Page 93 of Turmoil's Target

I mull this over, a slow grin spreading across my face. “Sounds promising. How exactly will he help us, though?”

“All will be revealed in due course. In fact, I’ve arranged for you to meet with their President while I’m away.” She arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “You’ll need to be at the top of your game, Seraphina. Charm him, gain his trust. He could be a valuable asset.”

I nod, already mentally preparing myself for the task ahead.

Infiltration and manipulation are my specialties, after all. “Consider it done.”

“Oh, and one more thing.” My mother’s tone turns sly. “If you really want to get close to the Kodiak MC, you might consider cozying up to their leader. What’s his name again… ah! Serpent.”

I nearly choke on my tongue. “Seriously, Mum?”

“Why not? He’s quite the catch, from what I hear. Ruthless, charismatic, a real man’s man.” Her eyes take on a distant, almost wistful quality. “Reminds me of your father, in some ways.”

I swallow hard against the surge of bile in my throat.

The thought of seducing Serpent, of letting him put his hands on me...

But I force a brittle laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Just then, my mother's phone trills with an incoming call.

She snatches it up, her demeanor shifting in an instant as she listens to the voice on the other end.

“I see. Yes, of course. I’ll handle it straight away.” Her words are clipped, urgent. She ends the call and turns to me with an apologetic smile. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. We’ll have to continue this conversation another time.”

I stand, smoothing my dress. “Of course, Mum. I understand.”

We embrace briefly, the expensive silk of her blouse cool against my cheek. “Take care of yourself out there,” I murmur. “And don’t worry about a thing here. I’ve got it all under control.”

“That’s my girl.” Pride gleams in her eyes as she cups my face. “Stay sharp and stay safe. I’ll be in touch soon.”

With that, she’s gone in a whirl of designer perfume and clicking heels.

I wait a beat before exiting the office myself, my own shoes near-silent on the plush carpeting.

My driver is waiting dutifully beside the sleek black town car. “Back to the penthouse, Miss Bernard?”

“Yes, thank you, Marcus.” I slide into the leather backseat, my mind already racing ahead.

The drive seems to take an eternity, the glittering lights of the strip blurring together outside the tinted windows.

By the time we arrive at my building, dusk is falling, the sky is streaked with vibrant oranges and pinks.

Perfect.

The cover of darkness is exactly what I need.

I make a show of going inside, even taking the elevator up to my floor.

But as soon as I’m certain Marcus has pulled away, I’m on the move again.

Down the stairwell, out the back entrance, and into the night.

Las Vegas may never sleep, but there are still plenty of shadows to disappear into if you know where to look.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m peeling out of the parking garage in my cherry-red Ferrari, the engine snarling like a wild animal as I weave through traffic.

The Reapers’ clubhouse isn’t far, but I can’t get there fast enough.

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