Page 113 of The Vigilant

Sutton stiffened under my hand, my fingers tightening reflexively. It was game time.

The plan was simple—had to be because we didn’t have much time.

Rob waited in the alley behind the White Pearl for the car to arrive. Once the Straw Sandal went inside to get the girl, she would take care of the driver and assume his place. The kind of place that required silence and eyes that looked the other way.

She would follow the route to the apartment building, which would bring them down the alley we were currently parked in. When she stopped at the stop sign, which was about thirty feet in front of us, she’d unlock the doors. Creed would take care of the Straw Sandal and the drugged girl. Meanwhile, Sutton and I would take their places.

That was why Sutton looked like she’d just been plucked off the dance floor at the White Pearl, wearing a skimpy black dress and heeled boots, and I had on a black suit that I hadn’t worn…well, since Jon’s funeral.

The disguise, along with the Straw Sandal’s keycard, should get us smooth access to the penthouse, where I’d deal with the Red Pole and Sutton would get Mara. In the worst case, if we came across something unexpected, Creed would have the Straw Sandal that we could use as leverage.

“I’m in.” Rob’s voice sounded again, her voice sounding a little breathless from exertion.

Still, it seemed all three of us let out a coordinated breath of relief.

“You good?”

“Of course,” she clipped like any alternative was preposterous. “Just a body in the dumpster to deal with later.”

Creed made a low sound. I looked over and got the sense that it was a laugh. Sort of.

And then we waited again, Rob’s comm still on, listening to her breaths start to steady, my own falling in line with hers.

Everything distilled into the tick of seconds. The deep drags of air. The heavy thump of a heartbeat.

“They’re here,” her voice fired out, and then her radio went silent.

“Ten minutes,” Creed rumbled and got off his bike.

I glanced at my watch, marking the start of the countdown.

“Are you ready?” I asked low over my shoulder, my thumb rubbing circles on Sutton’s thigh.

“I’ve been ready,” my girl murmured, her hand taking mine for a second before pulling it off her leg so she could get off the bike.

We quickly moved into position.

Creed stood next to his bike, his hips lounging back against the seat. He was the closest to the path of the car. Meanwhile, Sutton and I moved to the sidewalk, where she turned and flattened her back against the brick wall of the building—a cocktail bar—that ran along the alley.

For a second, I let my eyes drink in the sight of her. My warrior. My little wasp. She looked badass with her heavy black boots, tight black dress, and oversized leather jacket. Hot and badass.

I felt myself harden as I went to her, crowding her against the wall. I moved one hand under her jacket to her waist, the fabric of the dress feeling like nothing more than a fragment of a cloud between her skin and mine. With the other, I reached for her throat, framing the slender column with my big hand in the necklace she liked to wear.

Her lips parted, and she shuddered, making my dick throb with the way she responded so easily to me.

We were supposed to look like a couple who’d left the cocktail bar, tipsy, and about to get in on in the shadowed alleyway.

There was a part of that cover that wasn’t far from the truth.

“How’s your side?” she murmured, the dark orbs of her eyes soaking into mine.

“Fine.” I brushed my thumb over her bottom lip, my head drifting closer. “You worried about me, little wasp?”

“Should I be?” Her eyelids drooped heavily.

“No,” I promised, brushing my mouth against hers.

“Are you worried about me, Daddy?” she whispered, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip.

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