Page 24

That earns a smirk—he's charmed by the bluntness, turned on by the lack of pretense. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and I know I've got him. He slides closer, the heat of his thigh pressing against mine through the thin silk of my dress.
"Direct. I like that. Saves us both time," he says, signaling for another drink with a flick of his fingers. The bartender notices immediately, nodding with practiced deference. "I’m supposed to be somewhere tonight but you’re making it hard for me to leave. Did you do that on purpose?"
The jazz changes, something with a mournful trumpet that sounds like sex and regret had a baby. The lights seem to dim, cocoon us in our little corner of sin. His cologne wraps around me—expensive, masculine, with an undercurrent of something sharper, chemical.
I laugh, soft and dismissive, letting my fingers trail the rim of his glass. The crystal is cool against my skin, slick withcondensation. "What can I say? When I see something delicious, I want a taste.”
His gaze rakes me up and down as he murmurs, “Same.”
He watches me for a beat—long enough that I wonder if I pushed too hard, then he nods, slowly, eyes glittering in the low light like a predator's.
"Paid company with personality," he muses. "That's a rare find."
If only you knew, silly boy. I'm a government-issued honeytrap with daddy issues and a license to mindfuck. But tonight, I'm whatever fantasy you need me to be.
I feign a pout, letting my bottom lip jut out just enough to draw his gaze. "Don't tell me you're the type who just wants a warm body and silence."
"No," he admits, voice dropping an octave, rough around the edges. "I like a little bite. Something to chase. But only if I know it won't bite back."
There it is—his fear, his need for control wrapped in bravado. He wants to feel like the one in power, even when he's being seduced. Especially then. The air between us is electric now, charged with something dark and hungry that has nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with power.
I press my knee into his beneath the table, lean in like I'm letting him in on a secret. My perfume—that custom blend designed to hook into his lizard brain—surrounds us both now. "Then let's not pretend. You tell me what you want, and I'll be exactly that. No more, no less."
His breath catches, jaw tight, pupils darkening. A vein pulses in his neck, blue beneath expensive skin. "And if I want you on your knees blowing me in the executive washroom?”
"Then I hope you lock the door unless you prefer an audience."
Fuck me, this is almost too easy. Like taking candy from a baby, if the baby was a horny millionaire with a God complex.
He laughs, the sound low and dangerous, teeth flashing white in the dim light. The fresh drink arrives—amber liquid in cut crystal, delivered by a server who keeps his eyes carefully averted. He takes a sip, eyes locked on mine over the rim. "You're good," he says, voice lower now, intimate as a secret. "Too good."
I shrug, letting the smile linger on my lips. The heavy weight of the pendant around my neck—another calculated detail, another hook—rests against my skin, cool and solid. "Just good at what I do."
"You a regular?" he asks, eyeing me again, gaze sharper now, more calculating. "Or new talent?"
The question hangs between us, weighted with suspicion. My pulse kicks up, but I keep my face smooth, my smile easy. This moment—this is what Killion drilled into me. The pivot point where everything could shatter or lock into place.
"Let's just say I'm very exclusive." I dip my fingers into his glass, swirl the ice, bring one to my lips, suck it slow. The whiskey burns, smoky and rich, coating my tongue. His breath audibly hitches, the sound almost lost in the murmur of the bar.
He leans in, close enough that I can count the flecks of gold in his green eyes, see the fine lines at their corners that no amount of expensive skincare can erase. "Well, I'm very good at spotting when something's…off."
There it is. The flicker of suspicion. The moment where the mask could slip, where the whole game could unravel. My heart pounds against my ribs, but I don't let it show. Instead, I lean into the danger, into the razor's edge of discovery.
And here's where we find out if Killion's training was worth a damn. Time to earn my keep, whatever the fuck that is.
But I keep the act up—smile tighter, hand sliding to his thigh, keeping the fantasy alive. His muscle tenses beneath my touch, hard and solid through the expensive fabric of his suit. "Then I guess you'll just have to figure me out, won't you?"
"Hmm." He finishes his drink, sets it down with a deliberate clink, and then—abruptly—his hand clamps over mine. Tight. Cold.
And under the table, I feel it. A blade. Pressed just below my hip, the pressure slight but unmistakable through the thin silk of my dress.
"Let's see who's really in control tonight, Lydia."
Well, shit. This wasn't in the training manual.
The steel doesn't waver—cool metal against my skin, a ticking bomb waiting to explode. My pulse hammers, blood rushing in my ears like a freight train, but outwardly, I don't flinch. Don't panic. Just let my smile widen, slow and dangerous as sunrise.
"My, my," I breathe, letting a thrill edge my voice, "aren't you full of surprises?"
IsLandry's first assignment her last? Or will she become Killion's most dangerous doll?
Victor's blade presses into my hip, cold metal against warm silk. My pulse pounds but my smile never falters. Six weeks ago, I was a bored housewife chasing thrills in sex clubs. Now I'm a weapon—molded by Killion's brutal training, sharpened by Sienna's ruthless lessons.
"Let's see who's really in control tonight," Victor whispers, his breath hot against my neck.
What he doesn't know is that Landry James died the moment I signed that contract. What emerged is something far deadlier, something that hungers for more than just a cheap high.
As the knife trembles against my skin, one thought burns brighter than fear: I was born for this game.