Page 38 of Shadow's Edge

Kyle stood in front of me, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with defiance. The fire in them told me she was ready for a fight.

“Look,” she snapped, her voice low but edged with steel. “These people are part of this bullshit. All I have to do is go to this gathering, blend in, get information, and get out. It’s as simple as that, and also something we’ve all done a million times.”

I shook my head, the knot in my chest tightening. “And what if they recognize you? What if they decide you’re the one they want to send fuck knows where?”

The room felt like it was closing in. I glanced at Preacher, watching him battle with this just as much as I was. It had been only a couple of days since we’d seen the shape Piper came back in, her body broken and bruised, and Bo taking a bullet and disappearing. This was real—it was life and death—and she wanted to walk right into it?

“They won’t,” Kyle insisted, her voice sharp with frustration. “These are the grunts and the errand boys. And I’m a professional, Jagger.” She stepped closer, her chin tilting up defiantly. “I’ve done this a million times.”

I shot up so fast my chair clattered to the ground behind me. “I don’t care if you’ve done it a million times. You could get fucking hurt!” My voice came out as a roar, sharp enough to cut through the tense silence.

The others flinched at my outburst, a few sucking in quiet breaths, but I didn’t care. This wasn’t some game.

Preacher finally broke the silence. “Go with her, Jagger.”

Kyle and I both snapped our heads toward him, disbelief flashing between us.

“No fucking way,” Kyle protested, shaking her head before I even had the chance to say anything.

“I’m in.”

I didn’t wait for her argument. I turned on my heel and walked out of the room, my pulse hammering in my ears. I needed space and needed to clear my head. Something about this felt wrong, like a whisper in the back of my mind telling me this was a mistake. But Kyle was determined, and if she was going in, then I was making sure she got out of it alive.

My jaw achedfrom clenching it as we approached the building. The high-end cars lined up along the street were a parade of wealth and corruption. Bentleys, Lamborghinis, Rolls-Royces—it screamed money, power, and bad intentions.

Duke had gotten us a Bentley SUV to blend in, and now, seeing the scene in front of us, I understood why. This wasn’t just a casual meetup, this was going to be a fucking production.

Kyle walked beside me, her fingers laced through mine, her demeanor the picture of calm. Her other hand casually brushed through her hair as if the only thing on her mind was whether it was still perfectly styled.

I still wasn’t used to the sight of her like this—long brunette wig, sleek and straight, and a red dress that clung to every inch of her like a second skin. When she’d walked downstairs earlier, none of us had recognized her. She’d smirked at our reactions. “Told you I knew what I was doing.”

And she did, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

Duke had done a number on me too. A goatee was glued to my face, my hair darkened, dark brown contacts covering my usual eye color. When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. It was unsettling as hell.

As we approached the entrance, the first red flag was waiting for us—the security. They were built like brick shit houses, their expensive suits barely containing their bulk. All of them were visibly armed, alert, and clearly not the type to hesitate. A glanceupward as we made our way from the car confirmed it—six men stationed on the rooftop, eyes sharp, rifles slung over their shoulders.

Kyle had told me to park toward the back to scope the place out. I hated admitting it, but it was a smart call.

“Relax,” she whispered as we climbed the stairs.

That was easy for her to say. I was stuffed into a dark gray suit, my red tie matching her dress. I’d never worn anything like this in my life, and it felt like a goddamn costume. But apparently, if you’re trafficking people, drugs, or weapons, you do it dressed like a fucking lawyer. Hypocritical bastards.

The guard at the door held out his hand. “Invitación.”

Kyle, ever the resourceful one, slid a small piece of card from the top of her dress, the movement slow, deliberate. His eyes followed the motion, lingering too long on her cleavage, making my fingers flex and my blood simmer.

Kyle squeezed my hand, a silent reminder to stay cool.

The guard barely looked at the invitation, too focused on her. He gave a nod and held out his arm, waving us inside. But as we passed, his hand subtly brushed over Kyle’s ass.

Motherfucker.

“I’m going to kill him,” I muttered under my breath, my hand curling into a fist.

Kyle pressed against me, her lips brushing my ear like she was whispering something sweet. But what she said had nothing to do with affection.

“I’ll leave a piece of him for you,” she promised, her tone dark, deadly. “But right now, you need to focus. Everything else can wait.”

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