Page 9

Chapter 8

Seanna

The night air hits me like a promise of trouble—cold, electric, and full of secrets. I pull into our secondary rendezvous, a scrap of asphalt tucked just out of range of the Silver Orchid’s glaring neon. Eli, Jensen, and Matteo wait beside Eli’s sleek black sedan, the street lamp glow slicing across Matteo’s tense stance and illuminating Eli’s smug grin.

Another dark vehicle sits nearby—the local PD surveillance van, engine idling quietly. Two narcotics detectives lean impatiently against it, badges glinting, their faces pinched with irritation. Between them stands a very nervous-looking Carlos Rivas.

Stepping from my car, the cold air bites into my bare shoulders, sharpening my focus. Jensen greets me with a low whistle, eyes openly appraising the tight black dress hugging every dangerous curve.

“Damn, boss. You clean up very well.” His mouth twists into an amused smirk, as if inspecting a particularly impressive weapon that just landed in his hands.

Eli arches a brow, leaning casually against his car with a teasing glint. “Still trying to figure out how you flip from lethal DEA agent to lethal seductress. Ever gonna share your secret?”

I snort, tossing him a playful, dismissive glare. “Trade secrets, Eli. Maybe after you hit puberty.”

Jensen chuckles, clapping Eli’s shoulder in mock sympathy. “Sorry, buddy. Sounds like never.”

“Brutal,” Eli mutters good-naturedly as he slips into the driver's seat, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. “Let’s move.”

Detective Harris pushes off the van, crossing his arms over his chest as his partner shifts uneasily beside him. Harris eyes me with a mixture of irritation and grudging respect.

“We agreed—Rivas is yours, but when you move on Cruz, we’re in,” he says, attempting firmness but failing to mask his discomfort at losing control of the situation.

“Sure,” I reply dismissively, flashing a humorless, razor-edged smile that makes his jaw tighten. “We’ll keep you posted.”

He hesitates, clearly dissatisfied but smart enough to pick his battles. With a reluctant jerk of his chin, Harris motions toward Rivas. Jensen steps forward smoothly, gripping Rivas by the upper arm, steering him forcefully toward our vehicle.

I step close, locking my icy gaze with Rivas’ wide, frightened eyes, my voice low and merciless. “Make this convincing, Rivas, or that deal we discussed earlier vanishes—along with you.”

Rivas swallows thickly, nodding vigorously. “Understood.”

We pile into Eli’s sedan, Jensen pressing Rivas firmly between himself and Matteo, who sits silent and intimidatingly calm beside him. Eli guides us smoothly into traffic, tension crackling like static electricity inside the car. Jensen finally breaks the silence, his voice dangerously quiet as he leans toward Rivas.

“Remember your lines, Rivas. Fuck this up, and tonight’s your last taste of freedom.”

Rivas shivers visibly, but manages a weak nod. “I won’t screw it up.”

The Silver Orchid soon comes into view, its garish neon pinks and electric blues slicing through the night, a beacon of temptation and sin. Eli pulls us smoothly to a stop at the valet, turning slightly to meet my eyes, voice deceptively casual. “I’ll be out here. Don’t do anything too stupid.”

I let a slow, predatory smile curl my lips. “If it’s stupid but works, we’ll celebrate later.”

I step out into the chaotic rhythm of the night, Jensen and Matteo flanking Rivas protectively. Rivas straightens his posture as best he can, clearly terrified but holding together. Jensen leads with unapologetic confidence, slicing through the envious whispers and hopeful glances from patrons waiting behind velvet ropes.

The massive bouncer eyes our approach, taking in Jensen’s lethal stance, Matteo’s quiet menace, and Rivas’ nervous compliance before finally settling his gaze on me—cold, confident, deadly. Without hesitation, he unhooks the velvet rope, letting us pass.

Inside, music crashes into me, bass pounding through my bones as lights strobe hypnotically, shifting from blue to violet to red. Bodies twist and sway, sweat and alcohol scenting the air with reckless abandon. Jensen moves purposefully, leading us upstairs toward the VIP area, every step silently asserting dominance.

In moments, I spot Sebastián Cruz lounging arrogantly in his private booth, tailored suit perfectly draped over his lean, predatory frame, flanked by two enormous bodyguards with sharp, assessing eyes.

I nod subtly to Rivas. “Showtime, Carlos,” I murmur, my tone brooking no argument.

Taking a deep breath, Rivas straightens slightly, preparing himself as I lean toward Matteo. “Hold back,” I instruct quietly, my voice low and firm. “Keep your eyes open. I want no surprises.”

Matteo’s dark gaze flickers, sharp and assured. “On it.” With practiced ease, he melts seamlessly into the dancing crowd, disappearing instantly, but still somehow present, a deadly ghost in the shadows.

With Jensen flanking close behind, Rivas guides us directly toward Cruz’s booth. Jensen maintains a subtle proximity, his presence unmistakably protective yet unobtrusive.

Cruz notices immediately, curiosity arching one dark brow. “Carlos. Wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

Rivas clears his throat, voice shaking only slightly. “This is Samantha,” he says, indicating to me with a nod. “She’s the buyer I mentioned earlier. She’s serious, Cruz. Thought you should meet.”

Cruz dismisses Rivas with a lazy wave. Carlos disappears, leaving me alone beneath Cruz’s piercing gaze. He pats the seat beside him, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. “Sit. Let’s talk.”

I slide into the booth across from him with practiced grace, meeting his gaze calmly, my pulse accelerating. He eyes me skeptically, guarded beneath his charm.

“So, Samantha,” he drawls smoothly. “Carlos tells me you’re looking to buy. Why should I trust you?”

“Because I have money,” I reply bluntly, leaning closer so my words pierce through the music. “Lots of it. My suppliers can’t keep pace. Yours can. Your reputation is the only guarantee I need.”

Cruz stiffens slightly, suspicion clouding his features. “Are you a cop?” he demands, eyes searching mine for cracks. “Entrapment isn’t my kink.”

I laugh humorlessly, arching one brow mockingly. “If I were a cop, would I come to your club dressed like every bad decision you’ve ever dreamed of making? Cops have rules. I don’t. But hey, if you want me in cuffs, that’s another conversation entirely.”

He pauses, clearly wavering. Jensen shifts subtly closer. Cruz notices immediately, eyes narrowing slightly before finally nodding.

“Words are cheap. Show me you’re worth my time. Three days from now, noon—the club’s closed. Come alone, and we’ll talk business properly.”

I smile slowly, satisfaction spreading like heat through my chest. “Three days. Noon. I’ll be here.”

He leans forward slightly, voice edged with threat beneath velvet charm. “Don’t be late.”

I rise smoothly from the booth, locking eyes one final moment. “Wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.”

As I turn to leave, Jensen falls into step with me silently. The exit beckons, but a rough hand suddenly seizes my hip, yanking me roughly backward against a hard chest. Hot breath, thick with entitlement, washes over my ear.

“I thought it was you. You slipped away from me last night without your number,” he murmurs smugly, fingers digging possessively into my hip. “Not that I mind the chase, but damn, I’d really like to fuck you again.”

Disgust boils hotly inside me, recognizing him instantly as the creep who’d touched Hydessa. It’s not that he had sex with her, it’s that he is a selfish pig who didn’t even make sure my sister came. With vicious swiftness, I whirl around, one hand gripping his neck tightly, the other seizing his cock through his pants, nails pressing in mercilessly.

“You just made a grave mistake,” I hiss sharply, voice venomous. “That wasn’t me you screwed—it was my sister. And she found you lacking, so walk away before I do permanent damage.”

His eyes widen in pain and shock, humiliation darkening his expression, but before he retaliates, Jensen smoothly twists his arm behind his back with brutal precision.

“You heard the lady,” Matteo growls coldly as he steps back up to us. “Walk away.”

Cursing bitterly, the man storms away, swallowed by the crowd. Jensen’s eyes briefly flicker toward mine, silent reassurance passing between us.

“I’m fine,” I assure quietly, heart pounding with adrenaline.

Outside, we slide into Eli’s waiting car, victory burning fiercely beneath my skin.. I lean back, satisfaction settling in my chest for what I know is going to be an extended drive to make sure we didn’t pick up a tail.

Game fucking on.

Eli eases us away from the pulsing neon chaos of the Silver Orchid, guiding the car onto quieter streets draped in shadows. The lingering thrill of confronting Cruz still simmers beneath my skin, mixing with the residual irritation of dealing with the asshole who dared put his hands on me.

Jensen shifts forward slightly, curiosity etched clearly in his voice. "How’d things shake out with Cruz in there?"

I exhale sharply, leaning my head back against the cool leather seat. "Better than expected. Cruz bought our cover, thanks to Rivas. He wants another meet—three days from now, noon, when the club’s closed."

Matteo’s brows draw together subtly, concern flickering in his dark gaze. "He'll probably insist you come alone."

A quiet scoff escapes me as I meet Matteo’s cautious stare. "Oh, he insisted. But I don't give a damn what he thinks. I'm not walking into that meeting without at least one of you watching my back. I'm a woman—going in alone screams vulnerability. I’m not handing Cruz that kind of advantage."

Eli glances back through the rearview mirror, his teasing smirk already in place. "Seanna, you might be a woman, but you could still kick his ass."

I arch a brow at him, my lips curling in a slow, challenging smile. "Yeah, but he doesn't know that."

Jensen chuckles deeply from beside me, relaxing into his seat. "Cruz won’t know what hit him."

"True," I murmur, eyes flicking toward Matteo, then Jensen, assessing silently. "I'll decide who's going in with me closer to meeting time. We'll play it by ear."

Eli groans dramatically, glancing back at me with exaggerated dismay. "Great. That means we’re stuck babysitting our PD friends for another three days."

I smirk at his irritation, arching an eyebrow playfully. "Consider it community outreach, Eli. Builds character."

He rolls his eyes, lips twisting. "I'd prefer the kind of character built over drinks, but fine."

My laugh cuts softly through the tension as I lean back, closing my eyes for just a moment. Cruz might think he's calling the shots, but he has no fucking clue about the storm he’s just invited into his world.