I look at him, dead in the eye.
“That depends,” I say. “This lovely lady just informed me I’m not welcome in your squeaky-clean little palace of fine dining. So here’s what’s going to happen.” I release her wrist and face him fully. “Either I ignore your boss’s little tantrum and walk in with mine, or we leave, and let him stew in silence.” I flash a fake smile. “Which, honestly, I’d prefer.”
His brows furrow, eyes flicking between me and the hostess. “I suppose Mr. Anderson won’t have a problem bringing him in.”
I take a step back, getting closer to Isabella, and fold my hands in front of me.
“I need someone outside,” he says into his earpiece, eyes locked on me.
“What’s happening?” Isabella whispers quietly.
I can hear the tension in her voice. She’s stressed, trying to hold it together. However, I don’t respond. I keep my focus on what’s coming.
Then another guy steps out, thinner than the first.
“Search him,” the first orders.
A low, jagged chuckle scrapes from my throat before I bow my head again as they circle me, rifling through my pockets.
“Is that necessary?” Isabella asks.
No one responds. They just start digging—first the gun from my shoulder holster, then the knife I made her moan with not so long ago. The iron knuckles from the blazer pocket, my boot knife, the two throwing blades hidden in my sleeves, and the backup piece tucked low on my spine. One of them even finds the razor strip sewn into my tie. I give Isabella a side glance and smirk.
Her eyes widen in disbelief. “Where did you have all these?”
“We’re clear, boss,” the second attests.
“Actually, you missed a spot,” I say, grinning as I shove a hand down my boxers.
Both clowns look at me like I’m about to pull a bazooka out my waistband and raise their guns. I just shrug, fish the jackknife, and hand it to him like I’m passing a lighter. Calm as church.
“Such a gentleman,” I add.
He looks at me like I just crawled out of a sewer, lip curled, and lowers his gun.
“Come on, big boy,” I purr. “I can still open a few necks with this toothpick if you don’t hurry up and take it from me.”
He sighs, but in the end, he takes it from my hand.
“The girl’s coming in with her bodyguard,” the first one says into his earpiece, his eyes still on me, trying to size me up. I do him a favor. I meet that stare dead-on, just to watch the animal rules play out again.
He holds for a second too long, then blinks and drops his gaze.
“You can go in,” he mutters.
“So.” I clap once. “Time to join the circus. Let’s go dance with the freaks, shall we?”
Isabella lets out a quiet chuckle. I offer her my elbow, and she loops her arm through mine. We step forward together as the first guard swings open the glass doors.
The place is exactly what you’d expect—stuffed with well-dressed, hilariously rich people, women sporting fake smiles, faker nails, and teeth that probably cost more than a car. Every corner’s dripping with opulence.
“Thank you for before,” she mutters quietly.
“I told you, little orchid,” I say, my eyes scanning around the place. “I’m just doing my job.”
She doesn’t answer—and that’s not like her. Normally, she’d snap back with something sharp just to prove a point. I turn to look at her. Her eyes are darting, unfocused, scanning the room. Her chest is rising fast.
She’s not fine.
