Page 10 of Trigger Happy Ending

Soren studies the photo of Lukas, then sets it down. He nods.

“Good. Phase two unfolds in New York, where you’ll be based.”

O taps the keyboard, and an image of a cartoon black panther with golden claws emerges from a golden triangle. “Carson owns a chain of exclusive clubs called the Golden Claw. These are members-only clubs, with high-end clientele. Carson does a lot of brokering here. And this is where Carson will meet Lukas.”

“What do these two have to do with PARM-17?”

“Good question.” He slides a third photo across the desk. “Do you recognize this man?”

Hard not to, that smug-ass face is everywhere. Senator Wilson is a media whore, kissing babies, spewing all that America First bullshit.

“Intel confirms it’s Wilson who has access to PARM-17. He’s an associate of Carson’s and intelligence suggests he’s hired Carson to broker the deal, keeping his hands clean,” O continues. “This is where you come in, Raine. You’ll work at the Golden Claw. We need you to get close to Carson, listen and watch everything this prick does: who he talks to, what he drinks, when he eats, sleeps, or takes a fucking dump, I want to know. It’s imperative Carson doesn’t shop the serum around. We need it to be offered to Lukas and Lukas only.”

“What makes you think Carson will have these conversations in front of me?”

“You’ll make it happen,” he states, like it’s the easiest thing in the world for me to do. “He uses the women who work for him to entertain and disarm his guests. If he begins having meetings with people who aren’t Soren, then we need to know who they are so you and Soren can take care of it.”

“Take care of them, you mean,” Soren says darkly.

O blinks before a slight head nod, confirming exactly that.

“When does this start?”

O slides two phone-like devices towards us. “Lukas has just returned to the US. He’s based in an off-grid cabin outside of Boston. Coordinates, access, known associates, everything is all here.” O taps the device. “Review it all, familiarize yourself, and in one week from now, I want this prick dead.”

Picking at my fingernails, my mind races. I have dozens of questions, multiplying by the minute. Like, how the hell did a Senator come into possession of PARM-17? How was this serum created? And why is my new work partner the hottest man alive?

Of course, I’m not going to ask any of those questions. (Especially the last one.) I’m on a “need to know” basis. It’s not my job to know it all, but this one seems dark. Even for me.

“Do I need to be involved in the first phase? I’m sure Soren can take care of one target on his own.”

“Of course he’s capable, but I want you both involved,” O says, with a finality to his tone that gets under my skin. “It’s a straightforward assassination. The perfect opportunity for you two to learn how each other operates. Think of it as a bonding experience, a dress rehearsal before the real show starts.”

My toes curl in my boots at the thought.

“Payment?” Soren asks.

I scoff a smile. Of course he’s about the money.

“Seven figures. Each.”

Soren nods, seemingly pleased. Money doesn’t mean shit to me. Freedom on the other hand … Well, no point in wishing for things that are completely and utterly impossible.

“Any other questions?”

“Yeah,” Soren growls. “Why her?”

My eyes snap to him. “Why her?” I echo, one eyebrow arched and offended as fuck. Out of the myriad of questions he should ask about the Mission Impossible coded assignment, that’s his first question?

Agent O chuckles. “Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s the Angel of Death for a reason.”

“I’m not responsible for her.”

I keep my glare locked on Soren. “Likewise, asshole.”

“Hey!” Agent O slams his palms down on the desk, forcing our attention back to him. Neither of us flinch. “Check your goddamn egos at the door. Your preferences, your needs, and your wants don’t matter. If you think for one minute this is a quick in-and-out job, then you are severely underestimating this assignment. These people do not fuck around. These aren’t low-level criminals. These guys are high on the food chain. And just because you’re Agency operatives, that doesn’t make you untouchable. So get over yourselves and remember who the fuck you work for.”

***