Page 20

Arden

D upont District is nothing like I imagined.

When Luna said “tavern,” I pictured a grimy hole-in-the-wall with sticky floors, dim lighting, and questionable beer on tap.

Instead, the place oozes sophistication with low lighting, sleek wood finishes, and patrons dressed like they just stepped off a New York runway.

Even the hum of conversation feels curated, low, and smooth, blending perfectly with the soft jazz playing in the background.

“Not bad, huh?” Luna nudges me, her nude ombre lips curving into a satisfied smile as she surveys the room. Her green eyes sparkle, daring me to challenge her.

“It’s fine,” I mutter, tugging at the hem of my dress.

She chuckles, a soft, sultry sound, shaking her head. “You are physically incapable of admitting when I’m right.”

“No, I’m not. I just said it’s fine,” I repeat, giving the bar another glance. “Isn’t that enough?”

“For you? Not even close,” she teases, leading the way to the bar.

I follow reluctantly, already regretting letting her talk me into this. The dress, the heels, the makeup, none of it feels like me tonight. Luna, however, glides through the crowd like she owns the place, her confidence both enviable and infuriating.

“You’re brooding,” she says, tossing a knowing look over her shoulder.

“I’m not brooding.”

“Sure you’re not.” She slides onto a barstool, patting the one next to her. “Can you at least try to look like you don’t want to shoot everyone here? I don’t feel like fighting tonight.”

“I don’t look like that.” I’m borderline defensive as I grab a menu to avoid her gaze.

She crosses her legs, leaning in slightly. “Arden,” she says softly, her voice laced with concern. “I’m sorry I forced you to come with me, so if you want to leave, we can. No biggie.”

I sigh, closing the menu. “No, it’s fine. You were right. I needed to get out of the house,” I say, relenting just a bit in hopes she’ll drop it.

“Uh-huh,” she replies, not buying it for a second. “How’s work?”

“How’s Tavia?”

She flinches as if I physically struck her, and guilt gnaws at me immediately.

“Luna—”

Luna shakes her head quickly, her lips pressing into a tight line. “Don’t.” Her voice is soft but firm, cutting through the noise around us.

“I didn’t mean—” I say, but she interrupts.

“I know.” She picks up her glass, her eyes fixed on the amber liquid swirling inside. “Let’s not... do this here.”

I nod, swallowing down my apology. We sit in silence for a beat, the space between us heavy with words neither of us is brave enough to say.

“I saw her mom earlier today,” she says suddenly, her voice light but forced. “She cornered me in the grocery store. Told me I should call her.”

I pause, unsure of what to say. “And did you?”

She snorts, a humorless sound. “What’s the point? Tavia doesn’t want to talk, and her mom just wants to meddle. It’s easier this way.”

“Easier isn’t always better,” I say softly, hating how hypocritical I sound when I’ve been dodging my own feelings for weeks.

Luna doesn’t reply. She stares at her glass like it holds the answers to questions neither of us knows how to ask.

“What about you?” she asks, her voice carefully neutral. “How’s the new job going? You seem... more tense than usual. Agent Hottie still giving you problems?”

I open my mouth to deny it, but her look stops me short. “One, don’t ever call him that again. Two, I never said he was hot,” I say instead, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. “And three, it’s just… a lot. This is just the adjustment period. It’ll pass.”

She arches a brow. “Adjustment period? That’s what we’re calling it?”

I glare at her, but she just smirks, the tension between us easing slightly. “I’m serious. It’s fine. Nothing worth discussing.”

“Right. Because you’re the poster child for emotional stability,” she quips, earning a half-hearted laugh from me.

I’m about to retort when a familiar figure catches my eye from across the room. My heart lurches as I duck behind Luna.

My plan was to use her as a human shield and hope that he didn’t see me, but Luna, never missing a beat, ducks with me.

“Arden, what the hell? Why are we ducking?” she whisper-yells, eyes wide.

“Why are you ducking?” I hiss back.

“Because you ducked!” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“That doesn’t mean you should do it too!” I peek up from behind the bar, my heart strumming a fast beat. I release a slow breath when I see the man who looks like Ezra has moved on.

She peeks over her shoulder, her gaze scanning the crowd. “Who are we avoiding?”

“No one,” I mutter, sitting up.

Luna follows where my gaze was, and much to my dismay, they’re still there, just farther left than before. Her eyes narrow when they land on Agent Beckett and someone else standing near the bar.

The someone else is Agent Park, which surprises me. I didn’t know he and Agent Beckett were good enough friends to go out with each other. I guess I don’t know much about Park outside of work.

His tall, broad-shouldered form radiates with the kind of intensity that most could deem off-putting. His sharp features are softened only slightly by the dim lighting, and his dark blue tee fits him a little too well.

“Who’s that?” Luna asks, her tone curious.

“Theo Park,” I reply, watching as he leans casually against the bar, his gaze scanning the room.

Luna’s lips curve into a slow smile. One I know all too well. “Theo, huh?”

“Don’t,” I warn, but it’s too late.

Luna’s attention is locked on him now, and as if sensing it, Park’s eyes flick to her. The moment their gazes meet, something shifts. His expression doesn’t change, stoic as ever, but there’s a brief pause, a flicker of interest as his eyes go on a slow perusal of her that makes my stomach twist.

“Well, hello there,” Luna murmurs, a hint of mischief in her tone.

“Luna, no,” I say, nudging her. “He’s my coworker.”

“Oh relax, Arden. I’m just looking. He’s... interesting,” she replies, not bothering to hide her interest.

Before I can respond, a deep voice interrupts us. “Ladies.”

I turn to find Agent Beckett has moved from Park’s side and is now standing behind me, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.

Luna’s brows arch slightly as her gaze shifts from me to him. She takes him in, clearly intrigued, but it’s different from her interest in Park. “Hi, I’m Luna, and you are?”

“Ezra Beckett,” he says smoothly, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you, Luna.”

She shakes his hand, her lips curving into a polite smile. “Pleasure.”

Ezra’s gaze shifts to me, his smile softening. “Arden. Nice to see you out of the office.”

“Ezra,” I say, forcing a tight smile.

“Care to join us?” he asks, gesturing to a nearby table where a few other agents are seated.

I open my mouth to decline, but Luna beats me to it. “We’d love to.”

I glare at her, but she grabs my arm and pulls me toward the table. “Live a little. You know the saying, ride a cowboy, slay a horse.”

I’m almost 80 percent sure that’s not how that saying goes, but I don’t bother arguing with her.

As we approach the table, my eyes instinctively scan the room, landing on yet another familiar figure near the back wall, and it takes everything in me not to trip on my own two feet.

Agent Holden Grant.

Of fucking course.

Seems like the whole Scooby gang is here.

He’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, dressed in a black T-shirt and dark jeans that fit him unfairly well. His piercing blue eyes are locked on our group, unyielding and unreadable.

Seeing him sends a jolt through me, a mix of irritation and something I refuse to name.

“You okay?” Luna asks, glancing at me as if she’s sensed the shift.

“Fine,” I lie, tearing my gaze away from him.

The table erupts into conversation, but I can’t focus. I can still feel his eyes on me, like I'm tied up in my very own lasso, and the tightness of the hold is making the room suffocating. Nearly impossible to breathe.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, standing abruptly.

“You want me to come?” Luna asks, already half standing.

“No, no, it’s fine,” I say, desperate to escape before I lose my nerve.

I slip away from the table, weaving through the crowd until I find the hallway leading to the restrooms. The air feels cooler here, quieter, but my pulse continues to race.

The bathroom is empty. Thank God . I lock the door behind me and lean against the counter, staring at my reflection. My lipstick has faded, and that slight flush coloring my cheeks can’t be blamed on the wine.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to shake the anxiousness of my system, but it’s too much. Grant’s presence still lingers like a silent storm brewing just out of reach.

The sharp click of the lock turning startles me, and before I can process what’s happening, the door swings open.

The devil in question steps inside, closing it behind him with a quiet finality that makes my pulse stutter.

“What the hell are you doing? This is the women's restroom,” I snap.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back against the door, his broad shoulders blocking any hope of escape. His eyes, those piercing icy-blue eyes, rake over me, taking in every detail like he’s cataloging it for later.

“Didn’t take you for the type to play games, Rookie,” he says finally, his voice low and even, but there’s a tension beneath it, a restrained edge that makes the air in the small space feel heavier.

“Games?” I repeat, my brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

He steps forward, closing the distance between us in a way that feels deliberate and predatory. I instinctively back up until the counter digs into my lower back.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he murmurs, his tone deceptively calm. His eyes narrow slightly, flicking to my lips for a fraction of a second before locking back on mine.

The heat between us is palpable, a charged silence stretching taut like a wire about to snap.

“If you’ve got something to say, Grant, say it,” I challenge, though my voice wavers.

His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking there as he exhales through his nose. “I told you to stay away from Beckett,” he says, each word clipped and deliberate.

I blink, momentarily thrown. “Beckett?” I laugh, a short, humorless sound. “You followed me in here to lecture me about Ezra?”

His gaze darkens as Agent Beckett’s first name slips through my lips, and he leans in slightly, his hands bracing the counter on either side of me. His proximity is suffocating yet intoxicating.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t play fucking coy with me, Rookie. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I wasn’t—” I start, but the words catch in my throat when his head dips closer, his scent—clean, woodsy, and utterly him—invading my senses.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, softer, his lips so close to my ear that I feel the warmth of his breath.

My heart pounds wildly against my rib cage, a traitorous reaction I can’t control. “Why do you care?” I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flick to mine, and for a moment, something raw, something almost vulnerable, flashes there before it’s gone, replaced by the cold mask he always wears.

“I don’t,” he says finally, but the lie is so blatant, so poorly executed, that it sends a jolt of defiance through me.

“You don’t,” I echo. “Then get out of my way.”

I try to push past him, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, his hand moves, his fingers brushing against my wrist, a fleeting touch that stokes the same fire I felt days ago. It shoots straight to my core, and it takes everything in me not to squeeze my legs together.

“Grant,” I warn, my voice trembling now for entirely different reasons.

He leans in just enough that our noses almost brush, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away. “You make it hard, you know that?”

“Make what hard?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want the answer.

He doesn’t respond, not with words. Instead, his gaze dips to my lips again, lingering there for a beat too long. My breath hitches, and at that moment, the air between us shifts, crackling with an unspoken tension that feels both unbearable and magnetic.

His hand moves again, brushing against my hip this time, a barely there touch that sets every nerve ending on fire. I can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe with him looking at me like that. Like he wants to eat me alive.

The worst part? I’m not entirely sure I wouldn’t let him.

But then, just as quickly as it started, he steps back, putting an agonizing amount of space between us.

“Go back to your table, Williams,” he says, his tone flat, cold. The mask is back, firmly in place. “Enjoy your date.”

For a moment, I can only stare at him, my chest heaving as I try to process what the hell just happened. I’m so sick of this hot-and-cold bullshit with him. It causes anger to flare, hot and unrelenting, pushing past the confusion and… whatever else I’m feeling.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, brushing past him. This time, he doesn’t stop me.

I don’t look back as I leave, but I can feel his eyes on me the entire way.

On my way back to the table, Agent Park intercepts me, his expression unreadable.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, his voice casual, though there’s an edge to it.

“Trying to,” I reply, lifting a brow, not entirely sure what he’s hinting at.

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

I force a laugh, pretending I don’t understand. “No idea what you’re talking about, Park. I just needed to use the restroom.”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he steps aside, letting me pass.

But his words linger, a warning I can’t quite shake.