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“You see, I notice things. I’m quite observant.”
She stands there, her chest rising and falling rapidly as I watch.
“I can tell that you aren’t that steady in those shoes, which brings me to two conclusions. You have just started here, or you aren’t used to wearing heels. Or both.” I tilt my head to the side. “And since I’ve been here for the past month, on and off, and I’ve never seen you before, maybe tonight is your first night. Which begs the question, why would they put you on bottle service in the VIP section on your first night?”
I make a note to talk to Gina, who oversees the hiring at our clubs.
“Or maybe you don’t work here at all?” At that, I lean forward, watching her face drain of color.
Ah.
“So, why don’t you tell me your real name, Fuck You? It would make this go a lot smoother.” I stand up, rising to my full height of six feet three inches, and I tower over her. Even in those heels she’s wearing.
I check my watch again. One thirty. Close enough.
She mumbles something, and I step closer to her, my thumb and forefinger finding her chin and raising her head to me. Her eyes are bright blue, sparkling with anger and hate and maybe even fear. I’m used to people fearing me, but the electricity I feel from being this close to her has me stepping away, dropping her chin.
I don’t want to be near her anymore. I’m not afraid of her, and as much as I want to know her secrets, I don’t feel like she’s any danger to me.
“Get her the fuck out of here,” I say, turning away, deciding not to do anything with her here.
She’s harmless. I pull my phone out of my pocket, checking for notifications. He won’t be happy if I leave early, but I don’t care.
“Sir?” Geo asks, confused by my sudden change.
“You’re fired,” I tell the woman even though I know she doesn’t work here.
Then, I jerk my head, watching as Geo turns her, ushering her out of the VIP section. She stumbles a few times, but I watch until I can’t see her anymore. I reach up to rub my temples, blowing out a long breath.
“Let’s go,” I say to Geo as soon as he returns, and he nods.
“Yes, sir.”
I follow him out the back entrance to the waiting black SUV. Climbing in, I catch a flash of something at the opening to the alley, but as soon as I glance back, there’s nothing.
I shake my head before slipping onto the cool leather, laying my head back and rocking slightly as the door is shut behind me. My mind replays what just happened, and I close my eyes, seeing her determined face instead of darkness.
WRYN
One Month Later
Iplace my hand on my thigh and press in as I try to keep it from shaking. I’m a fool to think I can do this and get away with it. My months spent researching and training never prepared me for this moment, the one of truth and possibly death. Hopefully, not mine.
I almost blew my cover a month ago at Blue Light, Bertrand Soltorre’s newest nightclub. I thought I was dead for sure as soon as Connor paid any attention to me. I had been an idiot for trying to get close. I’d bribed a waitress with fifty dollars to switch clothes with me in the restroom, so I could do some recon, but as soon as I was near him, I regretted it.
I watch the curtains flare, a hidden vent making them shudder, like they are possessed by a ghost. I let my fingers trail over my tight dress, feeling for the knife I have hidden in a holster around my leg. It has to be on the inside of my thigh, so the dress doesn’t bulge out. I had to practice walking with it, so I wouldn’t look awkward, but now is when all my practice gets put to use.
I left my car in the woods that surround the Soltorre property, so I can make a quick getaway. I called a car service to pick me up. The driver didn’t even bat an eye when he saw I was waiting on the side of the road. But I figured I needed to drive up to the front door in a vehicle and not walk up the driveway in a dress and heels. It would have definitely blown my cover.
I was just shown into Bertrand’s office. The man who let me in looked surprised that Bertrand wasn’t inside, but he left me anyway. Maybe I have a trustworthy face.
Now, I’m waiting for our meeting. The one I lied through my teeth to get.
There’s a decanter of dark liquid sitting on the left of his desk, and I ache to wrap my hands around it and pour myself some courage, but I don’t. I have to remain clear and levelheaded. I have a job to do.
The door behind me opens, and I fight the urge to whirl. Instead, I calmly turn, pasting a carefully crafted smile on my face.
“Bertrand Soltorre, in the flesh,” I say in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.
