But the lady coils herself around the other man with a giggle, sending a wink my way. “No worries. It’s not for everyone.”
Over this and ready to get on with our job, night, and fucking life, I grab Rena’s hand and drag her toward an open private room. It appears to be in the process of being cleaned, but no one is in here, so I close us in and address Gage and Liam. “We’re about thirty paces from the target. It’s a key-card entrance, but it’s possible it won’t lock during an outage.”
“We’re cutting for three, then flickering,” Liam says. “If youneed to use the card, we’ll flicker sooner. You two picked one hell of a room to stow away in.”
Rena blushes a deep crimson. We’re in a heavy-bondage, dungeon-themed room—whips, chains, cages, and more.
“Oh, the places you andLittle Mooncould go,” Gage croons. “Actually, you might want to invite the peeper back. Plenty of ways to take care of him in there.”
This probably reads as an amusement park to the Big Guy, who fuels himself with Black Rifle Coffee and torture tactics.
Rena peers around and furrows her brow in rumination while unzipping her backpack, probably wondering if Magie Noire has something similar, but now is not the time to delve into that. So, I ignore the taunts from the guys and blow past her curiosity, anxious to get the hell out of here.
“All right, motherfuckers, let’s move,” I order the guys before glancing at Rena. “You ready?”
She plucks her glittery, bazooka-pink-and-rose-gold Sig Sauer P365 pistol—a gift from me—out of her bag, zips it back up with her CZ Scorpion Micro still inside, and nods once she tucks the small pistol into the tactical lace garter belt around her thigh. “I’m good. Let’s do it.”
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” I rasp, clutching her cheeks as I capture her lips and wonder if we could spare a few minutes.
“You gonna whip that monster cock out while we’re watching, brother?” Liam jeers in my ear as Gage hisses, “I swear to fucking Christ, if—”
Breaking our kiss, I chuckle, thumb the hammer back on my Staccato XC 9mm, and cut off their heckling. “I’m done. I’ll take care of my gorgeous wife later. We’re good.”
“ ’Bout time,” Gage grumbles. “In ten.”
My heart thuds the countdown, my brain switching from husband to marksman in a flash. My thoughts are centered on what will translate to a smooth job. If Rena wasn’t with me, I’d be nearly robotic, but her presence lends a humanness to these KORT tasksthat I’m not used to. A vulnerability that’s both distracting and unhinging. It colors everything a deeper hue.
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. One wrong choice.
And the lights are out.
There is a stampede of commotion that ensues, so I crack open the door and peer at the glints of silver and gold that blur by with movement.
A manager or security employee hustles down the hall. “If everyone could just stay calm and remain where you are, we’ll have answers momentarily.”
Most of the private doors remain closed, occupied by people in the throes of intimacy, not bothering to care about a power outage. For us, that equates to a clean exit from this room to mix in with those who don’t follow orders and are determined to push through the chaos.
Grabbing Rena’s hand, I lead us into the throngs of panicky patrons and easily dip into the office corridor. When I try the knob, it wrenches downward without issue, so once I verify that it’s empty, we slip inside.
“Well, fuck, nicely done,” Liam commends.
“There’s another door to the file room, let me check this one,” I tell him, unwilling to celebrate the effortless entry yet. That knob won’t budge, so we need to remedy that swiftly. “Flick the power so I can open this, and Little Moon can lock us in.”
“Will do. Stand by,” Gage responds while Rena and I assume our positions.
The lights flicker, holding steady, and in less than three seconds, I snick the key card in and out of the reader, and we have ourselves locked inside and the file room open.
“Done,” I notify them, which prompts them to cut the power once more, draping us in darkness as commotion ensues beyond the walls.
The file room is about the size of a walk-in closet, eight footby twelve foot. Both lengthwise walls are lined with locked filing cabinets, and the back wall has a bookshelf.
“There’s a lot of fucking ground to cover,” I hiss, shining my flashlight and pointing to the left side. “I’ll start here. You take that side, baby girl. Use your lock picking kit.”
“The downstairs clubs are a mess,” Liam chimes, “so that should buy you a little time.”
On that note, we both pick the locks on the cabinets and start rummaging through the drawers, client name after client name—several whom I’m familiar with—and their likes, dislikes, special needs, past activity, and some sort of colored-star rating. No wonder KORT wants these. This information is as valuable as the black book of indiscretions. It’s these types of secrets that are the reason the Noires are so untouchable. People will go to great lengths to cover their sexual improprieties. Own that, and you own them.
“We can’t take all of these fucking files out of here,” I mutter after several minutes of scouring, blowing through yet another drawer. “There has to be a master list.”
