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“Redfangs?” His sneer fills my speakers. “They booked my penthouse. Since when do we give a fuck about them?”
“Since we’re kidnapping Jericho’s fiancé.” The line goes silent so long, I think I dropped the call. “Bish?”
“You’re on the way home?”
I glance in the rearview. “Be there in ten if they don’t ram me with an armored truck again.”
He groans. “I’ll double security. You can explain the master plan to the pack.”
“Trust me.”
“Against my better judgment.”
My speakers click to silence.
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles crack.
My instincts never lie, and the tension tightening my spine says the power’s finally shifting.
Just one more job.
Grab the omega. Smear the blame on the Triad. Then kick back and watch the gang war explode.
And when Kairo’s at his weakest?
I’ll finally knock the king off his throne.
Serafina’s leather is so tight that I’m going to need to butter my boobs to wedge into her bustier, but a bucket of lube won’t be enough to hide my other problem. “Her boots won’t fit over my ankle monitors.”
Even my loose-fitting uniform pants barely squeeze around the super-conspicuous shock boxes that’ll make any other disguise pointless.
Commander Fissure purses prim lips.
I volley her glare. “The plan doesn’t work if the Redfangs murder me in the lobby.”
After enough scrutiny to leave me flop-sweating, Bridget reaches under her bulletproof vest, pulling out my remote.
Hers has a lot more buttons than Simon’s.
Don’t want to remember what those do.
My cuff beeps, then whirrs, the heavy-duty straps unspooling until there’s enough slack to tear them off my feet.
“You’ll stay in sight of your handler at all times,” the commander warns.
“Sure.” I wouldn’t expect her to let me off my leash without a babysitter.
I’m too excited to complain, rubbing the raw skin I’ve barely seen in five years. Both ankles are red and oozy, but I feel a thousand pounds lighter without the extra weight.
I can’t even remember what it’s like to walk without clanking, without the constant fear of being zapped.
I wiggle my toes and promise.
Never again. That’s the last time I let myself be chained.
When Elyse and her mates return with colored contacts and a bag of drug store makeup, I duck into a scary, black site bathroom with squidgy floor-stains that hint it doubles as an extra cell.
Jamming into Serafina’s leather feels like stuffing a sausage. My skin pebbles in the raw air. As soon as the bustier’s laced, I jam my black sweater overtop.
