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“Surveillance.”
“Sorry?” I was snapped out of my thoughts, and she arched a brow at me.
“Surveillance. We watch them, see who’s coming and going.”
“And then what?” I asked.
“How about just one step at a time? We need to gather more information. These people don’t exactly make themselves easy to find.”
Impatience was edging in on her tone, and I grinned. It was so tempting to push her. She was so cute when she was mad—except for those times when she was flailing a silver knife about, that was less cute. But I guess I should keep the peace with Ilsa, at least for now. She was trying to help me, after all. Even though in the process, she was helping herself. I wanted to believe that somewhere underneath the bravado, she cared for my well-being.
After a beat, Ilsa nodded, more to herself than to me, and began striding toward the club again. I followed, catching up with her and occasionally casting her an unrequited glance, hoping she’d let me in on whatever secret plan she had beyond watching the club. But she said nothing.
When we reached Urban, Ilsa kept walking, circling the block twice from different angles—once passing the front of the club and another slipping down a side thoroughfare before coming around on the other side of the street. We were concealed mostly from the view of the club by the shop front verandas, sticking to the shadows. Following her lead, we finally slid down into a crouch, concealed by empty tables bolted to the concrete outside a café that was long shut down.
Falling into silence, we stared up at the second and third stories of our target building. Large windows adorned the side of the second story, but the third was closed off with shutters. I knew this club. I’d been in it once or twice the first few times I had come to Earth, drawn to it by the crowd that frequented—those who were worth robbing, getting their kicks by leaving the other end of the city and partying on thewild side,and those who robbed.
It was the type of place people came to be seen with its heavy, smoky atmosphere, loud music, expensive drinks, and seductive décor. Or sometimes, not to be seen but to be lost in the crowds while they had business to do. There was a balcony that overlooked the dance floor and some sort of VIP area up there I could never gain access to no matter how much I batted my eyelashes and pushed my tits together at the bouncer.
Ilsa slid down next to me, her forearms resting on her knees, staring at the building, almost appearing to take inventory of it.
She impressed me. I was happy to let Ilsa take control of the situation. For now, anyway. If we got into trouble, I was certain I could fight my way out, and she knew how to handle herself well enough. While I tended to rely on humans underestimating me and not suspecting I was as strong as I was, Ilsa was different. She may not have been a physically imposing woman, but she looked the part—toned body, a stern expression, and radiating power.
Sexy as fuck.
It didn’t escape me how she tried to hide her limp as she walked and took long, purposeful strides. An impressive specimen of a woman, she’d captured my attention in such a way I found myself hoping this investigation stretched out, wishing we wouldn’t find whoever was trying to harm us straight away, and maybe, with time, she’d relax around me. Because her shoulders were tense, and she always looked as though she was on the verge of leaping into a defensive pose at any moment, pulling another silver knife from some hidden pocket.
It may have been an immature wish, but I didn’t care.
I liked her like a cat was attracted to the one person in the room who doesn’t like cats.
My attraction to her, coupled with her strength and attitude, was magnified by the animalistic lust that had exploded from both of us in bed together.
At the memory, my demon stirred, and I had to suppress the growl threatening to burn in my throat. My skin started to ripple, my shoulders flexed, and my neck cracked as I shifted. Learning my mistakes too late, as usual, it was a slap in the face now that I couldn’t control my demon through violence alone—we needed both,cravedboth the fight and the fuck. Demons were instinctual beings, and if our minds denied us what we desired, they would take over and claim it.
Shit.
It was coming.
ILSA
Ray had been glancing at me as we worked our way around to a place from which we could observe the club, and I know she was dying to know what my plan was.
There was no way to tell her I didn’t have one.
Because I was well out of my depth.
I was a soldier. I went where I was told, did the job, and left. I could make tactical decisions on the ground—gather intel, know the terrain and territory, then make a decision. Planning ahead too far didn’t work because you could never really know what the next few minutes held. Ray looked at me as though I were a detective or a cop like she had lumped all authority figures together in the same basket, assuming we all had the same skill set.
I’m not stupid. I could’ve progressed through the ranks, but I didn’t want to. This was something else my father had seen as a weakness, but I saw only as control over my own life. I didn’t want to be the one sitting in an office giving commands. I needed to be there, on the field, to see the innocent people and have the constant reminder shoved in my face of why I was doing what I did. Because if I didn’t have that, if the people were reduced to nothing but words and numbers on a screen, and if I could tell someone to pull a trigger rather than doing it myself, then I might lose my humanity.
Like he had.
So, I had no real plan. This was my terrain now, though. I had cased the building and knew enough about what went on inside to know these people were either a threat or a very useful source of information. I had also put faith in the fact that between Ray and me, if shit went down, we were strong enough to get ourselves out of the situation.
Observation was necessary. It may not be the mile-a-minute thrill ride Ray was hoping, judging by her constant fidgeting and twitching, but it was needed.
It grated against me that I hadn’t considered the person trying to kill us could be in the club when we had started walking there. They could’ve recognized us as soon as we walked through the damn door. Whoever they were, they, of course, knew what Ray looked like, even if they didn’t know her name because simply seeing us together was enough for them to turn on me.
