"Yeah," I manage, my voice rougher than I intended. "Real good."
She selects another piece, but this time she eats it herself, making a small sound of pleasure that has me shifting in my seat. "So," she says, lowering her voice as she reaches for more food, "if we can find out more about this shipment the Triads are getting in, maybe there's a way we could use that."
She feeds me two more, her fingers brushing my lips each time, and I'm thinking she's doing this just to watch me squirm. Which, honestly, is working better than it should.
Between bites, she keeps up her listening, occasionally leaning close to whisper translations. The old ladies have moved on from my ass to debating whether we're newlyweds. The suits are talking about delivery schedules and payment schedules, nothing too specific yet.
She pops another dumpling into her mouth, moans, and licks her lips. Fuck, she is killing me.
I lean closer, grateful to have something else to focus on besides the way her tongue darts out to catch a drop of sauce on her lip. "What do you mean?"
"Think about it — we pin it on the Russians. Make it look like Ruslan's crew hit their shipment. Then we come here again, or we drop by the mahjong club, drop a hint to the Triads that we came across some of their merchandise during an altercation with some Russians, return it, and offer to help the Triads recover the rest of their 'stolen' merchandise." Her eyes light up. "Enemy of my enemy, right?"
"Shit," I murmur, impressed. "That could actually work. Get the Triads pissed at Ruslan, maybe even get them to do some of our dirty work for us."
She nods, picking up another dumpling with her chopsticks. "Exactly. But we'd need more details about when and where."
"Right. And how do we — "
"I know how we can get that information," she interrupts, but there's something in her expression that makes my stomach drop. "But you will not like it."
"What do you mean?"
She glances over my shoulder toward the table of suits, then back to me. "That younger Triad? The one who blew you a kiss? He's been staring at you this entire time." She pauses, biting her lower lip. "We get his phone number, we can track it. I've got connections who can pull his location data, see where he goes, who he calls."
"The MC has people who can do that too," I add. “So how do I get this guy's number?"
Adriana blinks at me, her chopsticks frozen halfway to her mouth. "Are you really that clueless?"
I blink back, and then it hits me like a freight train. My stomach drops somewhere around my boots. "Oh. Oh, fuck no."
That giggle bubbles out of her again — not the fake tourist one, but that genuine sound that completely disarms me and makes my chest do stupid things. She covers her mouth with her free hand, but her eyes are dancing with mischief.
"It's simple," she says, still fighting laughter. "All you have to do is get up to use the bathroom, and on the way there, give him 'the look.'"
"The look?" My voice cracks like I'm fifteen again.
"You know the look. The one that says you're interested." She demonstrates by giving me a sultry glance that makes heat pool in my stomach. "Just like that, but aimed at him."
"Adriana, I can't — "
"Do you have a better idea?" she says, raising an eyebrow.
I open my mouth to protest, to come up with literally any other plan, but my brain comes up empty. We need information, and this is probably the fastest way to get it. Doesn't mean I have to like it.
"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
She reaches across the table and squeezes my wrist. "It's just acting, Reaper. You don't actually have to do anything with him. Just put that sexy ass of yours to work and get his number."
I look into her eyes, see the trust there, the way she's counting on me. The women at Never Again are counting on me. Susan is counting on me. And if flirting with some Triad pretty boy is what it takes to keep them safe from Ruslan, then that's what I'll do.
"Alright," I say, pushing back from the table. "No time like the present, I guess."
My legs feel unsteady as I stand, and I can feel Adriana's eyes on me as I walk toward the back of the restaurant. The bathroom hallway is past the suits' table, which means I have to walk right by him.
My heart is hammering against my ribs as I approach their table. The younger guy — the one who blew me the kiss — looks up as I pass. Our eyes meet, and I make the most uncomfortable eye contact I've ever made in my life.
Inside, I'm both hoping this works and praying it doesn't.
