Page 1 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter One

I rush through the underbelly of the Sanctuary Hotel and Resort, a sprawling, luxe monstrosity on the Vegas Strip, like I’m on fire. I’m not being chased, but if I don’t keep up this pace, I might rethink my actions and lose my nerve.

Thankfully, I’m ignored by the hotel staff bustling through the wide hallways. From my quick reconnaissance visit this morning, I know the hotel’s event space is located up ahead and on the right.

I hesitate, glancing over my shoulder. It’s not too late. If I turn back, no one will be the wiser.

Except… Lucy .

Her sweet face shines in the darkness of my anxious mind.

If I don’t carry through with my plan, Lucy could be lost forever.

And I’ve already lost enough people for one lifetime.

My heart hammers between my ribs. Once I reach the kitchen, I peer past a submarine-style window into the galley.

Line cooks and waitstaff dressed just like me hustle about, preparing hors d’oeuvres, adding them to big oval serving trays, and whisking them out to the reception floor through a massive set of swinging double doors on the far side of the room.

I gulp at the thought of what—or more like, who—awaits on the other side.

“Name?” the impatient voice of a woman barks over my shoulder.

Picking up both my feet in a petit sauté perfect enough to make my childhood ballet teachers glow with pride, I twirl to face her.

The tall, waspish woman in the black pantsuit gives me the evil eye as she consults a list on her clipboard.

I provide her with the fictitious identity I added to the staff directory when I hacked the Sanctuary’s website, and I heave an internal sigh of relief when she checks the name off and hands me a badge.

“ Inside . Now. This is a very important client, and you’re late.” She shoves a finger toward the door behind me. “If we didn’t need the extra hands, I’d send you packing. Go help distribute the appetizers.”

I nod and scurry into the kitchen’s muggy chaos.

Bozhe moy. For a second, I thought I was screwed.

Setting my jaw and holding tight to my inner courage, I sweep a tray of appetizers off the counter and fall in line behind the servers trickling out onto the ballroom floor.

When we push through the swinging double doors, my mouth drops open in a silent wow .

I was here just this morning while the event staff was still preparing everything for the evening.

The transformation they achieved in the past eight hours?

Nothing short of magical.

Flower arrangements as tall as I am adorn every round, linen-draped table. Cabbage roses in bright corals and pinks fall from slender glass vases. An expansive dance floor dominates the center of the room, surrounded by clusters of people dressed to the nines.

I can’t see it, but I suspect they added a stage on the far end of the space. The heads of a small orchestra float above the crowd, and beautiful jazz music spills from that direction.

Two enormous banners rain down the walls, each one displaying a blown-up, larger-than-life photo of the happy couples because, yes, this is a double wedding.

And not just any double wedding, but one featuring identical twin sisters. If I didn’t know that beforehand, I might’ve assumed this was some weird polyamorous sister-wife thing.

Once I start making the rounds, my nerves settle.

I could work high-end catering events like these with my eyes closed. My old boss used to say the skills we learned as service staff would come in handy for the rest of our lives, and boy, was she spot on.

Against my forearm and palm, I balance a large tray of appetizers, using the platter like an invisibility cloak to get up close to the creatures in this luxurious habitat.

The whole place pulses with a buzzy, celebratory energy. I glide along the perimeter of the room, serving guests while simultaneously reviewing potential escape routes and CCTV camera placement.

My anxiety ticks up a few notches when I clock over fifty security cameras. Almost one per square foot of the ballroom. Not ideal.

Apart from the doors leading into the catering kitchen, there are only two exits, both obscured by pairs of thick, tattooed linebackers with guns.

Well, I’m definitely in the right place.

Panic cramps my stomach. I call on every ounce of my former ballet training to keep my motions fluid and controlled.

While scanning the crowd, I note the two grooms. A jagged scar bisects the face of the big scary one, Finn Gallagher, cutting through his cheek and lip.

Cian Mahoney, who’s standing next to Finn, gives off a rich playboy vibe with his pretty face and lazy smile.

I note the location of the scarred groom’s father—Shane Gallagher, the head of the Irish Kings—because I definitely want to steer clear of him.

I shiver. You don’t mess with these types of people…not if you hope to live another day.

I continue studying faces. I need someone who’s important enough that their phone would have sensitive information that might help me find Lucy, but who’s also disengaged enough from the wedding that I can move in and get what I need undetected.

A drunk associate could do the trick, but in this moment, I’m coming up short.

And then my gaze locks on him .

Sitting alone at a table removed from the action, the man methodically flicks a lighter open and closed like he’s bored out of his mind.

I migrate in his direction, offering bacon-wrapped scallops and crostini with goat cheese and figs to a new throng of wedding guests along the way.

When he raises his head, recognition crackles through me, along with a zing of something else. Something that I absolutely cannot let distract me.

But what the… Bozhe moy , he’s even more striking in person than in his online photos.

Blond hair cropped short and neat and perfectly coiffed. Square jaw. And the most mesmerizing pair of eyes I’ve ever encountered. Shockingly blue, laser-focused, and unnervingly alert despite their aura of detachment.

Between that face and the way he fills out that tux, it’s a wonder he’s not drowning in horny bridesmaids.

Aside from his fingers playing with the lighter, his entire body appears dangerously still.

The man slips his phone from his pocket to read a message, and after a glance, drops the phone on the table face down.

My heart leaps. He may be my best shot.

The nervous writhing in my gut spreads until my entire body feels like one big infestation. I picture Maya’s face in my mind. My best friend. Her thoughtful dark eyes and honey brown skin. Her sister Lucy, who might as well be my sister, too, was abducted two weeks ago after a modeling audition.

Maya and I go way back. Tossed around in the foster care system as children, we learned to watch out for each other because no one else would.

I’m doing this for Lucy. For Maya. For me.

For every girl and woman who needs help and has no one.

When Darren Kelly’s eyes suddenly meet mine, an electric shock seizes my lungs. I duck my chin and pivot while an inkling of dread drips down my spine.

I promptly shake that off and hurry for the restroom.

It’s fine , I tell myself. He didn’t actually see me. Even if he did, staff are hardly considered human to these people.

Time to initiate phase two of the plan.