Leon’s expression was fierce and determined, and I couldn’t help my gaze dipping to his mouth when he ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Saving your life, DeLuna,” he growled. “I can’t let you go through with this suicide mission.”
Anger and outrage swept through me, and my open palm smacked across his cheek faster than he could block me. His head snapped to the side, and pure fury flickered across his face.
“Fuck you, Marx,” I said in a harsh whisper. “You don’t get to make that call, and you don’t know me anywhere near well enough to make such an insulting assumption. This is what I do . If it’s over your head, then walk the fuck away, and I’ll complete it solo.”
I was so mad that I was shaking slightly. Usually I held such an even temper, because emotions were messy and interfered with the job. But something about this situation had made me snap. Something about Leon treating me like I wasn’t capable… it’d broken my careful control over my emotions, and suddenly I was raging.
Instead of dealing with it the way I wanted to—by stabbing him with the folding knife I had tucked into my bra—I shook my head and stalked away. I needed a goddamn minute to pull myself together and re-strategize my assignment.
“Danny,” Leon snapped, starting to follow me, “where are you going?”
“None of your fucking business,” I snarled back, shooting him a furious, disgusted look over my shoulder. “You’re too close to this, Leon. Go back to base. I can handle things from here. Alone.”
His eyes widened at the clear insult. I was benching him, but that was my right as the lead on this contract. I didn’t hang around to debate his fuckup any further, pushing through the crowd to get to the restrooms. It felt like I couldn’t fucking breathe in the crowded club. Not with Leon’s eyes locked on me like a homing beacon.
Maybe that block on our profiles was a smart idea after all, because he was actively sabotaging my mission right now. It made me question whether he was trying to kill me… again. I was sure someone had been following me after I left him in New York a few weeks ago. At first I’d assumed it was him, then I’d spotted a muscle-for-hire on my tail, which confirmed my theory that someone within the Guild was trying to have me killed.
But then when I’d made myself easy bait and wandered into less populated streets, luring my attacker out, nothing had happened. He was simply gone, like I’d imagined the whole thing.
Now I was wondering if Leon had something to do with it.
I used the restroom—anger made me need to pee—then washed my hands a little more aggressively than I really needed to. I was so lost inside my head, puzzling out what fucking angle Leon was playing, I didn’t even notice the woman beside me until she spoke.
“You okay?”
I stiffened, blinking down at my pink hands and then looking up at the woman who’d spoken. “Shit, sorry, I must look crazy. I was just in my own head.”
She was a beautiful woman, taller than me—not that that was hard—and dressed as Lara Croft. Her inky black hair was bound in a long braid, and her warm brown skin was highlighted artfully with metallic bronzers. I also recognized her from my intel package on my mark. She was one of his inner circle.
“You’re fine,” she told me with a knowing smile. “I saw that altercation with your boyfriend out there. You smacked him good.”
I bit back a smile. Her accent was mixed and hard to identify. Definitely not American. I liked it, whatever the mix was.
“Most definitely not my boyfriend,” I replied with a groan. A few weeks ago, I’d have been thrilled to call Leon my boyfriend, but it seemed like every interaction we’d had since waking up in New York had been insult after insult from him. I wasn’t the kind of girl to put up with that shit from a guy I liked.
The woman raised her brows at me. “No? Sure looked like something going on there.”
I tugged my mask off and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. I didn’t even need to fake the headache building there, but I was rapidly coming up with a backup plan.
“He’s a colleague,” I told her. “Like… we’re not even friends. I ran into him at the bar, and we chatted.” I gave a shrug, like it was beyond me to try and explain what had gone through his head. And really, it was beyond me. What in the fuck had he been thinking? Other than the obvious, that I wasn’t good enough to complete this assignment.
Well, fuck him. I’d prove him wrong, then rub his face in my victory.
My new friend gave an understanding nod. “Men are just wired differently, I swear. Anyway, you look stunning, I’m sure your night will improve from here.”
She’d finished washing her hands, so she dried them off with a paper towel as I subtly checked her over. The guns strapped to her shorts were no props, but that was hardly surprising in this crowd.
I gave her a smile back and pulled my lipstick from one of the tiny pockets of my skirt. I wasn’t armed—aside from my little folding knife in my bra—because if things had gone to plan, the self-proclaimed god of war would have had me naked in his hotel room by now.
Bronzed Lara Croft left the restroom as I took my time fixing my lipstick—Leon had smudged it again—then tucked the tube back in my pocket.
“Not even friends,” Leon’s voice sounded in my ear. “I think my feelings are hurt, DeLuna.”
Anger rippled through me again. “Shut the fuck up, Leon. I’m beyond mad at you right now.”
His response was quick. “So come to the utility room, and we can fight it out. It’s not healthy to bottle these emotions up.”
I gave a sharp laugh. “You fucking wish. Just stay silent, or I’ll take my comms out. I’ve got another angle to work.”
He didn’t reply, and I was glad for it. I wasn’t actually dumb enough to take my comms out just because I was mad at him, so I really didn’t need him calling my bluff.
Peering in the mirror, I reattached my cat-ears mask and smoothed a hand over my pony tail. Good enough. Pulling my shoulders back, I made my way back out into the club. I spotted my Lara Croft friend over in the group surrounding my target, but I didn’t look her way as I headed over to the bar.
This time, I ordered my own drink, knocking back a double of Copper Wolf vodka—my favorite brand—before peering around the room with an uncertain expression.
It only took a minute before Lara Croft was getting up and heading over to me with a friendly smile.
“You look like you’re about to bail out for the night,” she commented, leaning on the bar beside me.
I gave a grimace. “I am. I think my friends have either hooked up or gone already, and I’m not much for the solo party.”
She leaned over to shout a large order to the bartender, then turned to me with a brow raised. “You’re gonna let that creep from earlier ruin your night?”
I shrugged. “Apparently.”
Her jaw tightened. “Hell no. You’ll come have a drink with me. The guys are mostly on their best behavior tonight, anyway.” She jerked her head in the direction she’d come from, and I let my gaze follow.
“I dunno,” I replied, sounding reluctant. Yes, most of the guys in her party were just chatting with one another or watching the room without even trying to hide the fact they were there as protection for someone. But my target? Practically drowning in drunk women. Not that I could fault their taste, because the man was pure sex. All rippling muscles, black and gray tattoos, smoldering stare…