AllFreeNovel
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Ten minutes.
In and out of the hotel, and if anything goes wrong, I whip out my pheromones and run.
The OCC made us train walking in heels, but the pumps I borrowed weren’t five-inch stilettos sharp enough to pop a tire.
After a few baby-giraffe stumbles around the bathroom, I remember how to strut.
Ready with Serafina’s boosted car, Commander Fissure and her team wait for me in the underground garage. I’m more confident with every click-clacking step, holding back a catty smile when the agents’ jaws drop from my makeup magic.
Bridget leaves the mission command huddle, gliding over with a critical gaze. “Well done. If only you—”
“I’m ready.” I cut her off.
No way is that a comparison I want to hear.
“Silas?” She summons the mate who must’ve drawn the stump straw and ended up my keeper.
In a dark suit with a gold chain ripped from an alpha captured at the auction, Silas should look Redfang as hell. But with a crew cut, no tattoos, and the posture of a flagpole, the guy screams narc.
I don’t offer my professional opinion.
Nobody cares.
“Stay on your earpiece,” Bridget warns. “Ping us when you have Nikolaj or his whereabouts. We’ll be on standby with reinforcements surrounding the hotel.”
“Yes, Commander.” Silas gives a crisp salute that jangles his chain, looking like a cadet in a mafia costume.
“Roll out,” Bridget commands.
When I climb into Serafina’s bulletproof sedan, Silas hops behind the wheel, already failing his role. It’s fine if he wants to get himself killed, but I plan to survive the night. “Serafina’s bodyguard would’ve opened the door for her.”
“I’m not acting until we’re on site.” Silas hunches, maxing the distance between us in the limited space of the car. “And you listen to me, or I call the mission. You run, you pay. Got it?”
When he glares over his shoulder, I do a Serafina head tilt, trying to match my sister’s deadly confidence. “Got it.”
Silas flinches.
I’m just not sure if I nailed her persona, or if he’s traumatized because he couldn’t pack his gas mask. My pheromones prickle, reminding me how easy it would be to take Silas down, but if half the SAS is surrounding the hotel, the other half is probably following our path to make sure I don’t go rogue.
Serafina’s razor-sharp lemon doesn’t make it any easier to keep my scent on lock. Her perfume climbs from her clothes, punching through my turtleneck until I feel her manicured hands around my throat.
Desperately need a shower.
Ignoring the itch and the glares from the front seat, I practice Serafina’s posture while Silas drives across town. By the time we hit The Barrington’s marquee, my scent is under supermax security, and I’m ready to order a martini, then berate the cocktail waitress.
But the hotel sign sparks a quaver under my skin.
The Barrington’s sky-high letters match the height of Bishop Barrington in my heart.
He played baseball in a bleach-white, collared shirt and never caught a speck of dirt. All he did was smirk.
On fight nights, he’d flick my baseball cap and peel a fifty from his billfold, sending me to fetch snacks and booze. But Bishop only needed a gofer the nights that bloody fights spilled out of the ring, and he always let me keep the change.
He said coins were filthy, and he was too rich to count pennies.
With foster parents who only wanted me for child labor, who yelled and backhanded and sniped at every little thing I did wrong when I was the one raising their crotch goblins, I’ve never had trouble spotting real kindness.
I wanted to get closer to him.
