“Fuck me,” Alec muttered. “We were so close.”
“But no cigar,” Dev replied without so much as a lip twitch.
Callan clicked to the next slide. “The estate’s locked down. Guards, motion lights, alarms. Emily, we’ll need your help to access the mansion.”
“What do I do?”
“The alarm on the service door by the kitchen can be paused for deliveries,” Callan explained. “I’ll show you how. The guys will handle the rest.”
She nodded, absorbing every word.
“For all his top-dollar security,” Callan continued, “Benson’s weak in one area.”
“Let me guess,” Leland drawled. “His system’s unsecured.”
Callan smirked. “It took me five minutes to hack in. A fifth grader could’ve done it.” He flipped to the next slide. “Here’s the guest list for Friday night.”
Emily didn’t recognize the names, but the whistles around the table told her the men did.
“Jesus,” Rhys breathed, clearly unsettled. “That’s an extensive list.”
“Mighty big wallets in that crowd,” one of the unfamiliar men noted. “What’s going on? An auction?”
His last word stayed suspended in the silence that followed. Even the hum of Callan’s computer seemed to quiet. Emily’s stomach roiled at images of naked, cowering young women paraded in front of leering men, numbers whispered, hands raised, lives reduced to inventory.
Beside her, tension rolled off Alec in palpable waves. “She’s out,” he said tightly, already done with the discussion.
Emily didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. Not now. Not when it mattered.
She laid her hand on his forearm, steady and deliberate. “I’m already in,” she said.
“You’re in as fucking bait,” Alec snapped back.
“Yes,” she said evenly. “But they think I’m a twenty-year-old waitress-slash-wannabe chef. They don’t know I’ve got a team of badass PIs covering my six.”
Her attempt at military jargon, something she thought the badasses would appreciate, went over like a lead balloon until Mateo drawled, “She’s got a point. We live and die by the element of surprise,” which made things worse.
A muscle jumped in Alec’s jaw. Rhys coughed into his fist. Leland leveled a sharp look his way. And Mateo grunted, shifting when someone kicked him under the table.
“Sorry.” He glanced between her and Alec. “Bad analogy.”
“She goes in, but not alone.” Dev didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “Jace will pose as a buyer.”
“Jace?” she asked.
One of the new guys lifted his hand—dark hair, quiet presence, calm eyes. He hadn’t spoken once.
“He’s not a club member. Regina won’t recognize him.” Dev’s gaze shifted to the man at her side vibrating with tension. “He’ll show interest, keep eyes on her—close enough to intervene if needed, far enough not to tip them off.”
“And if something goes wrong?” Alec asked.
His answer was as scary as it was lethal. “We burn the fucking place down to get to her.”
Callan advanced through the next few slides—floor plans, escape routes, surveillance angles. “We’ll have eyes in every room. Audio, thermal, motion. If she moves, we track it.”
“What about buyer security?” Mateo asked.
“They’ll all have at least one,” Leland said. “We’ll need to evacuate the girls and neutralize resistance fast.”
