Page 17 of Over the Edge

“So I see. I had hoped for a more intimate conversation. Without your new...” He looked at Flynn the way most people looked at cockroaches. “Security guard, is it?”

“Among other things.” Flynn smiled, all teeth. “Elisa and I are something of a package deal these days.”

Moreau leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “Package deals can be... renegotiated.”

“Not this one.” Flynn’s fingers traced another slow, idle pattern against my shoulder, his featherlight touch lighting up my every nerve ending like fucking sparklers.

And judging by the mischief in his eyes, he knew exactly how he was affecting me.

I resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

“The Sentinel drone system,” I said, and turned back to Moreau, redirecting the conversation. “Let’s discuss what I came for.”

Moreau signaled to a server for more champagne. “The drone system is going up for auction. You’re welcome to come bid on it, of course.”

I lifted a brow. “Everything has a price.”

Moreau hummed. “What price are you offering?”

“Double what you could make on it at auction. Up front. No complications.”

“Why?”

I sat back, exhaling as if contemplating whether I even wanted to bother explaining. “As I told you last night, security. I don’t trust men with guns. They’re flawed. Bought. Bribed. Human. I want security that can’t be turned against me.”

Moreau looked at Flynn. “That doesn’t bode well for your continued employment, Mr. Mercer.”

Flynn made a quiet sound, something between a scoff and an amused laugh. “Some things you just can’t replace with machines.”

God, he was arrogant.

I ignored him and kept my focus on Moreau. “I’m not interested in playing warlord. I want something better: A future where power isn’t decided by whose army is bigger, but by whose security is untouchable.”

Moreau tilted his head, watching me the way a spider watches a fly twisting in its web. “You expect me to believe you’d put a billion-dollar drone system in a glass case and let it gather dust as a deterrent?”

“I expect you to believe I’m smart enough to use it properly.”

“Ah, Elisa, I like you. You’re bold. But I must admit, your… attachment to Mr. Mercer is distracting.” Moreau’s gaze flicked to Flynn’s hand still resting on my shoulder, his thumb still moving in lazy circles.

“You seem tense, Moreau,” Flynn said, amusement practically dripping from his words.

Moreau’s smile turned glacial as he picked up his glass. “Not tense. Merely curious about the nature of your relationship. It seems... complicated.”

“The best things usually are,” I replied smoothly. I deliberately leaned into Flynn’s touch, a calculated move that made Moreau’s jaw tighten.

“I find complications tedious,” Moreau said. His eyes never left mine as he took a measured sip from his glass. “In business and pleasure.”

Flynn’s thumb paused its maddening circle on my skin. “You deal in black market weapons tech. Seems pretty fucking complicated to me.”

“On the contrary. The rules are quite simple when you’re the one who makes them.”

“Then you should be very interested in my offer,” I countered. “It’s as simple as it gets.”

Moreau set his glass down with a decisive clink without taking a drink. “Simple, yes, but not the most lucrative. The world is changing, Elisa. We’re on the brink of another world war, and nations are fighting to stay relevant. They would pay handsomely for an edge like Sentinel. So would the black market. And, frankly, I don’t think your pockets are deep enough.”

Flynn snorted, and there was a definite edge of impatience in his tone now. “So you’d rather sell it to some terrorist who thinks they can win a war with it?”

“Wars are profitable,” Moreau replied.

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