes on the counter as they approach me. I need to hold them out for two minutes. The time it takes to make a cup of noodles.

One hundred and twenty seconds.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Derek says, voice slimy. “I’m looking for Cherry.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He leans over the counter. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

The stench of beer and weed wafts up and over me. It’s exactly how he smelled when I stabbed him in the thigh. “Where is she?”

I keep my eyes down. Ninety seconds.

“Look at me,” he orders.

I glance up, just enough to meet his gaze for a second before dropping it down again. My eyes are too recognizable. I’ve always loved the color of my eyes—the same emerald green as my mom’s—but right now, I really wish they were a common shade of blue or brown.

“Where are you from?”

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere,” he repeats, like he’s deciding how much he wants to question me before he turns violent. “Tell me where she is, and I won’t turn this place upside fucking down.”

“Do you know who owns this bar?” I ask, voice flat, keeping my eyes downcast.

“Don’t care. I’ve come a long way to find this bitch. I know she’s here.”

I stay silent.

Sixty seconds.

I could take them all down, but that would mean blowing my cover and the entire mission. The Agency would punish me, and their style of punishment is something I’m desperate to avoid. And Cherry … She’s worth it, worth me blowing my cover, but it’s not worth both our deaths.

“Talon?” Derek barks. “Start.”

One of his thugs removes a small baseball bat from under his cut and starts smashing tables and table lights, sending glass and debris everywhere.

“Once we finish the furniture, we start on your girl,” Derek says, fingers drumming on the bar.

Girl?

He nods at the one called Talon. Talon whistles, and up the stairs comes another man, dragging Danika, the downstairs hostess, behind him.

Thirty seconds.

Talon grabs Danika and twists her arm, sending a sickening snap cracking through the air, as her wrist breaks. Cherry wasn’t sugarcoating it—these guys don’t fuck around. Danika’s shrill, terrified scream pierces the air.