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Few years later, my hand-to-hand combat instructor said I was a scary motherfucker.
I see everything.
The guards’ patrol patterns.
Which dogs are sluggish.
Hiding spots between bushes.
And also?
This McMansion is a fucking McVault.
I’m not gonna luck into an unlocked window.
Have to bluff instead.
I strip my weapons and stash them in rosebush. Then I time bleeding out of the shadows, and bold-ass take the footpath to the back door.
“State your business.”
I lift my hands, flashing a business card, courtesy of Bish. “Sorry, I’m late. Waiter called out last minute. But between you and me? If you want to turn me away, I’d rather be on a date with a beer and my beta.”
“Wouldn’t we all.” The guard alpha jerks his rifle toward the back steps. “Talk to Gustav.”
I salute and jam my hands in my pockets, walking real casual.
I’m only half faking.
Feels a lot more natural walking toward the servant’s entrance than the main gate.
“Gustav?” I eye the big guy manning the back steps.
I’ve got ten pounds of muscle on him, but he reeks of sardines and angry rage.
My knuckles twitch.
I trade the urge to challenge him for a weak-ass smile, reining in my dominance and flashing him the card. Bish phoned in a favor. He always comes in clutch, digging dirt on every pack in town. “I’m here for—”
“Hands in the air,” Gustav barks, all alpha, no manners.
I surrender.
While his buddies watch the show with rifles cocked, Gustav rubs his knuckles. “Spread your legs.”
All I can do is kick my legs apart and hope I don’t have to snap his neck and screw my cover.
Doesn’t come to that.
Gustav pats me down until I feel like I should shove a sweaty ten-spot in his rifle band.
Too fucking thorough to be all business.
When he finds nothing hidden in my deepest nooks and crannies, Gustav finally clears me through. “Twenty says he doesn’t last the night.”
The guards cackle.
I step into the servant’s entrance on highest-alert.
