ALINA LANTEL
I smirked at my reflection in the mirror.
The messy bun was a statement. Loose curls framed my face and fell carelessly over my neck, like accidental art. The black dress clung to my curves like it had been sewn directly onto my skin. It was short—dangerously short. The hem barely reached my thighs, and every step would be a tease. And then there were the boots—thigh-high, matte leather, hugging my legs all the way up. A promise and a threat all in one.
If Marcus had a type, I was going to become it. And if he didn't, well—he was going to change his taste tonight.
I tucked a silver dagger into the hidden holster beneath my boot and sighed. Not because I was nervous—I didn't do nervous—but because Aiden wouldn't shut up in my head.
"He's dangerous, Alina. Liam doesn't care what happens to you once you're inside."
Yeah, maybe. But I wasn't doing this for Liam. I was doing it for myself. For the thrill. For the proof that I could play the game just as well—no, better—than any man out there. Aiden could keep trying to baby me. He had no idea the things I'd already done, the lives I'd already stolen with nothing but charm and pretty lies.
Liam's information had been solid. Marcus would be at his club tonight—some extravagant place on the west end. From what Liam told me, it was one of Marcus's prized possessions. Loud music, hidden deals, expensive liquor, and too many secrets.
Perfect.
I dabbed on a final touch of gloss and grabbed my jacket—not to wear, of course. Just to throw over my shoulders until I stepped in. No one looked too suspicious showing up in black with heels in the city, but this wasn't about blending in. It was about standing out just enough to be noticed… and never forgotten.
The mission was clear: get Marcus to notice me. Make him want me. Make him need me around long enough for me to tear down his walls, find what Liam wanted, and feed it back to him, piece by piece.
But the part I didn't say out loud—the part I didn't even tell myself fully—was that I wanted more than that. Not from Marcus. From this. From the whole damn game. I didn't want to just feed Liam crumbs. I wanted the whole damn loaf. I wanted control. Power. The kind of leverage that no one could hold over my head again.
"Lantel," I murmured to myself in the mirror, biting the inside of my cheek with a grin. "Let's go ruin someone."
---
The ride to the club was quiet. I kept my phone off. No distractions. No good luck messages from Aiden or warnings from Liam. I didn't need them in my head. Not tonight.
The club loomed into view—glass, chrome, lights pulsing like a heartbeat. Marcus's taste, clearly. The kind of place where people with too much money and too many enemies pretended they had control.
I stepped out, ignoring the eyes I felt on me immediately. Good. Let them look.
The bouncer barely checked me before waving me in. Perks of wearing barely anything and walking like you own the world.
Inside, the music was thunder and the lights cut across the room in strobes. Bodies moved everywhere—on the dance floor, in booths, against walls. I walked straight past them all, like I had a VIP card no one could see.
I could feel the eyes on me as I moved. Men watched with half-empty drinks and empty minds. A few women too. I didn't care. I wasn't here for them.
I was here for the king of the damn castle.
And then I saw him.
Marcus.
He sat in a dark booth near the back, surrounded by two men and a woman. He was laughing—sharp, casual, powerful. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, silver chains glinting at his collarbone. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. And a scar on his jaw that only made him look more dangerous.
Perfect.
I didn't look at him. Not directly. I made sure he noticed me before I noticed him. I passed near his booth once, then again—slowly this time, heading toward the bar.
The third time, I paused. Just slightly. Turned my head. Let our eyes meet.
Then I smirked and turned away.
Like I wasn't here for him. Like he was just another man in the crowd.
That always worked.
By the time I reached the bar, I could feel him watching. I leaned over the counter, letting the dress ride up just enough. The bartender raised a brow.
"Whiskey," I said.
"Neat?"
"With a little sin."
He chuckled as he turned away. And I could feel a presence slide up beside me.
It didn't take long.
"Let me guess," a voice said to my right. "You're trouble."
I turned my head slowly, smiling like I didn't already know who it was. "That depends. Are you hoping I am?"
Marcus's smile could make a weaker girl melt. Good thing I'd seen hotter. Darker. More dangerous.
"I'm Marcus," he said, leaning just a little closer.
I widened my eyes like I was impressed. "That so? Sounds important."
He laughed, low and warm. "And you are?"
"Alina."
His eyes slid down my body and then back up, pausing briefly at my lips. "Pretty name. Suits you."
I tilted my head. "What suits me is complicated."
"Complicated's my favorite."
I took the glass from the bartender, sipped, then raised it slightly in a toast. "Then here's to your favorite mistake."
Marcus laughed again.
Hook.
Line.
And I was the bait that bit back.