Page 28 of The Devil's Thorn

“Does it look like I have time for that?”

Ash shifts in the driver’s seat, eyes focused straight ahead, like he’s already planning how many bodies he’ll have to bury if this goes sideways.

“It’s just a shift,” Kellan says, tone light. “Smile, serve drinks, seduce a monster.”

I smirk faintly. “You forgot survive.”

“Right. That too.”

Ash’s voice cuts in—low, final. “You don’t have to prove anything tonight, Iz.”

But I do.

Just not to them.

I open the door and step out. The cold hits instantly, cutting through the slit of my skirt like a knife. I don’t flinch. The heels feel steady. My pulse does not.

I lean back in, hand resting on the edge of the open door.

“If I don’t check in every hour…”

Kellan nods. “We’re coming in, guns drawn.”

Ash meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “We already have a place picked out to dump the bodies.”

I smile softly. “You’re both so romantic.”

Then I shut the door, and their world disappears behind tinted glass.

The staff entrance hisses open when I swipe the ID they gave me. The air inside is cooler, sterile, scented faintly with disinfectant and perfume. The hallway is narrow, lined with slate gray walls and sleek silver sconces.

Everything here is designed for discretion.

No one looks up as I pass.

Perfect.

A woman with a sleek black bob waits at the end of the corridor, tablet in hand, lips pursed like she’s doing the job of three people and tolerating none of them.

“You’re late.”

My chin lifts slightly. “Barely.”

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t let that happen again.”

Noted.

She turns briskly on her heel and walks, and I fall in step beside her.

“You’re Natasha Orlova?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“First shift, cocktail floor. You’re floating tables unless reassigned. VIP lounge is your section. Only approach tables with a black napkin placed on the edge—signals a request for service.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t flirt. Don’t linger. Don’t make eye contact with anyone who’s more dangerous than you.”