Page 82 of Fight or Flight
“I’ve got your mic on mute, so just act natural while I’m talking. Keep your eye on Ben and the other leaders while I go let Jax in and we do what we need to do. If one of them leaves or anything out of the ordinary happens, let me know by gently pressing on your earpiece. That will send out a signal only I can hear. Run your hand through your hair if you understand.”
He slicks his hand through his hair, his eyes still on the blonde.
“Good. Now you’re going to practice using the signal. It’s incredibly sensitive, so you only need a little bit of pressure to activate it. If you feel the piece move in your ear, you’re pushing too hard. Give it a try if you understand.”
Another blonde comes to stand with the crowd of girls around him, and he gives her a big, flirty smile as he lifts his hand and does what I say.
A low whine, like soft feedback from a speaker, fills my ear.
“Perfect,” I tell him. “I’m going to do a quick perimeter check to clock anything that could complicate things, then we’ll figure out how you’re going to get the card. Do you remember our signal for yes? Use that if you understand.”
He rubs his right hand on his thigh.
Keeping to the shadows, I head over to the back wall and into the party favor room.
The Kings might be some of the most incompetent nepo babies on the planet and are the living embodiments of the Dunning-Kruger effect, but they get their hands on good shit, and they’re not stingy when it comes to sharing with their guests.
The room looks like a police evidence locker if it were transported into a medieval-themed restaurant with a massivewood table in the center of the space that’s covered with their offerings.
On one end of the table is the softer stuff like prerolled joints, bags of loose flower, packets of rolling papers, and a few bongs. In the middle of the table is where they’ve put the different pharmaceutical options, all in neatly labeled containers. And on the other end is the harder stuff, complete with the tools needed to cook, cut, and consume the offerings.
It’s a literal smorgasbord of bad decisions and regrets, but the four massive private security guards dressed in all black watching the table and making sure that no one takes more than they can consume are the reason I came in here in the first place.
Last time I was at one of these parties, they only had two guards, and they weren’t armed. Now there are four, and all of them are visibly packing.
That could complicate things, but as long as we get in and out without anyone knowing, then they won’t be a problem.
One guard fixes his attention on me and gently rests his hand on his sidearm, his message clear: pick something or get the fuck out.
I pretend to scope out the weed choices, then pluck a preroll off the table and tuck it over my ear. And just because I can, I grab another joint from the stack and hold it between two fingers like I’m going to spark it up the second I leave.
The guard drops his hand from his weapon, and I turn away from the table and head back out into the main room.
Instead of lighting up, I slip the joints into a slender metal cigarette case I tucked into my pocket when I was getting dressed and head back over to the bar, sticking close to the walls and shadows as I do.
Shane does a good job of ignoring me as he laughs and flirts with the gaggle of women still surrounding him, and I do mybest to ignore the dark, ugly heat that once again settles in my stomach at the sight.
It’s time to focus on the mission, not on whatever the fuck is going on with me.
“Ready for your part?” I ask quietly.
He rubs his right hand against his thigh.
“Good.” I take a sip of my drink and lean against the wall behind me. “You’ve got this. Just remember to breathe and you’ll be fine.”
His shoulders drop a bit and his posture relaxes.
“Do you see an opening?” I ask quietly.
Ben is still standing near the dance area, but now the group around him is bigger and includes several randoms I don’t care to place.
He touches his left ear, our signal for no.
“Do you want to implement plan B?” I ask.
He rubs his thigh.
“Okay. Give me a minute or so to get them distracted. And remember, you’ve got this.”
