Page 12 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Hitman

Dean tugs me gently to my feet. And now that I know it’shim, now that I’m paying full attention, I can’t ignore the strength and power in his form, pulling me up like I weigh less than a leaf.

Can’t ignore the warmth of his body and the possessive grip of his hand. Can’t hide from the molten heat in his gaze, roaming over me like dripping caramel.

Oh god, how did I ever think this man was Wyatt? Without thinking, I fan myself with my free hand, and Dean grins. His teeth are white in the gloom.

“So. Dancing?” he says.

I nod.

Yes. Dancing.

With the man I’ve crushed on for years and years, and who finally turned back up, but now with an even more dangerous edge. The man with mysterious scars, who keeps looking at me like he wants to throw me over his shoulder and carry me back to his lair. The man who broke the locks in that escape room as easily as brushing away a fly.

Dancing in a dark, crowded club withthatguy.

Sure. What could go wrong?

* * *

Most people would never guess that my uptight bestie Wyatt secretly loves letting loose in da club. Honestly,Ican barely make sense of it. Everything about him, from his pressed button-down shirts to his polished reading glasses, screams that he’d rather be tucked up in bed by 9pm, doing a cryptic crossword.

My personal theory? Medical school. They work those med students so freaking hard, and as well as learning all about treating the human body, those students also learn to associate drinking and dancing with letting off steam.

Then they go into crazy stressful careers, and when the pressure builds up—there’s dancing. Drinking. If they’re single, smushing up against a hot stranger in a dark bar. Those old habits are still available, and they can forget the world for a few hours.

Out of all the activities I had planned for Wyatt’s big bachelor night, this was the one Iknewhe’d like. The rest he might’ve gone along with, muttering that okay, now he’s tried them, and hestilldoesn’t know why people are so obsessed with laser tag or escape rooms—but the dancing was always gonna be a home run.

“Here.” Outside the club, music thudding as it bleeds onto the street, I fish the crinkled pink feather boa from my backpack and drape it over Dean’s shoulders. “Happy bachelor night.”

Dean smirks, his dark eyes glittering as I decorate him like a big, muscly Christmas tree. He somehow manages to look evenmoremasculine with pink feathers around his neck. Wild.

And neither of us has admitted out loud yet that I’ve got the wrong twin. I guess… once we say it out loud, there’s no reason to keep up the bachelor party ruse. The night will end.

But I know the truth, and Dean knows that I know.

And I know that he knows that I know.

And he knows that I know that he knows that I know—

“Come on, Lowell.” Dean cups my elbow and steers me through the doors into the club, nodding at the bouncer as we go in. The bouncer is built like a brick shithouse, bald and tattooed and kinda mean looking, but he takes one look at Dean and waves us inside with a carefully blank expression. “I want to see your best moves.”

Inside, the club has a gritty, industrial vibe. The floors are bare stone and street art covers the walls. The lights are tinted purple, and when Dean speaks, his teeth look extra white.

“You want to check your backpack?”

My fingers tighten around the thin leather straps, and I shake my head.

Maybe it’s dumb but I need an anchor right now, something comforting and familiar, and knowing that I’ve got a sweater and my money and lip balm and a rattling tub of breath mints right to hand… it helps. It really helps.

“Okay. You ready, then?” Dean cracks the breath mint I already gave him between his back teeth and grins, his eyes sparking with challenge. Like he doesn’t think I’ll really go through with this.

Screw. That.

“Born ready.”

A shock of pleasure rolls up my arm when I take his hand, but I’m almost used to that by now. It doesn’t make me sway on my feet like it did an hour or two ago. Instead I firm my jaw and drag Dean deep into the club, down metal stairs and past long, crowded bars, the purple light making the whites of everyone’s eyes glow as they line up for drinks.

Some liquid courage would be good right now, but I don’t want to stop and line up. The wait could be a while, and my temporary bravado might leave me.

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