Page 40 of Taking What's Mine

Eventually, the music starts up again, a new, throbbing track. Lincoln shifts, breaking the spell. “Come on,” he says gently, taking my hand. “Let’s get a drink, maybe talk to some other people. We’ll gather whatever intel we can and see if Vera and Trey are willing to help us meet Morris.”

I nod, letting him guide me through the throng of dancers, my body still buzzing from the heated dance. I can feel the stares of other patrons—some intrigued, some envious—but I focus on Lincoln, on the steady grip of his hand, on the reassurance in his voice.

And as we head toward the bar, I can’t help replaying the scene in my mind: the swaying, the press of Trey’s chest at my back, Vera’s body in front of me, and Lincoln watching from across the room with that look that made my blood race. In the swirl of all these new experiences, one thing remains clear: I’ve never felt so alive, or so close to the edge, in my entire life.

I just hope it doesn’t all come crashing down before we get what we need. And before I figure out exactly what’s brewing between me and Lincoln beyond this dangerous game.

Chapter 19

Lincoln

Fuck me.

A low thrumming tension pulses through my veins as we drift away from the small dance floor, leaving behind the flicker of pink and gold lights. My gaze keeps straying to Isabel, replaying the sight of her between Trey and Vera, that sultry sway of her hips, the flush in her cheeks. Even now, the memory sets my heart hammering against my rib cage. I’m not sure which impulse is stronger: the urge to march her right out of this club so I can have her all to myself, or the temptation to keep pushing our luck here, see just how deep this rabbit hole goes.

But as we chat with a few more groups—casually, politely—my anticipation of gleaning intel deflates. No one knows anything, or if they do, they’re holding onto it with an iron grip. The night has turned into a frustrating dead end of smiles and emptyconversations, and the longer we linger, the more my patience frays.

Eventually, Isabel turns to me, brow furrowed. “We’re not getting anywhere,” she murmurs. Even over the throbbing lounge music, I catch the disappointment in her voice.

“Agreed.” My body is still wired, the press of adrenaline and unspent desire throbbing in my gut, but my mind finally decides enough is enough. “Let’s go. We can regroup and figure out our next move.”

She nods, relief mingling with regret in her expression. We slip past the last handful of couples drifting around the mini-ballroom and head out through the main floor of Club Greed. The booming bass from the public area is a jarring contrast to the private lounge. Flashing lights, bodies writhing on a crowded dance floor, the thick scent of sweat and expensive perfume, it all feels claustrophobic after the tense bubble we just left.

By the time we exit the building, the cool night air comes as a welcome shock. Isabel sucks in a deep breath, hugging her arms around herself until I slip off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. She offers me a small, grateful smile, and we exchange a weighted look that says too much about what we’re both feeling. Heat. Frustration. Maybe something more.

We climb into the SUV, after the valet brought it around. For a while, the rumble of the engine and the hush of the dark streets fill the space between us. My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, tension coiling through my body, a furious mix of pent-up desire and unrelenting worry about the mission. It doesn’t help that Isabel is quiet, her gaze flicking out the window at the passing city lights.

Finally, I clear my throat. “We’re hitting walls,” I say, keeping my voice low, “and it’s not just us. Everyone who really knows Morris is either out of town or tight-lipped.”

She exhales, turning her head to glance at me. “We just have to keep at it, right? Vera and Trey might come through eventually.”

I bite back a sigh. “Maybe. But what if we’re missing a simpler solution?” My jaw clenches before I say the next words. “What if we bring Dean in?”

Her reaction is immediate—her posture stiffens, and she shakes her head, a flicker of alarm in her eyes. “No.”

“Isabel—”

“I said no,” she repeats, firmer this time. “I don’t want Dean mixed up in this. It’s bad enough I’m here risking my neck. He’d flip his lid if he knew what we’ve been doing.” She swallows, staring at me with the intensity of someone cornered. “He’s close with Devereaux, sure, but do you really think that’s worth the headache if Dean suspects… anything else going on between us?”

I grit my teeth, because she’s not wrong. Dean’s always been protective—borderline overprotective—and if he even catches a whiff of the tension between me and his sister, that’s another fight altogether. Still, the practical part of me wonders if it’s time to call in backup. “He could pull strings we can’t. Might be the only way to get a face-to-face with Morris.”

She exhales, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I don’t like it, Lincoln. It’s my brother’s company, he’s my brother. I don’t want to drag him into this mess when I can handle it myself.”

I shoot her a skeptical look, though my heart clenches at the worry in her eyes. “You can handle it. You’re a complete badass, I know,” I say, voice softer, “but we might still need him to handle… the bigger pieces.”

She shakes her head again, a flicker of irritation dancing across her features. “Let me think about it, okay? Just… not tonight.”

“Fine.” I bite down on further argument, focusing on the road ahead. The tension in the SUV is thick enough to choke on, but I can’t force her to see it my way. Not when we’re both so raw from what just happened in the club.

We drive the rest of the way in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. The night feels darker than before, pressing in on all sides as we leave the city lights behind and move toward the quieter roads near the safe house. My body’s still on edge—part of me replaying the image of Isabel dancing with Trey and Vera, part of me wanting to pull her into my arms and claim her in a way that leaves no doubt about where she belongs. And who she belongs to. But reality keeps clawing at me, reminding me we can’t afford to lose ourselves in this attraction. Not yet.

When we finally pull up to the safe house, the gravel crunches under the tires, and a hush settles over the car. The building looms, every window dark. I kill the engine, and we sit there for a moment, neither of us moving.

Isabel lets out a quiet breath. “Long night, huh?”

“Yeah,” I agree, my throat feeling oddly tight. “Didn’t exactly go as planned.”

She manages a small, rueful smile. “Seems to be our specialty these days.”

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