I go first, slipping through the opening with practiced ease. The metal grating is cool beneath my hands as I help Ivy through, steadying her as she finds her footing on the narrow platform. Whiskey follows, his bulky frame nearly tearing the window off the damn frame.
"Watch your shoulders," I mutter under my breath.
"Easy does it," he says, joining us on the landing. "No sudden moves, no noise."
Likewe'rethe ones who need to be careful.
We descend the fire escape in silence, each step carefully placed to minimize sound. Ivy moves between us, with me leading and Whiskey bringing up the rear. Passing the windows makes my heart stutter in my chest, but I can't see the TV from this angle, and I don't see Valek. I'm certain Thane would let us know if we were being too obvious.
At the bottom, I pause, scanning the surroundings before dropping to the ground. I reach up to help Ivy, my hands encircling her waist as I lift her down the final few feet. Her honeysuckle scent washes over me, stronger than before despite the open air, a clear sign her heat is progressing. I set her down quickly, stepping back to create distance.
Whiskey lands beside us with awhompas his boots hit the ground. "Clear?" he whispers.
I nod, gesturing toward the parking garage. "This way. Stay in the shadows."
We move across the grounds in silence, sticking to the tree line whenever possible. Ivy keeps pace admirably, her steps light and sure. Years of hiding have clearly taught her how to move undetected.
When we reach the parking garage, I lead them to the far corner where my black vehicle sits. The remote unlocks it with a soft chirp that sounds too loud in the stillness.
"Backseat," I tell Ivy, opening the door for her. "Lie down if we pass any security cameras."
She nods, slipping into the car without argument.
Whiskey takes the passenger seat, flashing me a grin. Guess the gravity of our mission hasn'tcompletelypenetrated his thick skull.
"Ready to hit the love nest?"
"Shut the fuck up," I say through my teeth, white-knuckling the steering wheel as we pull out of the parking garage. But there's a surprising little laugh from Ivy in the back seat that makes my spine tingle despite the rage that's already building in my chest.
Gods grant me the strength not to murder Whiskey before this is over.
Chapter
Forty-One
WHISKEY
I've never been so goddamn aware of two people breathing.
The hotel clerk's fingers click against the keyboard, each tap drilling into my skull like a fucking dentist's drill. He's taking his sweet time, stealing glances at me and Plague like he's trying to figure out if we're famous or just weirdos. His eyes keep darting to Plague's credit card. Black. The kind only filthy rich people have.
"There's a convention kicking off tomorrow, so there's just one room available," the clerk says, eyes flicking between us. "King bed."
Of-fucking-course.
Plague's face remains perfectly neutral behind his surgical mask, but I catch the slight tightening of his jaw. "That's fine," he says.
"We'll take it," I say quickly before someone else snatches it up. "We're desperate."
Poor choice of words. The clerk's eyebrows shoot up.
"For sleep," I add, which only makes it worse.
Beside me, Plague exhales slowly through his nose. I can practically hear him counting to ten in his head. Ivy's still hiding in the car, waiting for us to secure the room before sneaking up. The clerk's face goes through a quick sequence of expressions. Recognition, confusion, then curiosity.
"You're from the Ghosts, right?" he asks. "You two are, uh?—"
"We'd like to check in as quickly as possible," Plague cuts in, his voice chilly enough to freeze beer. "It's been a long day."
