“You got it?” Milan asks, her voice almost inaudible as I hold the phone away from my ear.
Hitting the speakerphone button, I hurry around my apartment, getting everything I need. “Got it,” I tell her as I grab my laptop and log in to my secure system before doing a search on my target. “Oh, looks like I’m heading to Barcelona.”
“Oooh, nice,” Milan says. “I haven’t been there in a minute.”
“Same,” I say, remembering just how much I love it there. “Alright, I better scram and let my pilot know I’m on my way.”
“Mmkay,” she mutters. “Love your bitch ass.”
“Right back at ya.”
And with that, I end the call and grab my bag, and before flying out the door, I blow a quick kiss to Spikezilla, promising that I’ll be back in a few days to give her all the love and attention she could possibly need.
CHAPTER 7
KIARA
Waking up in Barcelona is nothing short of a dream. Rolling out of bed after midday when I’m supposed to be on a job, now that’s a rookie error.
“Ahhh fuck,” I mutter to myself, throwing the blanket back and trudging over to the hotel window to look out at the spectacular Mediterranean coastline, and just like when I rolled in here late last night, the view takes my breath away.
It’s a beautiful day. The sun is glistening off the vast water, and as I look down at the beach below, I find the sand swarming with tourists and sunbathers, chilling in their swimwear, sipping on drinks beneath their oversized hats and umbrellas.
Now that right there is the life.
If I ever chose to hang up my weapons and have a life away fromthe city, this is where I’d be.
Not wanting to miss out on the fun, I get myself ready for my day, dressing in a cute bikini and slathering SPF all over my skin. If I don’t, I will burn like a peach, and believe me when I say that strapping weapons to your body when you’re rocking third-degree sunburns isn’t fun. It’s the middle of summer, and while I couldn’t have asked for a better place to spend the next few days, I also don’t know just how much time I have to spend under that blazing sun.
With my laptop under one arm, I head out to the beach, making sure to snap a few pictures of the stunning architecture and breathtaking shoreline. My followers will assume that I’ve gone straight from the South of France to Barcelona during my European beach vacation. The timing of this trip is truly spectacular.
Making my way down onto the hot sand, I find a private, shaded cabana reserved for the executive hotel guests, and I make myself comfortable on the sunlounge. My laptop rests on my thighs, and just as I open it up and start logging in to my secure system, a waiter appears at the cabana, three sparkling cocktails sitting high on a tray.
“Miss St. James,” he says in a thick accent as I discreetly turn my laptop away. “My name is Diego, and I will be happy to assist you with any of your needs during your stay. But first, may I interest you in a complimentary cocktail?”
“Diego, you are speaking right to my soul,” I tell him, sitting up a little higher. I mean, just because this is supposed to be a business trip doesn’t mean I can’t indulge in a little pleasure. “What options do youhave?”
Diego lowers the tray to give me a better look. “We have a little of everything. Sangrias, mojitos, or strawberry daiquiris. Or if these aren’t doing it for you, I’d be more than happy to whip something together for our most beautiful guest.”
Well, shit. Diego is working for his tip today, and while I know this is just the type of luxury that comes along with booking the executive suite, I can’t help but let his compliments go right to my head. I could get used to this kind of hospitality. Raiden could learn a thing or two from Diego, though, truth be told, Raiden is a chronic flirt. If I actually accepted his advances, I’m sure he would have me in a constant state of delicious ruin.
Fuck. He really would ruin me.
Glancing over my cocktail options, I smile up at Diego. “Now, I don’t intend to be too forward, Diego, but I’m not really the kind of girl who can be locked down by just one option, you know what I mean?”
“Oh yes, you certainly are a cheeky one, Miss St. James,” he says with a wide smile as he places all three cocktails on the small table attached to the sunlounger, picking up exactly what I was putting down. “Shall I keep them coming?”
“Why not? Life is a party after all.”
Diego laughs to himself. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Something to eat? A towel, for if you’d like to take a dip in the ocean?”
“I’m okay for now,” I tell him, and with that, he offers me a curt nod before slipping away, and I waste no time lifting the strawberry daiquiri to my lips.
“Oh, God. That’s good.”
After drinking nearly half of it, I put it down and adjust my laptop on my thighs before finally diving deep into my research. My target is Javier Rodríguez, a prominent figure in Europe who’s generally seen cutting ribbons and hosting elaborate parties. He’s a wealthy businessman and a huge donor to the local children’s hospital. He does what he can to paint himself as the perfect saint, but behind closed doors, there’s nothing saintly about him.
Javier’s got his hands in all kinds of cookie jars. Ties to the mafia and cartel, with international arms deals, and more recently has been laundering money through offshore accounts. He’s worth hundreds of millions and is quickly becoming a threat, not just in Europe, but all over the world.
