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With a jerk of my chin, I grab my abandoned cardigan and slide out of the booth. I walk the length of the Blue Note without looking back, the friction of denim against my thighs a vivid, raw reminder. Petra grins at me as I pass, but I ignore her, not having it in me to pretend.

I do not think about the way every place Orien touched me still burns.

And I refuse to think about how next time will hurt more.

7

The cold air outside helps calm the heat roiling through my body the second I shove through the Blue Note’s front door.

It had rained while I was inside, turning the sidewalks slick beneath the amber reflections of the streetlamps, but in a few hours, it will turn to ice. Behind me, muffled bass still pulses through the walls of the lounge.

I keep walking.

One block.

Then another.

My pulse still hasn’t come down.

Every place Orien touched burns under my clothes, phantom heat trapped beneath denim and cotton, and humiliation knots in my stomach until I have to fight the urge to lash out.

What the fuck was that?

I drag a hand through my hair and yank out the sparkle clip, shoving it into my pocket. At a narrow side street, I cut down to where I had parked earlier in the evening. The surveillance van waits beneath a flickering streetlamp, the anonymous white paint blending into the row of service vehicles lining the curb.

Usually, after a night at the Blue Note, I head home to write up notes and report what I learned.

Tonight, I unlock the van and climb straight into the driver’s seat.

Because Orien pushed me tonight to see how far I’d go, and to ensure I’d leave early enough not to follow him.

The realization settles with ugly certainty as I shove the key into the ignition long enough to bring the electronics online without starting the engine. The glow of the monitors installed across the dashboard bathe the cramped interior in pale blue light.

He believed me.

Or at least he believed enough to act.

Which means somewhere tonight, Raiden Johnston is about to learn what happens when the Blue Note decides someone needs to disappear. And I’m about to see how they operate on a mission so I can get a sense for how they might attack my family.

I pull up the traffic cameras covering Bering Avenue and settle in to wait, focusing on the grainy feed of the Blue Note Lounge.

My family has had them under surveillance for two months now, which comes in handy for my job tonight.

When the side door opens an hour later, I straighten in my seat. Orien slips out first, scanning the alley. Behind him, Kain and Petra follow, both dressed in dark clothes they hadn’t been wearing earlier in the lounge. These outfits are meant for blending in with the night.

My stomach tightens. This is it.

I pull my phone from my pocket and send a quick text.

Lev: Going dark. Will report later.

My brother will understand the message. The family business comes with its own shorthand. I pull the memory card and battery out, toss the phone out the window, shrug out of my cardigan, and trade it for a plain black hoodie before tying back the loose strands of my hair with an elastic band.

On the screen, Orien heads for one vehicle, a beat-up SUV, while Petra and Kain take a second one. I turn on the van’s engine and pull out of the alley, heading to where I know their target will be.

This is the first tip I’ve ever fed them. If it plays out clean, I’m in. If Orien somehow connects this back to the Vartanians, then I’ve handed them what they need to make me disappear the same way Raiden Johnston is about to.

I head north through Ashford Heights, away from the bright main arteries, keeping two blocks ahead of Orien’s SUV. The winter air bites through the van’s thin insulation, raising goose bumps on my forearms.