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What the fuck was she playing at?

The Russian Bratva was no joke and she’d basicallycalled them out in front of their hired lackey. Jesus fucking Christ, I wanted to spank her ass until she couldn’t sit down for a week. Unfortunately, I’d fucked up my chances of getting anywhere near her perfect ass months ago.

Stupid, Noah. So damn stupid.

Four careless words—and they were incredibly careless—disrupted what would’ve been a dream come true. As soon as they left my mouth, I wanted to snatch them out of the air. I hadn’t meantwewere a mistake, far from it. I didn’t want there to be any regrets, yet regret was my constant companion ever since. It was up to me to fix what I’d broken. The problem was, I had no clue where to begin.

“There you go, Lanie. Draw him in,” Keaton muttered from my left.

We were all stuffed inside the tiny observation room; me, him, Koen on my right, and Duncan behind us, along with a few other DEA agents.

“She’s playing with fire, Keaton.”

“If you think so, then you’re not paying attention.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Lanie is wielding those flames like a pro. Look at Little. He’s shitting his pants right now at the thought of living on borrowed time.”

Grinding my molars together, I struggled to maintain my composure. Having complete command of my emotions was something I excelled at, except lately when it came to the five-foot-five special agent. Lanie was my kryptonite. Her body was made for sin. Don’t even get me started on how often I dreamed about fisting her ponytail while I plowed into her from behind.Fuck.I had to stop before my dick tried to bust through my zipper,

“What exactly are you insinuating, Agent Biggs?” The smarmy lawyer’s voice sounded through the speaker.

“You misunderstand, counselor. I’m notinsinuatinganything, merely stating facts.” Lanie sat back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, her hands folded in her lap in a relaxed posture. “The Bratva will be looking to silence anyone who can point a finger in their direction, and that’s your client.”

“I want a new lawyer.” Little banged his fists on the table, then turned to the man seated on his left. “You’re fired.”

“She’s good,” Koen remarked.

“Too good,” I grunted.

“You heard the man, counselor,” Agent Harty spoke up. “Your services are no longer required.”

While shooting a nasty glare in Lanie’s direction, the Russian-paid lawyer stood, straightened the lapels of his suit jacket, and moved to exit the room. Before he left, he spouted off one last time.

“Not a very wise move.”

It was a warning of sorts. Whether it had been directed at Little or Lanie didn’t matter to me. She’d be covered regardless; I’d make certain of it.

Once the court-appointed lawyer entered the equation, the interrogation shifted. Agent Hendricks joined the conversation, detailing the prosecutor's offer of a reduced sentence in return for Brandon’s testimony against Zasha Popov. He would still be spending a considerable amount of time in prison for his part in the production and distribution of Tranq Dope, but not nearly the thirty years he could’ve been facing.

It didn’t take long for Little to start singing like the proverbial canary. Besides the leader of Los Tredos in San Francisco or his right-hand man, Popov was the only other person he’d dealt with. They’d met on several otheroccasions over the past year; however, those transactions had been for considerably smaller amounts of drugs.

The more he talked, the more pissed off I became, knowing Lanie had been close to this scumbag for weeks.

“When are you gonna pull your head out of your ass and claim your girl, Noah?”

I hadn’t even realized Duncan moved closer until his deep voice rumbled next to my ear. Thankfully, Keaton and Koen were too distracted by the interrogation to pay attention, because there was no point lying to Duncan. The man could see straight through a pile of bullshit with ease.

“I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t,” he grumbled.

“Same difference.”

He shook his head. “Take a walk with me.”

I hesitated, looking back to find Lanie leaning up against a side wall next to Waverly, both of them listening intently while Little spilled his guts.

“Nothing’s going to happen to her in the five minutes you’re gone. Let’s go.”

His tone brokered no argument. Standing from my seat, I followed him out into the hallway, but he didn’t stop there like I thought. Instead, he led me past a throng of desks, down a second hallway, eventually stopping outside of an unmarked door.

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