Page 18 of Seek Me Darling

Tonight, I walk in smiling.

He’ll never see the teeth underneath.

Chapter 8

Seanna

Thenightairhitsme like a promise of trouble—cold, electric, and full of secrets. I pull into our secondary rendezvous, a scrap of asphalt tucked just out of range of the Silver Orchid’s glaring neon. Eli, Jensen, and Matteo wait beside Eli’s sleek black sedan, the street lamp glow slicing across Matteo’s tense stance and illuminating Eli’s smug grin.

Another dark vehicle sits nearby—the local PD surveillance van, engine idling quietly. Two narcotics detectives lean impatiently against it, badges glinting, their faces pinched with irritation. Between them stands a very nervous-looking Carlos Rivas.

Stepping from my car, the cold air bites into my bare shoulders, sharpening my focus. Jensen greets me with a low whistle, eyes openly appraising the tight black dress hugging every dangerous curve.

“Damn, boss. You clean upverywell.” His mouth twists into an amused smirk, as if inspecting a particularly impressive weapon that just landed in his hands.

Eli arches a brow, leaning casually against his car with a teasing glint. “Still trying to figure out how you flip from lethal DEA agent to lethal seductress. Ever gonna share your secret?”

I snort, tossing him a playful, dismissive glare. “Trade secrets, Eli. Maybe after you hit puberty.”

Jensen chuckles, clapping Eli’s shoulder in mock sympathy. “Sorry, buddy. Sounds like never.”

“Brutal,” Eli mutters good-naturedly as he slips into the driver's seat, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. “Let’s move.”

Detective Harris pushes off the van, crossing his arms over his chest as his partner shifts uneasily beside him. Harris eyes me with a mixture of irritation and grudging respect.

“We agreed—Rivas is yours, but when you move on Cruz, we’re in,” he says, attempting firmness but failing to mask his discomfort at losing control of the situation.

“Sure,” I reply dismissively, flashing a humorless, razor-edged smile that makes his jaw tighten. “We’ll keep you posted.”

He hesitates, clearly dissatisfied but smart enough to pick his battles. With a reluctant jerk of his chin, Harris motions toward Rivas. Jensen steps forward smoothly, gripping Rivas by the upper arm, steering him forcefully toward our vehicle.

I step close, locking my icy gaze with Rivas’ wide, frightened eyes, my voice low and merciless. “Make this convincing, Rivas, or that deal we discussed earlier vanishes—along with you.”

Rivas swallows thickly, nodding vigorously. “Understood.”

We pile into Eli’s sedan, Jensen pressing Rivas firmly between himself and Matteo, who sits silent and intimidatingly calm beside him. Eli guides us smoothly into traffic, tension crackling like static electricity inside the car. Jensen finally breaks the silence, his voice dangerously quiet as he leans toward Rivas.

“Remember your lines, Rivas. Fuck this up, and tonight’s your last taste of freedom.”

Rivas shivers visibly, but manages a weak nod. “I won’t screw it up.”

The Silver Orchid soon comes into view, its garish neon pinks and electric blues slicing through the night, a beacon of temptation and sin. Eli pulls us smoothly to a stop at the valet, turning slightly to meet my eyes, voice deceptively casual. “I’ll be out here. Don’t do anything too stupid.”

I let a slow, predatory smile curl my lips. “If it’s stupid but works, we’ll celebrate later.”

I step out into the chaotic rhythm of the night, Jensen and Matteo flanking Rivas protectively. Rivas straightens his posture as best he can, clearly terrified but holding together. Jensen leads with unapologetic confidence, slicing through the envious whispers and hopeful glances from patrons waiting behind velvet ropes.

The massive bouncer eyes our approach, taking in Jensen’s lethal stance, Matteo’s quiet menace, and Rivas’ nervous compliance before finally settling his gaze on me—cold, confident, deadly. Without hesitation, he unhooks the velvet rope, letting us pass.

Inside, music crashes into me, bass pounding through my bones as lights strobe hypnotically, shifting from blue to violet to red. Bodies twist and sway, sweat and alcohol scenting the air with reckless abandon. Jensen moves purposefully, leading us upstairs toward the VIP area, every step silently asserting dominance.

In moments, I spot Sebastián Cruz lounging arrogantly in his private booth, tailored suit perfectly draped over his lean, predatory frame, flanked by two enormous bodyguards with sharp, assessing eyes.

I nod subtly to Rivas. “Showtime, Carlos,” I murmur, my tone brooking no argument.

Taking a deep breath, Rivas straightens slightly, preparing himself as I lean toward Matteo. “Hold back,” I instruct quietly, my voice low and firm. “Keep your eyes open. I want no surprises.”

Matteo’s dark gaze flickers, sharp and assured. “On it.” With practiced ease, he melts seamlessly into the dancing crowd, disappearing instantly, but still somehow present, a deadly ghost in the shadows.

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