Page 112 of Princess of Vengeance

“Do you have to wear that shirt?” Nico asks, shooting a pointed look at my exposed cleavage.

It’s tighter and lower-cut than anything I’d normally pick out for myself, but this isn’t about me. Or my men.

“If it got your attention, it’ll get Ronan’s,” I answer. “I asked Damon to stash a wig and a sexy top for me to wear tonight, so I think he did a good job with such short notice.”

He grimaces, but takes another look at my tits anyway. “Just be careful.”

“Always.” I nod, turning to face him. “Remember the plan. If I tug my right ear, that means trouble. If I touch my hair, everything’s fine and you can leave.”

“And if Kane tries anything, I’ll break every bone in his body,” he says simply.

I rise up on my toes to kiss him. “I know you would. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

We exit the bathroom and rejoin Atlas and Killian at the back door of the bar. The sun has fully set now, and the alley is dark except for a single flickering street lamp.

“The Fourth Quarter is three miles east,” Atlas says. “We should go separately so we’re less noticeable.”

I nod, pulling a compact from my purse to check my disguise one last time. “I’ll give you guys a head start while I wait for my cab. Just… please don’t approach him under any circumstances. We can’t afford to fuck this up.”

Killian catches my arm before I can leave, turning me to face him. “Be careful,” he says gruffly. “We’ll be right there with you and we’ll always have your back, but this guy is fucking dangerous.”

“So am I,” I remind him with a small smile. “This isn’t my first time using what I have to get what I want.”

“Just don’t let him touch you, okay?”

“What?” I frown. “There won’t be any touching. I’m not even going to flirt with the guy. I only want him to be distracted while I put the drugs in his drink. That’s it.”

“I know that’s the plan, and I’m good with that. I trust you with my life. With my soul. But…” He pauses, inhaling and then slowly exhaling, and I can tell he’s wrestling with a lot of unfamiliar emotions right now. “I’m barely hanging on by a thread here, siren. We all are. Even thinking about someone else touching you makes me want to chop some motherfucking hands off.”

I realize this isn’t about trust issues or watching me flirt with someone else, or any sort of bullshit like that. This is about my men wanting to protect me. This is about how hard it’s been for them to sit by quietly while I’ve been going through hell with Malcolm.

I can’t blame them for needing to draw a line somewhere.

“There won’t be any touching,” I say again as he pulls me in for a quick, hard kiss.

I kiss Atlas too, then Nico again, drawing strength from each of them. Then I call a cab to pick me up and wave as I watch my men leave without me.

With any luck, this will be the last time we ever have to be separated.

The cab dropsme off a block from The Fourth Quarter. I pay the driver and step out into the night, checking the street for any sign of Malcolm’s men before walking the remaining distance.

The bar is small and run-down, with dingy windows barely letting out light, the brick facade crumbling in places, and a faded neon sign that flickers erratically.

I spot my men waiting in separate locations across the street, keeping to the shadows. Nico nods when he catches my eye, butI don’t acknowledge him back as I push through the heavy door and step inside.

The bar reeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke. A jukebox in the corner plays old blues, and aside from a couple arguing quietly in a corner booth, there are only a few rough-looking locals hunched over their drinks.

And then I see him.

Ronan Kane is sitting alone at the far end of the bar with a glass of whiskey in front of him. Even without someone pointing him out, I’d have known he was different from the other people here. It’s not just the quality of his dark jeans and black button-down shirt. It’s the way he holds himself, seemingly relaxed but still alert to everything happening around him.

I don’t have much time to size him up though. Not if I’m going to make this look completely natural.

I slide onto the stool two down from his, leaving an empty seat between us. Even without making eye contact, I can see why he commands respect.

He’s handsome, but not in any conventional way. His dark hair is slightly messy, like he just ran his fingers through it without looking in a mirror. His face is all sharp angles, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, marred by a thin scar that runs from his left temple to his jaw.

But it’s his eyes that draw my attention—one gray, one dark blue, both startlingly intense as they flick toward me for a split second before returning to his drink.

---