Page 39 of Silent Schemes

“Trust is a currency,” I tell her. “I don’t spend it unless I have to.”

She runs her tongue over her teeth, thinking. “And what’s this? Show and tell?”

I step closer. “It’s a test.”

“Of what?”

I reach out, brush a piece of lint from her dress. “Whether you’re a rat.”

She bats my hand away, gentle but clear. “Is that all you want from me?”

I don’t answer.

Instead, I let the silence do the talking.

She smiles, slow and poisonous. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“No,” I say.

She steps closer. “You should be.”

Her breath is whiskey and blood, and the way she moves makes me think of snakes and ruined kingdoms.

I take her by the chin, hard, and look into her eyes.

Green, flecked with gold, rimmed with bloodshot red. I could drown a city in the violence there.

“Are you going to kill me?” I ask.

She grins. “Not today.”

I let go, and for a split second, she looks disappointed.

We exit the room together.

Will is still outside, checking his phone, pretending not to eavesdrop. “All set?” he asks.

Sienna looks at me, not him. “All set.”

We move back through the club, passing the same checkpoints in reverse.

Sienna doesn’t slow, but I can tell she’s drawing a map in her head, memorizing every turn, every blind spot.

“Head to the back, we’re meeting my brothers.”

We settle in Booth 1A, the deepest in the house.

I tell her it’s for privacy, but the real reason is this booth is reinforced with steel panels and has a direct sightline to every exit.

I can see the security cam feeds from the tablet built into the table, if I want.

It’s mine and mine alone.

Where I hold my meetings, able to see everything, yet not be heard by anyone.

The late-night crowd is rich, careless, and exactly as stupid as I remember.

Politicians. Brokers. Off-duty cops with more skeletons than a cemetery.