Page 11 of Kings Against the World

It’s like the question pushes them to act. No less than a second after I’ve asked, two of Boone’s men leap out of their seats and knock over the bottles I’ve just brought over. They crash to the ground in an explosion of glass as they draw theirguns, and the guy on the left wrenches me toward him by the hair.

Considering I’m wearing a bubblegum-pink wig, he almost pulls it clean off.

I scream in alarm like a woman like Jade Fowley would and twist helplessly in his hold.

In reality, if I really wanted to, I could easily break his grip and escape. But part of being undercover means sticking to the role even when the situation turns grim. Even when it seems shit is about to go down.

Boone sits calmly as I’m accosted by his men and the rest of the club goes silent. A lopsided grin crawls onto his otherwise stoic, square face. “You didn’t think you’d get one over on us, did you? Did you think we were dumb, sweetheart?”

“N-no… of course not…” I choke out. “I don’t know what you’re?—”

“Shut up!” he barks suddenly. “Drop the innocent act, sweetheart. I know an outsider when I see one. Boys, take her out back to handle business.”

SHIT.

The entire table rises to their feet with me still in the grip of the guy who’s grabbed onto my hair. They’re going to take me to the alley behind the bar and rough me up… or a lot worse. Somehow, Boone has come to the conclusion that I’m the turncoat he’s been paranoid about.

He’s right, but I need him to change his mind.

Thinking fast, my pleading gaze meets Chmura’s. “Big boy, please…”

He looks away, signaling he can’t, and won’t, be helping me tonight.

I struggle some more in the men’s grip as I’m dragged out through the back entrance of the club and then shoved into the alleyway.

Nobody steps in. Not Benz, the club manager. Not any of the bottle girls or strippers or handful of customers.

Everybody simply… lets it happen.

Not that I’m surprised.

I’ve never had anybody who’s bothered to fight on my behalf. I’ve never even had anybody loyal enough to stick by my side when shit got rough. Outside of my work for the bureau, I’ve always had to stand on my own.

Luckily, I’ve made sure I was strong enough to do so. I had to learn to be from a young age.

But I’m not Zoe Strauss right now. I’m Jade, and Jade is terrified as she’s thrown into the alleyway and pinned against a brick wall that bites into the skin on her back.

One guy holds me in place while another produces a pocketknife.

“You know what to do, boys,” Boone says, pacing in front of me. He’s lit a cigarette that smolders in the night air. “Check her for wires.”

The henchman with the pocketknife strides forward and slashes the blade down the front of my crop top. The cheap fabric falls apart and reveals my chest heaving in my equally as cheap lacy bra. Provocative underwear I bought in preparation for my role as Jade Fowley.

It’s like I’m caught in the middle of a pack of wild animals the second my shirt splits open and they can see my tits in my bra. I can feel the energy shift—the leers they give and way they practically foam at the fucking mouth.

“What you waiting for, Moe?” Boone snaps. “Keep going. We need to know she’s got no wires or cams or nothing else on heranywhere. That includes any private parts. Both fucking holes.”

The men grunt out their laughter as the one named Moe moves to slash my bra next. I brace for it, my body going tense as my pulse races so fast I’m practically lightheaded.

“Hold up!”

The voice comes from the other end of the alleyway. Everybody looks up, including me, as the crude laughter fades for confused silence.

It’s Gallagher.

He’s followed us into the alley, stepping toward the crowd of men as if he doesn’t care how outnumbered he is or how dangerous it could be.

As if they don’t have me at knifepoint with my top slashed open.

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