She left work at the appropriate time and drove to the address. The neighborhood deteriorated with every block. After parking, she took a moment to silence her phone. Interruptions during drug deals were always bad.
She stepped out of the car and hooked her purse over her shoulder.
She always operated alone, but every step that drew her closer to the location of the meeting, she realized it might be nice to be like Blackout, and always have someone to trust. To have on her six.
The alley was narrow and darkened with shadows, the air heavy with damp and rot. The man waited for her halfway down, leaning against the brick wall like he paid rent on the place.
She approached quickly, heels tapping on the cracked pavement, and stopped a few feet away. “I need a week’s supply.”
He stared at her.
“How much?”
“Depends.” He smiled, slow and unpleasant.
Great. She seen her share of drug deals growing up, so she knew this guy’s type in one glance. Sleezy.
“Depends on what?” She kept her tone even.
“On what you’re willing to trade.” His gaze slid over her with lazy entitlement—not at all the way Sinner had looked at her that morning. “Money’s not the only currency, after all.”
Unease curled through her like smoke, but she focused on keeping her pulse steady. “I’m married. This is for my husband. He’s hurt, like I said.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He stepped closer. “Judging from the amount you’re buying, I bet you’re not getting much at home.” His grin broadened. “I’m sure you know all about dope dick.”
Why did men always have to make transactions about sex? Anger flashed in her, hot and jagged. But she stuffed it down—her cover was most important—and told him to name a price.
Instead of answering, he shot out a hand and locked it around her wrist. He yanked her forward. She stumbled, the expensive heel catching in a crack.
He shoved her into the wall, hard, the rough brick scraping her face as he tore at her blouse.
Her insides went cold.
Her mind cleared. And Smith’s training took over.
She twisted her wrist, driving her elbow into his ribs before he could react. When he grunted and his fingers slackened, she brought her knee up hard, and her aim was true.
With a strangled gurgle, he crumpled.
Smith’s voice flowed through her mind.Never walk away until it’s finished.
For good measure, she slammed the guy’s head into the brick, hard enough to disorient him.
She crouched quickly, reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag of pills. She tossed the cash at him. “Keep the change.” Her voice was flat.
She walked away without running, shoes rubbing raw against her heels with every step. Inside the car, she locked the doors and forced her breathing to slow before pulling calmly into traffic.
As the city blurred past her windshield, Opal’s blood raced with familiar adrenaline. She forced herself to focus, going through the motions of coming down from a fight using habits drilled into her long ago by Smith.
Regulate your breathing. Clear your mind. Catalog injuries later.
The bag of pills lay buried in her purse. Dammit. Her handler at Quantico would tell her all the mistakes she’d made in that deal. She might have scored drugs, but when word spread on the streets, no one would sell to her again.
She touched the scrape where the brick had caught her. It stung, but was nothing like her first black eye.
Sinner would notice. SEALs were trained to notice everything. And he watched her closer than any person ever hadin her life. The only person she could claim knew her well was Smith. She trusted Smith with her training and to have her back.
What would happen right now ifSinnerstepped into that alley? He’d finish off that man to avenge her. The realization hit with a force that pounded through her veins along with adrenaline.
