Now Holden just had to wait for an opportunity. Steal Terry’s phone, hide in the utility closet. Disassemble the phone, install the bug. Reassemble the phone, return it. Probably to the bar as a lost and found item.
Holden was good at this part. Patient. Not reckless. Which was why he wasn’t worried, even though James was setting him up with the option to fail.
Just an option. Not inevitable. If Terry noticed Holden taking his phone, that would be bad. But Terry wouldn’t notice, because if Holden didn’t find the right opportunity, he would walk away, mission incomplete. Holden was willing to help, not to martyr himself.
Down the bar, Terry’s face darkened. He shoved away from the bar and stomped towards the dance floor.
Mr. Blond Bartender rolled his eyes but kept glancing at Terry. Kit would love the drama.
Holden took his time, swallowing down the last cold sip. Then he left the empty bottle on the bar and moved in slow pursuit.
He never saw the appeal of dancing. Exertion needed a purpose. Burning off his murderous rage in the gym, or on the lacrosse team in high school. Running until sweat dripped into his eyes. Moving for joy? Companionship and intimacy with people who didn’t matter?
Terry swayed in the crowd, sweating beneath the swirling lights. He was drunk. Perfect.
Holden counted to three, forcing down his revulsion, then slid into Terry’s space.
“Hey,” Holden said into Terry’s ear—loud, to be heard over the music. “My boyfriend is watching. Can you help me make him jealous?”
Terry pulled out of Holden’s grasp, enough to look him up and down. His next glance over to the bar wasn’t subtle, but he probably thought it was. “What a coincidence,” Terry said, plastering himself against Holden. “Mine is too.”
He turned around, throwing his head back on Holden’s shoulder.
Holden gritted his teeth and moved with Terry’s drunken gyrations. He just needed to put up with this until he could grabTerry’s phone—which was currently digging painfully into his thigh.
Hopefully Kitwasn’twatching right now.
“Wow,” Kit said, venom on his tongue. “Could this guy be any more shameless?”
James chuckled and scooted over on the chair. “Look who’s talking.”
Kit perched on the edge of the chair as offered, ignoring the affectionate mockery. He had more important concerns, like the man currently flailing against Holden like a slutty octopus. “Are we sure he’s dating the bartender? He’s not dancing like he’s dating the bartender.”
“Don’t just blame poor Terry,” James said. “It takes two to tango. Or whatever the fuck they’re doing.”
“Holden will hear from me later,” Kit muttered darkly.
James patted Kit’s thigh. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”
Holden probably would, because he loved Kit being jealous. Weirdly, Kit enjoyed being jealous too. The fire and thorns felt right twisting inside him. Not hypocritical. Kit and his men were developing systems that worked for them, and what worked didn’t have to be identical for everyone.
It would be one thing if Kit thought Holden might actually stray. But Holden wouldn’t. Kit found it weirdly comforting that Holden would rather kill this guy than fuck him.
Kit liked being special to Holden.
“Fuck,” James said suddenly.
Kit jumped up. “What’s wrong?”
James pointed. “Two people just went into the utility closet.”
“Fuck,” Kit echoed. On the dance floor feeds, Holden and Terry were hard to see. Everything was dark and moving. “What’s Plan B?”
There weren’t many options inside Cicada. This wasn’t James’s territory. All they had was access to security cameras and a copy of the keys.
James leaned back, the myriad screens illuminating his stern face. “Plan B, wait until they leave the closet. Plan C, Holden brings the phone here. Plan D, Holden drops the phone off without bugging it.” James tapped his fingers. “I’ll give the closet-crashers five minutes, then text Holden to move to Plan C.”
“What about the bathroom?” Kit asked. He didn’t like any of the delaying plans. More chances for Holden to get caught. But he didn’t like giving up either.
