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38
MARGARET
THE NIGHT IS cool and quiet, the street we’re on completely abandoned save for an old car that looks like it has seen better days and a group of raccoons that are sorting through a tipped-over trash can.
My breathing is erratic, not because what we are doing is unsafe or scary, and not because the man we are hunting is one of the most dangerous people I’ve ever encountered, his rap sheet one to be beat by some of the biggest thugs around.
No. It’s because of the man beside me. It’s because of the words he spoke earlier that seem to echo throughout my head like a disc skipping on a loop.
“…fuck me if I’m not completely in love with you.”
This gorgeous, kind, brilliant man who sits not six inches from me is in love with me. Me, the girl who puked on him the second time we met, the girl who got us into so much shit just by existing, the one girl—ever, probably—who pushed him away.
And he sat there telling me he loves me.
It was an admission that rocked me to the core. I immediately started feeling like I was going to be sick and simultaneously wanted to cry. My resolve was to hate him, to push him away and not let him get through the wall I built just for him, but somehow, somewhere along the way, he’s been knocking it down brick by brick until he could climb over the rubble.
All I want to do is give in, crawl across the tiny console between us, and show him how much I want all of that, how much I want him to stay and be with me, how I want it all to come true the way I’ve been hoping for all this time.
Even though it’s what I want, I can’t do that. Not yet. Right now, we have a job to do, and I have to focus on that. Until this part is over and the bad man is put away, I will wait to do more than a chaste kiss on the lips when I tell him I love him too, because that moment deserves more. It deserves a bed and endless hours to spend in it.
“No movement, James.” Liam’s voice pulls me out of my cloud of thought and back to this moment.
Alexander is no dummy. He chose one of the more popular places to hang out in to conceal his identity. I’ve never been to the Church nightclub for pleasure, but I have been there for business on more than one occasion. As far as nightclubs go, it’s one of the nicer ones, and it isn’t at all surprising that there is a Russian mobster hanging out there.
I looked over the file the FBI has been compiling over the last two years, and it is extensive. I’ve never seen him in this nightclub before, or at least he’s hidden himself very well within its walls, which is good and bad. It means there is a very good chance he is in there, but it also means getting to the part of the building where he is might be tricky without starting something we don’t want innocent civilians to be a part of.
“We’ve IDed him through security cameras and know he entered the building at eleven. Nothing on him leaving.” Gemma’s voice comes through the comms we’re wearing in our ears. It was pure luck that we caught him while she was still in town, and she and other officers are waiting in a black van two streets over.
With Liam and me in this car, we don’t seem as obvious as a surveillance van would, and we are going to use that to our advantage tonight.
Because I didn’t know what they would need from me when I was packing, I decided to throw in a little black dress I wore to a colleague’s wedding some months ago. It was a guess, but after Vegas, I had reason to believe it might come in handy, and it did.
It’s a bit on the short side, but it’s perfect for the club. Liam is even luckier in his dark jeans and tight grey Henley. Guys have it so damn easy.
“All right, Mo and I are going in,” Liam tells her, and he looks to me. “Ready?” His eyes tell me he’s got me. Even though I know how to handle myself in these types of situations now, I still take a cue from him and give him a nod.
We walk hand in hand to the front door. There are a few people ahead of us to get in, but the line moves quickly, and before we know it, we’re in. Our IDs are checked, and luckily there are zero body checks, though it’s unlikely they would have found where I hid my gun.
The music is loud. I can feel the bass thump through the floor, and the people move in sync with one another. From a distance it looks like one massive group dancing together. It seems we’ve come on a night when a live DJ who looks mighty popular is playing, and everyone is jumping in unison when the beat asks for it.
Not a single soul pays us any mind.
I take in our surroundings; the nightclub is literally a church. The cathedral ceilings are in immaculate condition, and the stained glass windows reflect the strobe lights that shine brightly throughout the room.
There is a bar set up to the side, and Liam leads me there first, ordering us some drinks while I observe the scene. Liam doesn’t stop touching me, his hand on mine, on my hip, or around my shoulders at all times, and I’m not complaining one bit.
I turn when Liam tells me to and smirk when I see he’s gotten me a cosmo. “Memory lane, much?” I say into his ear. I have to lean into him and am not shy when my hips meet his, my right hand holding his shoulder for stability, his left arm wrapped around my hips.
“Best night of my life,” he replies into my left ear.
I lean back and furrow my brow, a smirk still on my lips. “That was the best night of your life?” I ask, leaning closer again when his arm pulls me in tighter. “Why is that?”
He leans away only enough so he can meet my eyes with his own, and there’s a smile on his lips when he says, “It was the night I met you.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything as sweet as that, but come up empty. Instead an awkward giddy giggle stumbles out, and I shake my head. Thankfully, he just laughs at me.
I give in to an urge I’ve had since I opened the door to his grinning face earlier, and when I press my lips to his, he reciprocates easily, abandoning his drink so his right hand can cup the back of my neck. It’s his signature move with me, and I love it.
