“You’re right, it won’t. It’ll be someone far above you.”

Jesus Christ.Back to the jabs. “Damn,” he whispered. That was a low blow, even if it was true.

“How about a compromise? If I feel like I’m in over my head, I’ll let you know, and we’ll change course. Deal?”

“But will you actually admit if you get in over your head? Or will you be too stubborn?” he asked.

Her head jerked back.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I said I’ll let you know. I’ll make that a promise.” She spit in her palm and jutted her hand out toward him.

He stared at the wad of saliva in the center of her palm. “Are you serious?” He shook his head and sighed.

She jiggled her extended hand.

“Oh, you really want me to fucking shake it?”

“Of course. Gentleman’s agreement.”

“You’re not a gentleman.”

“Neither are you,” she countered.

Well, they could agree on one thing, at least.

He grabbed her hand and instead of shaking it, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I also need you to promise me that if shit goes sideways, you’ll extract yourself from that situation as fast as you can without blowing your cover.”

“I can do that.”

“I don’t want you doing something stupid that’ll get you in more of a jam.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t try to be a hero. The most important thing is you getting out of there in one piece,” he added.

“Fine.”

“And I want you checking in with me whenever you can while you’re there.”

He waited for her to roll her eyes or give him shit, and was floored when she only answered with, “I’ll say I’m checking in with my ol’ man if they question it.”

Wait. What?“Your ol’ man,” he echoed.

“His name is Throttle. They called him a lone wolf since he’s a biker without a club.”

“He’s a biker without a club?” he repeated.

“Are you sure your hearing isn’t failing?”

“Are you saying you told them you’re a biker’s ol’ lady?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” she answered.

Well,shit, that was a smart move. “That gives us some flexibility in case one of us needs to go in and check on you.”

“I guess.”