And I have never, not once, stopped.
ONE
KEIRA
Past
As soon as I step inside the club, I'm greeted with sticky floors and the lovely smell of sweat mixed with overpriced liquor.
This exchange could have happened at a more upscale location, but I suppose that would defeat the purpose of blending in. I'm supposed to be invisible tonight. Watch the switch. Clock the players. Report back to the boss and hopefully be in bed before midnight.
Simple enough.
I scan the room from my booth, tracking movement, counting exits like I always do. Two men walk in from the back—one in a gray coat, the other in navy. They're late and they stick out like sore thumbs. No one else seems to take note, though, as they make their way to the other end of the circular bar and?—
Holy mother of god.
Now that's a treat for the eyes.
A tall man in a dark suit steps into my line of sight, cutting cleanly between me and my targets. Sharp jaw, broad shoulders, a muscular build that's obvious even from across the room. Half thewomen in here are staring at him. He's got unfairly good hair for someone who was likely standing outside in the London rain moments ago.
He leans casually against the bar like the space was waiting for him. The bartender is already watching him and beelines over. You could catch the blush from the other side of the city.
Honestly, I don't blame her.
He takes his drink and sips it while watching the room the same way I am—with careful calculation.
Wait. Is this guy here for the same job? Who sent him? He doesn't look like he's with the Irish or the Italians.
Of course I'd have a blocker in place. On tonight of all nights when I was hoping for an early finish.
Now I have to move from my perfectly good spot that was keeping me hidden, because someone dropped a very inconvenient man directly in my path.
I stand from the booth, grabbing my drink, and as I glance up, our eyes meet across the dim space.
My pulse kicks.
That's odd. It never does that.
Everything goes quiet. Not the music—that's still pounding through the floor—but something inside me just…stops. Like my body forgot what it was doing.
I look away, pretending I didn't see him.
This is stupid. I don't get distracted. I've spent my whole life learning not to feel anything that might make me hesitate, and I've been good at it. Great at it, actually. Not being bothered by much is what makes me a great operative. But right now my skin feels too warm, and my brain is forgetting the entire reason I'm here tonight.
If I'm going to be watching my targets, it's better to sit beside this mystery man so I can keep an eye on him too, in case he's after the same thing.
"Is this seat taken?"
"It was." He's already irritated.
This is a waste of time. I should just leave, but instead of turning around, I take the seat beside him.
Close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. "Are you always this charming, or are you giving me the cold shoulder because you're waiting for someone?"
I want to know who he's working for.
"You're blocking my view."
