She bobs her head and removes her hip, letting the doors inch together with her response. “I’ll let you know.”
In that simple answer, she revealed everything. Her mission is at odds with loyalty to me. Otherwise, she’d have no reason not to accept my help.
And yet that isn’t the dilemma plaguing me.
“Zara.” A second before the doors connect, I open them to issue one final warning, waiting for her eyes to collide with mine. “Stay the hell away from my guards and don’t chase me down again unless you’re prepared to be caught. Next time I pin you to the ground, you will not walk away.”
ZARA
When Mercy sits down, I have a mouthful of muffuletta—a New Orleans sandwich that has become my latest obsession—and Owen is working on his phone.
The Underground has a couple of eateries—all are casual, eclectic, and packed at lunchtime. We’re at Bistro Noire, and I’m surprised to see Mercy here. She and Tessa usually dine at one of the resort restaurants.
She offers me a quick greeting but allows me a moment to chew and jumps into a discussion with Owen, regarding a case they’re working on. I listen, attempting to sift through their exchange for anything worth holding on to, but unfortunately, nothing surrounding media is offered. Tripp sent me specific details to search for, but between my time spent in members’ spaces and employee hangouts, I’ve yet to hear anything to guide my search. It’s safe to say, I’m a far better executioner than spy.
Acid sloshes in my stomach. Axel struck a chord this morning with his portrayal of my being an assassin in between PTA meetings and soccer practice. I’m starting to hate him.
Well, most of me hates him.
The other part has been obsessing over his final threat, which very well could have been a promise to kill me. But my body feels certain it was a vow that the next time I tackled him, we’d have a much better time.
“I should take care of that before our one o’clock,” Owen says, standing abruptly to clean his trash and pack his briefcase.
He’s always in a hurry. Attractive. Intense. A moral code that is milky gray. He crosses lines, but he hasn’t taken lives. It’s in the eyes. People who have killed—willingly stolen another’s breath—recognize one another. It’s an unspoken club.
Mercy tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear and grimaces, her big brown doe eyes brimming with feigned innocence. “I disrupted your peaceful lunch.”
“It’s fine. You saved me some stress,” he corrects before turning to me. “You’re good if I take off?”
“Of course,” I assure him. “I’ll see you later.”
As soon as he scurries away, Mercy’s lips break into a sly smile. “That had to be done. Tessa will be over in a minute.”
I arch an eyebrow and help myself to a french fry. “Should I be concerned that you’re isolating me?”
“No.” She giggles, like there’s a secret bubbling up inside her, as she cuts her po’ boy in half. “It’s a harmless visit. Promise.”
Deciding it’s best to ride this out, I eat and observe. Mercy has been welcoming to me since my first day. If I were as focused on strategy as I should be, I’d have leaned into that. But I’ve been locking myself in my room, lamenting over the corner I seem to have boxed myself into. I can’t even think about the freak-out I had with Tripp. If I don’t get it together, he’ll be forced to report me as a rogue asset after our next check-in. I need to be gathering something.
Tessa takes a seat about a minute later, setting her food down and rolling her turquoise eyes. Maddox’s wife is a knockout—silver hair, striking features, curvy figure, and a don’t-fuck-with-me energy.
That unspoken life-taking club? She belongs to it.
“Thank you for clearing the table. I can’t people today.” She flicks her gaze to me. “You don’t count, Zara. Though I’d like you better if you had throat-punched my husband too. I’m Tessa, by the way.”
Mercy bursts out laughing and squeezes my forearm. “She’s not even joking. That would’ve catapulted you to hero status.”
“So, word travels fast around here,” I muse.
Tessa’s nose crinkles, her amethyst facial piercings glittering beneath the halogen table lamp. “It’s twelve thirty. As far as La Lune Noire goes, you kicking security’s asses at dawn is old news.”
Her husband must’ve filled her in. Since she doesn’t mention Axel, I hold my breath that Maddox omitted that tidbit, maybe out of respect for his brother.
After a sip of my soda, I steer the conversation back to them. “What brings you two down here? Don’t you usually eat upstairs?”
“You,” Mercy declares, obliterating my efforts. “But in case you didn’t know, the executive staff is permitted to eat upstairs anytime we want. Is that why you always have lunch here or go back to your room? Did you think you had to?”
I seize the opportunity to be both truthful and latch on to a commonality with Tessa. “No. I’m not used to working around people all day, so I appreciate the privacy.”
