Page 11

“ B ienvenidos a Miami ,” Ryland murmured to the tune of the Will Smith song.

Quinn propped a shoulder against the brick building, her attention on the opening night crowd across the street from the alley. The line of clubbers waiting to get inside Onyx snaked all the way around the building. Scantily-clad women wore clothing that concealed less than the skimpiest of lingerie, and the men seemed to prefer unbuttoned silky shirts and gold chains. Even though she was far enough away and concealed from sight, she swore she could smell the stench of too much cologne.

She wrinkled her nose. Not her type. Nope, not even close. The kind of man she was attracted to didn’t try to be something he wasn’t or pretend he had more money in his bank account to impress women. He was self-assured and dominant, all Alpha male, but in a warrior kind of way. Her man wasn’t looking for approval or a desire to have all eyes on him. Rather, he had a strong, quiet confidence that spoke volumes.

Her attention shifted to Braxton and she studied his stern profile. So serious. He was scoping out the situation and most likely already knew the number of entrances, exits, bouncers and people waiting in line. He was efficient, thorough and…

Your ex-husband , she reminded herself firmly. Anything they might’ve had long ago had imploded because of their inability to trust each other. She’d learned it took more than mind-blowing sex to make a marriage work. Although she wouldn’t mind tangling between the sheets with him again. For old times sake.

Brax looked over at her and his gaze did a quick tilt down her body. Hmm . Maybe he was on the same wavelength. As different as they were, they were also eerily similar. When his eyes lifted and connected with hers, she saw the flare of heat before he quickly doused it.

“Ready?” he asked, reverting into mission mode.

“Ready,” she answered, palming her breasts and pushing them up higher, pulling an exasperated sound from the man across from her. A little more cleavage never hurt anything. Especially when she was trying to attract the attention of an egotistical, maniacal, self-consumed asshole like Alvaro Mesa.

Yeah, maybe she was only supposed to be the team’s eyes. But if an opportunity to get closer to the druglord presented itself, she’d take it. Besides, The Agency wanted him dead and told her to do the job.

“Good luck,” Zane said in her ear.

“I don’t need luck,” Quinn stated confidently, then met Brax’s neutral face. “See you soon.”

“Be careful,” he said. As she turned away, he grabbed her arm, spinning her back to face him, hauling her close. Her heart hammered triple time and the heat of his powerful body against hers made her flush. His warm breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “I mean it, Quinn. Stick to the plan.”

She smirked. “You gonna spank me if I don’t?”

He growled in response, and she inhaled sharply. God, she wanted to lick him. Instead, she stepped back, resisting the intoxicating pull between them. Hell, it was stronger than gravity.

“If I remember correctly, that was never a punishment.”

“Oh, you remember correctly,” she responded saucily. Spinning on her heel, she headed across the street, giving her ass an extra shake just for him.

Plucking the exclusive invite from her handbag, she skirted past the long line, walked straight up to a bouncer and handed it to him. Thank you, Zane and co. Apparently, Ex Nihilo’s hackers could get most anything accomplished, even in a pinch.

The bouncer barely looked at the invite. He was too busy ogling her assets. When he lifted the velvet rope and winked, she sauntered by with a demure smile. Inwardly, she groaned. She hated when guys winked. Nine times out of ten it was followed by a lewd comment or look.

“Nice tits,” the bouncer said.

And there it is. Quinn rolled her eyes, ignoring him.

The club was huge, and she paused, taking a moment to study the setup and crowd. The theme seemed to be excess and decadence swathed in a crimson interior. A huge chandelier hung over the crowded dance floor, and she noticed people hanging over a second-floor balcony railing above it. The bass-heavy music made her entire body vibrate and she blinked when strobe lights began to flash. Smoke poured out of a machine hidden somewhere behind the DJ spinning tunes on the stage.

Nothing about it appealed to her, and the twenty-something crowd made her feel ancient. These days, she much preferred a glass of wine and her couch to partying like a rockstar.

“I’m in,” she reported in a low voice, hoping they could hear her over the music.

“Roger that,” Brax answered. “When you have eyes on Mesa—”

“I know,” she interrupted, weaving her way through the crowd of people. “I will promptly inform you, Commander Graves.”

She could picture him grinding his teeth and she smiled. Getting under his skin always entertained her. Mostly, she did it to loosen him up a little. Sometimes, he could be wound a little too tightly, and she liked it when he let his curls down.

Winding her way through endless, sweaty, grinding bodies, she kept her gaze on the balcony, searching for the entrance point. It had to be the VIP area, and if Mesa showed up tonight like he was supposed to, that’s where he’d be.

But she had to make sure. Down on the first level, it would be impossible to keep a close watch on the man. There was also the possibility of another exit up there, which she would need to report back to the team.

Getting up into that balcony became priority number one.

She spotted a big, lone bouncer standing in front of a staircase and walked up to him, batting her lashes. Giving him a shy smile, she said, “Hi, my friend is up there and—”

“Sorry. No one else is allowed up,” he grunted, crossing his big arms.

Quinn stifled a sigh, wishing he would’ve made this easy on them both. “But she has my phone—”

“Sorry,” he interrupted.

“Well, that’s too bad,” she purred, reaching into her strapless bra and pulling a hundred-dollar bill out. She waved it back and forth, unable to miss the greedy gleam in his eyes. “I’ll be quick. Promise.”

The bouncer snatched the hundred and stepped aside, allowing her access.

“What a dick,” she muttered, starting up the steps. “I know I’m not twenty-one anymore, but geez. Way to bruise a girl’s ego.”

“He’s just doing his job,” Braxton stated in her earpiece.

“Which prevents me from doing mine.”

“You look beautiful, Q,” he told her, voice low and husky, sending tingles shooting through her body.

“Thanks,” she murmured, soaking up his words.

Once she reached the second level, she paused, taking a moment to look around. It was much bigger than she’d originally thought and at least fifty people filled the area. Most definitely a fire hazard. Her gaze zeroed in on a large velvet booth in the corner, and the man who sat in its center like a king.

Well, a drug kingpin, anyway.

Prime Colombian product, from pills to white powder, covered the booth’s shiny, black tabletop. Uncorked champagne bottles sat in buckets of melting ice, and a long table full of food ran along one of the walls. Other than a few very obvious bodyguards, the rest of the area was packed with scantily-clad women, dancing, laughing and higher than the heels they stumbled around in.

Definitely not her scene.

She clocked an emergency exit beside the booth and reported it back to the team. “Make sure to cover the southwest emergency exit leading down to the alley. I think that’s where he’ll leave.”

“Roger that,” Brax said. “Demon, you got that?”

“Already heading over there,” Gray returned in a steely grumble.

Walking forward, Quinn swiped up a glass of champagne, her attention on Alvaro “El Escorpión” Mesa, the feared leader of the Clan del Escorpión cartel. He didn’t look that scary to her. More like a glassy-eyed, overweight sack of shit who was indulging in his own product.

She contemplated taking him out with the pistol in her purse. But, one, there were too many armed guards and civilians. Not a good combination. And, two, Brax would shit a brick if she veered from the plan.

Mesa looked up. She felt his oily gaze slide down her body and did her best not to cringe. Showtime. Stopping in front of his table, she gave him a slow, sexy smile.

“Hola, hermosa . Why don’t you join me?” he invited, patting the seat beside him.

“I’d love to.” Quinn slid into the booth, prepared to shower the asshole in endless compliments.

“You aren’t supposed to make contact,” Brax snapped in her ear.

But, she ignored him. Too late for that. What the hell was she supposed to do? Ignore Mesa’s invite and leave? No way. She’d simply adjust and Brax would have to deal with it.

After less than ten minutes in his company, he was trying to feel her up under the table. Biting back the bile crawling up her throat, she gritted her teeth. He was getting a little too frisky for her liking, and she restrained herself from breaking his fat fucking fingers as they slid up under the edge of her short dress and squeezed her thigh.

She’d been through far worse as an agent with the CIA, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Men like Mesa thought they were God’s gift, but it took a lot more than money and power to impress Quinn.

Wanting to get this torture over with, she met his dark, beady eyes. “I think we should leave. Is there somewhere more quiet we can go? Just the two of us?”

Ryland made a gagging noise in her ear and she didn’t miss the annoyed sound from Brax.

“Good idea.” He motioned to one of his guards who dutifully walked over. “ Vámonos !”

Relieved, Quinn slid out of the booth, smoothing her skirt down, and turned toward the emergency exit. She couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there and let Gray finish this.

“This way,” Mesa said, grabbing her arm and tugging her against his side.

With a frown, she allowed him to slide an arm around her waist and lead her away from the exit. “Where are we going?” she asked. Surely not back downstairs and through the crowd. That made zero sense.

“Back to my place.” Flanked by his bodyguards, he guided her over to a concealed door she hadn’t noticed earlier. It was covered in crimson velvet, cleverly camouflaged, and he slid it open to reveal an elevator.

They’d reviewed the building schematics and it didn’t show an elevator.

Oh, shit. That shot their plan to neutralize him in the alley to hell.

“Oh, an elevator!” she exclaimed for the team’s benefit. “Where are we going?”

Underground parking garages in Miami weren’t really a thing, so when they stepped into the cab, she wasn’t surprised when he hit the up button.

“I had a private lot installed on the roof, just for me,” he informed her arrogantly.

Also not on the building plans.

“That’s convenient,” she said, forcing a smile and preparing herself for a big change of plans.

And, unfortunately, a little longer in Mesa’s company. She had no idea where they were going, but she discreetly activated the small GPS tracker sewn beneath a sequin on her handbag. Brax and the team would be able to follow her and figure out how to take the shot.

And, if they couldn’t, she’d do it herself.