I hold his gaze.I know what he can't say.He doesn't mean for the cartel; he means for him."You called me, remember?You know I'm the right woman for the job."
Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe that I’m already in character.
He snatches the beer back, lip curling as he mumbles, "Try not to get us killed."
Under the guise of unzipping my jacket, I quickly scan the area.A bottle blonde wearing skin-tight animal print is approaching the booth.
My eyes catch the details as she moves closer—a Cartier Panthère watch glints on her wrist, easily fifteen thousand dollars.The kind of piece you don't wear to a dive bar unless you're untouchable.
As I sit back, I catch a glimpse of ink on her ankle: a stylized serpent coiled around a rose.
I flick a look sideways at Jagger and find him assessing me boldly.When his gaze lands on the bulge at my back, he leans in and whispers in my ear, "That better not be your Beretta."
This close, he smells like diesel, gun oil, and cedarwood.Did he really expect me to follow all his rules of engagement?
I brush my lips against his ear and lean forward so my hair covers my mouth."You should have studied my file more thoroughly, Jagger," I say."I always carry Mercy."
A smirk flashes, then fades as bottle blonde gets his attention."Jagger," she says smoothly, stepping up to the booth.Her accent's faint, Cajun with an edge."Didn't think we'd see you again so soon.Word is, you've been making friends in the wrong places."
He doesn't look at me, and his accent slips easily into his own blend of Cajun to match hers."Word travels fast in this city, Simone."
She laughs low."Not fast enough.The boss is starting to wonder where your loyalty lies."
I keep my expression neutral, even as adrenaline hums through me.Simone isn't just here to flirt—she's here to test him.
The room shifts subtly as she waits.A man at the bar turns his back.Two bikers at the pool table go still.Even the bartender finds something fascinating about the glass he's polishing.
I move before I think.My fingers close around her wrist—firm, precise."His loyalty lies where it always has been," I say softly, just for her—a controlled twist—nothing dramatic, just enough to sting and make her pull back.
Her eyes flick to mine, sharp now."Andyouare?"
"I'm the best insurance policy your boss will ever buy," I reply, releasing her.
For a beat, she holds my stare, then frowns."You're apaper pusher?"
I slide closer to Jagger.He doesn't hesitate—his arm wraps around my shoulders."She's not here just for her skill set."
Something flickers in Simone's expression—disappointment masked quickly by calculation as she looks at me."Then you'll want to keep him close, sugar," she says softly."Men like Jagger have a habit of wandering."She backs away, smile tight, and disappears into the haze of smoke and neon.
Jagger watches her go, then turns his gaze back to me—steady, unreadable."You just painted a target on your back."
I shrug one shoulder."I can handle myself."
He drops his voice, a faint hint of irritation tracing his words as he picks up his beer."Maybe.But it wasn't the smart play.Last woman who got on her bad side wound up in the bayou."
Worry lines bracket his mouth.Is he worried for me?Or worried I'm going to mess up?"Just marking my territory."
He studies me for a long second, jaw tight."Good to know, Tiger.But next time…thinkbefore you make enemies we can't afford."
Jagger
I knew she was a stone-cold fox.The file Nolan left at the dead drop made that clear.Raven hair, petite curves, eyes that see through steel, all the standard descriptors.What the file didn’t—couldn’t—prepare me for was the impact of seeing her walking into a viper’s nest because someone above my pay grade decided she was expendable.
She isn’t here to ask questions.She’s here to make sure anything that leaves her hands can be found again.And she’s risking everything—because they ordered it.Perfect for the job, according to the file.Perfect on paper.But paper doesn’t bleed when things go wrong.
"Let's ride," I say.
She rises, zips her jacket with a flick, and I slap a ten on the greasy table.
