Page 67 of Bound By Revenge

I nod.

We watch as people file through the metal detectors, chatting with security guards as they empty pockets into plastic trays.The guards scan men’s belongings and women’s purses with practiced efficiency.

Then I appear on the screen. My past self strides up to a young guard—barely in his twenties—with a confident smile. I watch myself strike up a friendly chat, even playfully swatting his arm. He blushes furiously. Then, without so much as a scan or a second glance, I walk right through the metal detectors.

Nik scoffs, low and unimpressed. “Why am I not surprised?”

I shrug. “A.J.’s device would’ve set off the alarm. We didn’t have time to figure out how to hide it, so I had to use what I had.”

“Oh, you used it all right. If I remember correctly...” he says, his tone sharp.

I consider pushing back on the jab, but after everything that happened last night, I decide to let it slide.

On the screen, Nik appears, striding through the metal detector like he owns the place. The young guard steps forward, asking him to empty his pockets. Nik gives the man a single withering glance before an older guard intervenes, clearly recognizing him. With a quick wave, the senior guard sends Nik through, then scolds the younger one for daring to question him.

I snort. “Oh, you’re such a hypocrite.”

“It’s different,” he replies evenly.

“Oh, really? Why?”

“For starters, I wasn’t there to commit grand larceny,” he says, his tone dry.

“Well, the guard didn’t know that.”

“He did,” Nik counters smoothly. “He knew exactly who I was.”

“All the more reason to frisk you,” I counter. “That’s what I would’ve done if I’d known who you were.”

He arches an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “If memory serves me, you did. Very thoroughly.”

I blink, surprised. His eyes still hold that guarded look, but there’s a flicker of mischief that wasn’t there last night.

“You and I clearly remember that night differently,” I reply, leaning back. “I remember your very expensive clothes being almost untouched during our... interaction. I can’t say the same for my dress.”

Nik lets out a low chuckle, the sound unexpected but disarming. “And yet,” he says, eyes flicking back to the screen, “you managed to keep my diamond hidden the entire time. Where was it? In your purse?”

“Oh, please. That’s the first place anyone would check.”

“Then where?” he asks, leaning slightly toward me, his curiosity genuine now.

I pull my eyes away from the TV and catch Nik staring at me. With a sly smile, I tap the spot between my breasts. “Hidden pocket in my dress. Right here.”

His lips curve into that amused smile—the one that always makes me forget how to breathe. “Clever.”

“When your... attentions started wandering there,” I tease, “I almost panicked, thinking you’d feel it and catch me red-handed. That’s when I decided to strip for you—to keep you distracted and make sure I could stash my dress somewhere safe.”

Nik throws his head back, laughing loudly. “Quick thinking,” he says, smirking. “I’m impressed.”

I shrug, grinning back. “Had to think on my feet.”

We turn back to the screen, and I’m relieved to see the faint trace of a smile still lingering on his face. A moment later, Dmitri appears on the footage, walking through the metal detectors with none of our theatrics. He places his wallet, phone, pack of gum, and car keys in the tray, waits for the scan, and collects them without fanfare.

Next comes Vladimir, who empties his pockets into the tray: phone, lanyard with keys, money clip. Nothing remotely interesting. Watching him retrieve his belongings feels about as exciting as watching paint dry, and I grow bored.

But then McGuire steps into the frame, and Nik immediately straightens beside me. His attention sharpens as the Irish mobster empties his pockets—a phone, leather wallet, pack of cigarettes, lighter, and a fountain pen.

Shortly after, McGuire’s right-hand man appears. His haul is just as uninspired: phone, wallet, plastic lighter, wired headphones.

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