Page 106 of Ruthless

I didn't know. But I did know one thing: if anyone could reach her, could build a bridge to whatever remained of the girl Luka had known, it was the manholding me now.

Vincent's chest rose andfell under the sheets, his face slack with the kind of peace I'd never known before meeting him. Something fierce and possessive clawed at my ribcage as I watched him sleep. The scent of him still clung to my skin, sandalwood and clean sweat and the lingering traces of last night when he'd taken me apart with those careful, clinical hands that somehow knew exactly how to make me forget who I was.

I slipped from our bed silently, muscles still pleasantly sore from where his fingers had dug into my hips, claiming me as thoroughly as I'd claimed him. There was one final piece of my plan to put in motion, and I couldn't risk him waking and asking questions I wasn't prepared to answer. The weight of what I was planning settled between my shoulder as I closed our door silently behind me and slipped out of the apartment.

Bacchanal assaulted my senses the moment I stepped through its doors. Bass notes pummeled my chest cavity, vibrating my organs while strobe lights sliced through artificial smoke, painting everythingin violent blues and reds. The air tasted metallic and sweet, thick with expensive perfume, sweat, and desperation. Bodies writhed against each other on the dance floor, moving with the same primal rhythm as combat, all hunger and violence. There was a time when I'd have been right in the middle of it, finding someone to fuck or fight or both. Tonight, I had more important things on my mind.

I spotted Lo instantly. Hard to miss him, honestly. While the club was full of dangerous people trying to look normal, Lo was the opposite—a deadly motherfucker who dressed like he was auditioning for a Lady Gaga backup dancer position. Tonight's ensemble featured leather pants so tight they qualified as a medical risk, a mesh crop top with "HEDONIST" spelled out in rhinestones across his chest, and enough metal jewelry to set off airport security from the parking lot.

He danced with a muscular guy who looked terrified and aroused equally. Lo spotted me over his dance partner's shoulder and winked, grinding against the poor bastard one last time before extracting himself.

"You're late," he shouted over the music as he bounced toward me, sweat glistening on his collarbones.

"You're a walking disco ball." I took his elbow and steering him toward the VIP section where we might actually hear each other.

The VIP room was marginally quieter, the music muffled enough that you could speak without screaming. The lighting remained shit, all crimson and shadow, but at least you could see who you were talking to. I slid two special pennies to the attendant, who nodded and left us alone, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

"Your boy doesn't know, does he?" Lo asked immediately, dropping his club persona as soon as we were alone. His eyes sharpened behind the glitter.

"No," I confirmed, taking a seat on one of the leather couches. "And it stays that way."

Lo flopped down across from me gracefully, but I noticed the tension in his shoulders. "So we're really doing this?"

"I am," I said, emphasizing the singular. "You're just providing intel and equipment."

Lo rolled his eyes dramatically. "Sure, sweetie. Keep telling yourself that."

I leaned forward, dropping my voice even though we were alone. "I'm serious, Lo. This isn't your fight."

"Interesting theory," he replied, examining his nails nonchalantly. "Consider this my counter-argument: fuck you."

"No," I said, the word cutting through the air between us. "This isn't negotiable, Lo. I'm doing this alone."

"Luka—"

"I mean it," I said, leaning forward, my voice dropping dangerously. "This is my fight. My mission. My ending to write." I held his gaze until he looked away. "I need the intel and equipment. That's it. When it's time, I go in alone."

Lo's jaw tightened. "Fine. Play the lone wolf avenger if it gets your rocks off. Just don't expect me to explain to your pretty therapist why you came back in a body bag."

"How sure are you about this intel?"

Lo's expression turned serious. "Jasper’s devices worked perfectly. Those trackers we planted on Prometheus's vehicles at the funeral transmitted for nearly eight hours before they were discovered and destroyed."

"Fuck. That's not long."

"Long enough." Lo reached into his ridiculous pants and somehow extracted a sleek tablet. "We tracked his movements to multiple locations, but he returned to this building three times."

He slid the tablet across the table, showing satellite images of an elegant glass building. "The top three floors are his private residence. Security is top-tier. This is your entry point." He zoomed in on a maintenance access on the roof. "Service elevator in the building next door to the roof and then jump across."

"Tonight," I said, memorizing the layout. "I'll take Vincent to dinner and then I'll slip out. How’d you get all this, anyway?"

Lo's smile was pure sin. "Apparently, the new head of security has a thing for blonds with flexible morals."

I snorted. "So you fucked it out of him?"

"Please," Lo scoffed, looking offended. "I am a professional. I blew him in the supply closet and had a USB drive cloning his phone while he was busy seeing Jesus."

"Resourceful as always."

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