Page 53

Vincent's chest rose and fell under the sheets, his face slack with the kind of peace I'd never known before meeting him.

Something fierce and possessive clawed at my ribcage as I watched him sleep.

The scent of him still clung to my skin, sandalwood and clean sweat and the lingering traces of last night when he'd taken me apart with those careful, clinical hands that somehow knew exactly how to make me forget who I was.

I slipped from our bed silently, muscles still pleasantly sore from where his fingers had dug into my hips, claiming me as thoroughly as I'd claimed him.

There was one final piece of my plan to put in motion, and I couldn't risk him waking and asking questions I wasn't prepared to answer.

The weight of what I was planning settled between my shoulder as I closed our door silently behind me and slipped out of the apartment.

Bacchanal assaulted my senses the moment I stepped through its doors.

Bass notes pummeled my chest cavity, vibrating my organs while strobe lights sliced through artificial smoke, painting everything in violent blues and reds.

The air tasted metallic and sweet, thick with expensive perfume, sweat, and desperation.

Bodies writhed against each other on the dance floor, moving with the same primal rhythm as combat, all hunger and violence.

There was a time when I'd have been right in the middle of it, finding someone to fuck or fight or both.

Tonight, I had more important things on my mind.

I spotted Lo instantly. Hard to miss him, honestly.

While the club was full of dangerous people trying to look normal, Lo was the opposite—a deadly motherfucker who dressed like he was auditioning for a Lady Gaga backup dancer position.

Tonight's ensemble featured leather pants so tight they qualified as a medical risk, a mesh crop top with "HEDONIST" spelled out in rhinestones across his chest, and enough metal jewelry to set off airport security from the parking lot.

He danced with a muscular guy who looked terrified and aroused equally. Lo spotted me over his dance partner's shoulder and winked, grinding against the poor bastard one last time before extracting himself.

"You're late," he shouted over the music as he bounced toward me, sweat glistening on his collarbones.

"You're a walking disco ball." I took his elbow and steering him toward the VIP section where we might actually hear each other.

The VIP room was marginally quieter, the music muffled enough that you could speak without screaming.

The lighting remained shit, all crimson and shadow, but at least you could see who you were talking to.

I slid two special pennies to the attendant, who nodded and left us alone, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

"Your boy doesn't know, does he?" Lo asked immediately, dropping his club persona as soon as we were alone. His eyes sharpened behind the glitter .

"No," I confirmed, taking a seat on one of the leather couches. "And it stays that way."

Lo flopped down across from me gracefully, but I noticed the tension in his shoulders. "So we're really doing this?"

"I am," I said, emphasizing the singular. "You're just providing intel and equipment."

Lo rolled his eyes dramatically. "Sure, sweetie. Keep telling yourself that."

I leaned forward, dropping my voice even though we were alone. "I'm serious, Lo. This isn't your fight."

"Interesting theory," he replied, examining his nails nonchalantly. "Consider this my counter-argument: fuck you."

"No," I said, the word cutting through the air between us. "This isn't negotiable, Lo. I'm doing this alone."

"Luka—"

"I mean it," I said, leaning forward, my voice dropping dangerously. "This is my fight. My mission. My ending to write." I held his gaze until he looked away. "I need the intel and equipment. That's it. When it's time, I go in alone."

Lo's jaw tightened. "Fine. Play the lone wolf avenger if it gets your rocks off. Just don't expect me to explain to your pretty therapist why you came back in a body bag."

"How sure are you about this intel?"

Lo's expression turned serious. "Jasper’s devices worked perfectly. Those trackers we planted on Prometheus's vehicles at the funeral transmitted for nearly eight hours before they were discovered and destroyed."

"Fuck. That's not long. "

"Long enough." Lo reached into his ridiculous pants and somehow extracted a sleek tablet. "We tracked his movements to multiple locations, but he returned to this building three times."

He slid the tablet across the table, showing satellite images of an elegant glass building.

"The top three floors are his private residence.

Security is top-tier. This is your entry point.

" He zoomed in on a maintenance access on the roof.

"Service elevator in the building next door to the roof and then jump across. "

"Tonight," I said, memorizing the layout. "I'll take Vincent to dinner and then I'll slip out. How’d you get all this, anyway?"

Lo's smile was pure sin. "Apparently, the new head of security has a thing for blonds with flexible morals."

I snorted. "So you fucked it out of him?"

"Please," Lo scoffed, looking offended. "I am a professional. I blew him in the supply closet and had a USB drive cloning his phone while he was busy seeing Jesus."

"Resourceful as always."

"Damn right," Lo agreed. "But we still have a problem with the biometrics. Even if we can spoof the retinal scan, the system requires live tissue for the palm print."

"I've got that covered," I said, setting the tablet down. "Costa owes me a favor."

Lo's eyebrows shot up. "Synthetic skin guy? Fuck, that's going to be expensive."

"Already paid for," I said. "Cost me three pennies."

Lo whistled. "Your entire collection?"

"Not quite." I thought of the two special pennies I'd kept separate from my collection—the first one Prometheus had ever given me in Bosnia, and the one he'd pressed into my palm in Milan. Those weren't for trading. Those were for shoving down his fucking throat when I finally got my hands on him.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the candy wrapper from the candy Prometheus had given me that first day in Bosnia.

I'd kept it all this time, a fucked-up memento of the day my life changed forever.

I smoothed it onto the table, the gold foil gleaming under the crimson light, impossibly intact after all these years.

Lo went still, his eyes fixed on the wrapper. He knew what it was. I'd told him once, years ago, during a mission gone to shit in Prague when we both thought we were going to die. He'd never mentioned it again, respecting the unspoken boundary, but he understood its significance.

I pulled out my lighter and clicked it open, the flame dancing in the crimson light. Lo watched silently as I held the corner of the wrapper to the fire. The gold foil blackened and curled, the flame crawling across the surface until it was nothing but ash on the polished table.

"It's time," I said simply.

Lo nodded, all traces of his usual flippancy gone. "You know what happens if you succeed, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you kill Prometheus—a Pantheon director—without sanction… The Tribunal won't just let that slide. Even with your personal reasons."

"I don't care," I said flatly. "He has Ana and I’m not leaving her there longer than I have to. Tonight, he dies, and she goes free. Whatever comes after, I'll deal with it then."

"You'll be taken to Tartarus," Lo pressed. "No one comes back from there."

Tartarus. The Pantheon's detention facility for their own. A place where ferryman who broke the code disappeared, never to be seen again .

"If that's the price for killing him and freeing Ana, I'll pay it," I said.

"There might be another way," Lo suggested carefully. "Jasper's been investigating Prometheus for years. He's convinced Prometheus has committed crimes against the Pantheon itself. If there were evidence—"

"There isn't time," I cut him off. "Every day Ana stays with him is another day she's controlled by that monster. Every day Vincent lives with a target on his back." I shook my head firmly. "No more waiting. No more hoping someone else solves this. I end it. Tonight."

"You're rushing into a suicide mission," Lo argued. "At least give Jasper time to—"

"No," I said, the word final. "Now that he knows he’s lost, he’s going to get desperate. He might hurt her. Or worse.” I shifted in my seat. “I need to tell you something. About Prometheus. About why this can't wait."

"You don't have to—"

"I do," I cut him off. "I need someone else to know what happened. In case I don't come back."

Lo nodded solemnly and waited.

"When I was eighteen, Prometheus took me to Milan for my first international solo contract.

" The words came out mechanical, detached, as if I was reading a mission report rather than describing my own life.

My hands grew cold, fingers tingling with that familiar numbness that always preceded memories of Milan.

"A political assassination. Finance minister. Clean job, but complex. High security."

Lo remained silent, giving me space to continue at my own pace.

"He got us a hotel suite. He said it was for training, for debriefing." I focused on the ashes of the wrapper, refusing to meet Lo's eyes. A sour taste flooded my mouth, my tongue suddenly too thick. "Six nights. That's how long it lasted. Six fucking nights in that hotel suite."

Understanding dawned in Lo's eyes, but he didn't interrupt, didn't offer platitudes or pity. Just waited.