I stood in the shadow of a building across the alley, chewing my gum—which was part of my disguise—in slow, violent bites. Seven said gum made you look casual, but I doubted any amount of Orbit could mask the acid in my stomach. The fuzzy pink jacket he'd picked out for me was already too hot, but I kept it zipped to the neck so I could clutch the hem with my fists. The dress underneath was clingy, my legs bare except for the black stilettos digging into my heels.
I felt like a cartoonprostitute, but that was the point.
I counted to ten, then walked up to the door.
There were two guards. Both could have been played by the same actor if this was a movie—brick-shouldered, buzz cut. Neither said a word as I approached. They just watched me, eyes moving from the top of my head to the tips of my shoes and back again.
I tried to channel my best Brynn—the way she could walk into any party, any room, and act like she'd already conquered it. I stopped, cocked my hip, let my gum pop, and met their gaze dead on.
"I'm here to see Cosmo," I said. My voice didn't even wobble.
"No new girls scheduled tonight," one said, eyes fixed on my face.
I shrugged, trying to look bored. "Mr. H sent me." Seven had drilled that phrase into me a dozen times. Never say more. Never say less. I had no idea who Mr. H was but he must have been real and had some influence.
Because the second security with a throat tattoo scratched his jaw, then radioed in a burst of static. "Got a walk-in. Says Mr. H sent her. Can you tell Cosmo?"
"Hang on," the voice on the other end rattled.
The guard nodded, then looked at me again. "Wait here."
I stood perfectly still, arms crossed. The gum was starting to lose its flavor.
My chest was tight. But I forced myself to look annoyed, chewing, and glancing at my phone every few seconds like I was bored out of my mind.
A minute ticked by. Then another.
The radio crackled. "Do you copy?"
Throat Tattoo fumbled with the device. "What's up?"
"Bring her in."
The guard opened the door and motioned me forward.
I walked in.
The hallway was narrow, walls painted black. My pulse skyrocketed. I tried to focus on Seven's instructions on how to behave. I also played out all the self-defense moves in my head that he'd taught me.
Throat Tattoo ran a metal detector over my arms and legs, then asked me to unzip my jacket and patted me down with quick, professional movements. He didn't linger. The hands were practiced, but my stomach churned anyway. When he reached my collarbone, he tapped the pendant with his knuckle.
"Real gold?" he asked, voice flat.
I offered him a sugary smile. "Yes. Gift from a client."
"You mustbe good."
"I do alright."
"No phones," he said and gestured for me to give mine up. I was expecting it, so I did as he said and handed him the iPhone in a bejeweled case. It wasn't my real phone anyway. It was just a dummy device. My real one was at the safe house and off.
We moved further into the building, passing another door.
The corridor widened a little. The walls were much prettier here with burgundy wallpaper. A couple of doors branched off, all closed. One of them rattled as we passed, then I heard a giggle.
Seven had said not to look at anything for too long.Don't ask questions. Don't react.I followed the instructions, but I catalogued everything in my head anyway.
The pendant was warm against my skin. I could feel my heart slamming in my chest, hard enough I was sure the camera would pick it up.
