She catches the attention of Popcorn and points to me, holding up two fingers. Popcorn's eyes meet mine, waiting for a signal, and I give her a quick nod before turning my attention back to Kennedy.

"What information were you trying to find out? No better person to ask than the object of your obsession."

"Don't flatter yourself." She laughs nervously. "Just wanted to know if you're a stand-up guy."

"Shouldn't you have asked that before we fucked?"

She gasps. "We did not!" Swiveling around on her stool, she knocks my legs with her leather-clad knees.

I give her a smug grin and figure why not play with her a little. "Do you even remember?"

"I think I'd remember that." But based on the look on her face and the greenish hue to her skin, I can tell she's not convinced of her own statement.

"We didn't fuck," I tell her to ease her conscience. "You'd remember if we did."

"Two Louis's," Popcorn says, interrupting our conversation. She's giving me the stink eye. The one she uses when she's concerned about things that really shouldn't matter to her. She places the glasses in front of each of us. "Anything else?"

"We're good." I wave her off, wanting to get back to where we left off. There's an electric charge between Kennedy and me that I can't explain, but I've felt it since the moment I laid eyes on her. Kissing her hasn't helped the feeling fade either.

Popcorn doesn't leave, though. She takes the rag off her shoulder and starts to scrub an imaginary spot off the bar top just to the right of Kennedy. She's eavesdropping, or at least, trying to.

"Would you like to take our drinks somewhere more private and talk business?" I ask Kennedy much to the chagrin of Popcorn.

Kennedy grips her Cognac in one hand and grins. "I'd love to, Nix. There's lots to discuss." She holds out her left hand to me, and being a gentleman, I take it and help her from the stool. She barely wobbles this time in the sky-high heels and doesn't spill a drop of Louis.

I don't look back as we walk away, but I can feel Popcorn's eyes on us as we move. If I had been paying better attention, I would have probably found more than one set watching us as we moved through the bar to head down a back hallway. It's a special section of the club used for special meetings and privacy when necessary. Even though Hassan is out of town, I know he has people in the club at all times, and I'm sure he's getting a full report of my activity with his newest blue-haired obsession.

I motion toward the room at the end of the corridor, which is the farthest away from prying eyes and the most secluded. When we enter, I stand near the doorway and check that we haven't been followed. Very few things make me nervous, but being alone with her in this place has my pulse racing. Maybe it's the hard-on I can already feel coming and the possibility we'll be caught.

She takes a seat in the red velvet chair in the corner, setting her drink down on the tiny gold end table next to her and crossing her legs. "Everything okay?" she asks, fidgeting with the edges of her skirt, which has ridden up her thighs.

"It's fine. Just checking to make sure we're alone," I tell her as my eyes take a final sweep of the hallway before closing the door. Locking us in, I stalk toward her, taking a seat on the coffee table directly in front of her.

"Who are you, Kennedy?" I ask, watching her reaction closely for anything that could tip me off. Even though I got her tipsy the other night, she didn't cave. She stuck to her story, but it sounded rehearsed to the trained ear.

"I'm Kennedy." She smiles playfully and avoids the question, licking her lips to distract me.

I place my drink next to hers and scoot forward, caging her in. I want her captive. "Let's be real for a minute here." The warmth of her thighs does nothing to quell the ache that's starting to become painful.

"I have been." Her back straightens, and her legs brush against the insides of my thighs.

I scoot closer and place my palms on her knees to stop their shaking. "Do you want to be with me or Hassan? I don't do sloppy seconds."

"Hassan's a means to an end, Nix." She swallows hard, and her lips part as she stares at me with a look I can only describe as lust-filled. "You're..."

"Sexy? Handsome?"

She laughs. "Nix."

"Come on. Just admit you wanted to fuck me last night, and I'll stop." I want this woman.

Her body moves forward, and her knees brush against my cock. I slide my hand under the hem of her miniskirt. "Only if you'll admit it too."

"I have no issue saying what I want, Kennedy. Right now, I want you. I don't want Hassan's filthy hands touching you again. I don't want him to even look in your direction. You wanted my attention, and now you've got it, but you may regret trading in one devil for another."

"I don't want Hassan."

My hands glide to the top of her legs, her skin warming underneath my fingers as I grip her thighs tightly. "Say it, Kennedy. Say what you want."

"I want you," she says, breathy and wanton as her body moves forward into my touch. "Won't that cause problems for you?"

"With Hassan?" I ask and hold her face in one hand.

"Yes." Her cheek flushes under my thumb.

"I don't work with him and never will. I'll handle him."

"Nix." She leans forward, melting into my touch.

"Shh." I bring my lips to hers and she shivers. "Don't stop me, Ken."

"Shut up and kiss me." Her tongue darts out, sweeping across my lips, and I lose all control. I know it's a bad idea, but I can't stop myself. My need for her outweighs everything else, and I can't contain the growl that creeps up my throat at the contact.

The warmth of her Louis-coated tongue has my already hard cock straining against my pants for relief. Needing to hold her mouth against mine, I move a hand from her legs, sweeping it up her arm and tangling in her hair. As I fist it in my hands, she moans softly against my lips and melts into me. The harshness of our breaths rings in my ears, louder than the dull thud of the club music upstairs thumping against the ceiling and reverberating down the walls.

Everything else fades away.

It's only her and me, our lips entwined and our pulses racing. I haven't felt a rush like this since I first got in this business. Maybe it's the chance that this could cause friction between Hassan and me that makes it so enticing and exciting, but one thing is for sure-Kennedy Preston is bad news.

11.

Kennedy

Nix's mouth is warm, his kiss demanding. He tastes like Cognac and cinnamon, and I can't seem to get enough. When he moves his knee up to the chair I'm sitting on and slides it between my legs, they part in silent obedience.

He gives a low hum of amusement. "Can't get these legs open for me fast enough, can you?"

"Less talking and more kissing," I say, taking two fistfuls of his shirt and bringing him closer to me.

He leans over me, sliding a hand around to grip my ass. I wrap my leg around his waist and he returns his mouth to mine, his kiss making me moan softly. I'm hot, achy, and high on the feeling of letting go of everything but this moment.

I'm not watching or analyzing. I'm not working Nix so I can get information out of him like I'm supposed to be. Despite the blue wig, it's Kennedy kissing Nix, not Eva.

When I tighten my leg around Nix's waist, he groans and his free hand slides into my hair. He pulls it hard enough to make me gasp. I bite his lower lip to even the score.

"Fuck," he says breathlessly. "I'm not sure I'll be able to stop."

"So don't."

His eyes darken, and he's lowering his mouth back to mine when the sound of someone walking into the room makes us unwind ourselves from each other and turn.

"Nix." It's Grayson, the owner of the Loft. His calculating gaze sweeps over us, and it hits me just how fucking stupid I'm being right now.

Grayson is a tall, broad, biracial man with a permanent scowl. He lacks the smoothness of men like Nix and Hassan, but he doesn't need it. He commands attention and respect, not just because he's a powerful man, but also because he's known for having people who disrespect him killed.

"What?" Nix's aggravated tone makes my stomach roll. He's got balls, I'll give him that.

"You're needed in a suite upstairs. That proposition we discussed?"

"Can it wait?"

Grayson's eyes narrow. "Fuck no, but the pussy can. You in or not?"

Nix sighs softly. "Yeah. I'm right behind you."

Grayson shakes his head and leaves the room. I'm not surprised he didn't even acknowledge me because that's his style.

"Sorry," Nix says, his eyes locking with mine. "I came here for business tonight, but you distracted me."

I arch my brows and give him a look. "I did no such thing."

"Don't bullshit me. That dress?"

"You didn't have to look."

He leans closer, his breath warm against my lips. "Yeah, I did, and I had to touch, too. And if this meeting wasn't really important, I would've said fuck it."

"Better get to it. Grayson's impatient."

"He's a fucking hothead." Nix brushes a lock of blue hair away from my face. "Will you be here when I'm done?"

Though I want to nod eagerly, I shrug. "Maybe."

His gaze is so intense it leaves me breathless. "Meet me at the bar upstairs."

"I'll be there."

He gives me a quick, soft kiss and then leaves. My heart is still pounding hard, and it starts to sink in how careless I was just now. If Grayson hadn't come in, I would have been fucking Nix at this moment, unaware of everything else around me.

My plan to come into this night with a renewed focus on my work has been a big fail so far. I take a deep breath and get my bearings, which only seems possible when Nix isn't within reach.

This is an opportunity. Grayson is usually watching everyone down here, and I know for sure he's on the club's upper level for at least the next few minutes. That means I can possibly access the vault.

The Loft was built on the site of a former downtown New York bank. It wasn't just any bank, but one of the largest in the country when it was opened in the 1930s. Jewels, rare art, and other priceless treasures have been stored in the vault, which is only accessible through the basement.

When Rae briefed me on my assignment at the Loft, she told me no agent has ever made it into the vault. Just getting a look inside, and maybe some photos, would be a great find for Greenlight.

Lessons from my academy instructors ring in my head as I make my way to the vault. I'm here to be the eyes and ears of the agency, bringing back intelligence information that may not seem valuable on its face. But my fellow agents are doing the same work, and sometimes it takes adding all the pieces of a puzzle together to see the picture clearly.

The hallway that leads to the vault isn't being guarded right now. This opening is perfect.

I walk to the end of the hallway and try the old-fashioned wheel-shaped handle of the vault. It doesn't open the door, which isn't surprising. To the right of the door is an electronic keypad. I use the camera built into a bracelet I'm wearing to snap several photos of the keypad, door, and handle.

Damn. I really wanted to get into the vault, but it's not happening. At least, not right now.

I turn and check out the rest of the hallway. There are three other doors, all closed.

My heels click on the dark concrete floor as I walk toward the first door. I can't walk softly because I have to look like I belong here. Sneaking around without looking sneaky, if you will.

That was the hardest thing for me to learn at the academy. It's hard to project nerves of steel when you could be busted at any moment.

I grab the handle of the first door and try to turn it, but it won't budge. It's the only door on that side of the hallway and there are two on the other side, so this door must lead into a large room.

My heartbeat is surprisingly regular as I move to the other side of the hall and try a door. It turns, and my pulse kicks up a notch. There could be people in here, and I don't have a weapon.

But I don't have time to second-guess. I step inside the room, which is dark, and flip a switch on the side of the wall. Light fills the room, and I snap photos as I take in my surroundings.

It seems to be some sort of storage room. There are crates lined up on metal shelves along three walls. A tarp covers something sitting in the middle of the room.

I go to the tarp first, pulling it aside. There are two wood pallets stacked with bricks of cocaine. The street value of this much coke is staggering.

Grayson's got balls, keeping this here instead of at a storage house. The club could get seized if the Feds bust him for this.

I snap photos and replace the tarp so it looks just like it did when I walked in, then walk over to the crates.

They're nailed shut, which is a shitty break. But there's a crowbar nearby, so I use it to work a corner of one crate up. I'm slow and careful because I can't risk any damage to the crate.

It creaks slightly as it starts to rise. When I get the left corner loosened, I move on to the right one. It takes me a good five minutes to get the lid off, and when I do, I see that the wood crate is full of AK-47s.

I take a photo of the guns and quickly replace the crate's lid, using the end of the crowbar to hammer the nails back in and then wiping my prints from the crowbar and returning it to its spot.

I'd like to look inside more crates, but I don't want to risk it. There could be a guard coming back to the front of the hallway, and I have to get out of here without anyone seeing me leave the room.

I'll get my ass chewed on just for walking down this hallway, but as long as no one knows I was in one of the rooms, I'll be okay.

I walk over to the door, take a deep breath, and slowly twist the handle. When I ease it open, planning to peek into the hallway before I slide out, my heart doesn't just pound-it practically stops.