Page 17 of Villainous Intent

I snatched the knife from Annie’s grasp and pressed it against his femoral artery under the table. Unlike Annie, I could exert enough pressure to fucking stab him if he ruined this moment.

Menace made a strangled sound in the back of his throat but wisely clamped his mouth shut.

I saw movement in my peripheral vision as Dawn returned from the restroom.

Fuck.

I pocketed the knife and Annie blinked. Just like that, we both slipped back into our civilian masks. Her expression smoothed into polite interest, though her cheeks remained flushed. I adjusted my features into Thomas Smith’s pleasant, non-threatening smile.

Only Menace looked like he might vomit, his face ashen as he reached for his wine glass with a trembling hand.

Dawn slid back into her seat, beaming. “Did I miss anything?”

“Just chatting about work,” I said, my Scottish accent back in place.

My phone buzzed again. The Syndicate only pinged that persistently when someone was about to get their throat slit or their rank revoked. Neither option appealed to me tonight. Not when Annie Bishop was finally looking at me like she wanted to do the slitting herself.

I tried to reconcile the rule-abiding Keeper with the woman who’d just held a knife to me and asked me to bleed for her. The perfect Keeper had a dark side and I wanted to explore every inch of it.

Dawn chattered about going to some new bar downtown after dinner, Velvet Room, dry ice cocktails, blah blah, but I barely heard her. What mattered was it would be the perfect place to get Annie alone.

“I can’t,” Annie said, not looking at me. “Havoc’s got a charity thing early tomorrow.”

The window of opportunity was shrinking faster than I could calculate alternative scenarios. Dinner would be over, and then what?

Normally, I didn’t have to work this hard. A look, a smile, maybe a casual touch on the arm, that was all it usually took. I’d crook my finger and women would follow me anywhere. The Thomas Smith effect, as Menace called it. The face that launched a thousand bad decisions.

But Annie Bishop wasn’t most women.

Maybe I should just be direct. Tell her exactly what I wanted.

I want to fuck you, Bishop. Right now.

Would that work? It might. The way she’d responded to the knife, to my voice. There was something there.

A phone buzzed and Annie reached for hers, frowning at the screen.

“Speaking of work,” she said, already gathering her purse. “I need to head into the office. Emergency situation.”

My phone vibrated against my thigh again. I slipped it from my pocket, keeping it below table level as I glanced at the screen.

URGENT: Syndicate requests immediate conference.

Fuck.

“Well,” I said, slipping my phone back into my pocket, “it seems the universe has a sense of humor. I’m also needed at the office.”

Annie’s eyes narrowed. “What a remarkable coincidence,” she said low enough only I could hear as each word dripped with suspicion.

“The demands of corporate America,” I offered with a shrug. “Never truly off the clock, are we?”

“I’ll Cash App you for the wine,” Annie said, the words tumbling out as she snatched her clutch from the table.

“Don’t worry about it!” Dawn started, beaming up at her, but Annie was already moving.

She cut through the crowded dining room, putting physical barriers between us. I tossed a goodbye to Dawn and Menace as I turned and followed the flash of pink.

She was trying to escape, a frantic, clipped pace that screamed panic. She thought distance would save her. She thought if she reached the street, the monster in the bespoke suit would vanish.