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But the way she kept glancing at me when she thought I wasn't looking, the slight flush on her cheeks, the way she worried her lip ring with her teeth—

Yeah. We were both completely fucked.

Lena attacked her station with antiseptic wipes like she was trying to scrub away the last few minutes. I grabbed a rolling stool from the corner, wheels squeaking against the concrete as I pulled it closer. Better to have something solid under me. Something to grip when she inevitably made me crazy.

"Duke assigned me to handle security upgrades for all the wedding venues," I said, keeping my voice steady. Professional. "Starting here."

She snorted without looking up from her aggressive cleaning. "Because nothing says 'punk rock tattoo shop' like military-grade security. What's the plan? Metal detectors? Cavity searches at the door?"

The image of my hands on her again—searching, exploring—flashed through my mind before I could stop it. I gripped the stool harder.

"Basic precautions. You're a wedding venue now whether you like it or not. I have evidence that the Serpents have been surveilling our org. It has to stop."

"Right." She wadded up the dirty wipes, tossing them with more force than necessary. "Thor's whole matching tattoos idea for the wedding party. Tribal bonding or whatever."

Something in her voice caught my attention. Not quite sarcasm. Something softer, like she actually thought it was sweet but couldn't admit it.

"It's a good idea," I said carefully. "Meaningful."

She glanced at me, then away. "Yeah, well. Thor's a closet romantic under all that Viking rage."

We both knew she was deflecting, but I let it slide. Picked my battles with Lena Rivera. Had to, or we'd be fighting all day.

Time to get back on track.

"So," I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "Notice anything unusual lately? Anyone hanging around who shouldn't be?"

Her hands paused in their cleaning. Just for a second. If I hadn't been watching for it, I'd have missed the tell.

"Define unusual," she said, but the defensive edge was back. "This is a tattoo shop. We get all kinds of weird."

"Lena."

"What? I'm serious. Last week a guy wanted his ex's face tattooed on his ass with devil horns. That's pretty unusual."

I waited. One of the first things you learned in interrogation—people hated silence. They'd fill it eventually.

She lasted maybe three seconds.

"Fine. Maybe this morning there was some skinny Serpent hanging around outside." She grabbed fresh gloves, snapping them on with unnecessary force. "Taking pictures or something. But they lurk around here anyway for the methadone clinic down the block, so . . ."

Every muscle in my body went tight. "Taking pictures of what?"

She shrugged, but I caught the concern she was trying to hide. "The shop, maybe? Could've been Instagram stuff. Kids document everything these days. Probably nothing."

"Describe him."

The words came out sharp. Command voice. The kind that made soldiers jump to attention and enemies reassess their life choices.

Lena's spine straightened, but not in compliance. In challenge.

"Say please, Soldier Boy."

There it was. The bratty pushback that made my palm itch. Made me want to put her over my knee and show her what happened when she pushed too hard. Made me want to find out if she'd still be mouthing off when I had her—

Professional. Fucking professional, Monroe.

I took a breath. Modulated my tone. "Please, Lena. This is important."