The bruise on Elena's ribcage wasn't just purple. It was ugly. A deep, sickly plum color that throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
She stared at it in the full-length mirror. He kicks like a mule, she thought, tracing the edge of the mark. It wasn't a complaint. It was a professional assessment. The "Ghost" at the warehouse hadn't held back. If she ever found him, she was going to return the favor. With interest.
She picked up the dress Daniel had laid out. Crimson silk. Backless. A slit that ran dangerously high up her thigh. It wasn't a dress. It was a distraction.
She stepped into it. The fabric tightened over her injuries. She hissed, a sharp intake of breath through her teeth. Pain is good, she told herself. Pain keeps you awake.
She clasped the silver necklace around her throat. The Black King pendant settled against her collarbone. Cold. Heavy. The tracker. She smiled at her reflection. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the smile of a predator who had just found a new toy. Let him track me. Tonight, I want everyone to see exactly who holds the leash.
The bathroom door opened. Daniel stepped out.
Elena stopped breathing. Just for a second.
He was wearing a black tuxedo. It fit him like a second skin, hugging shoulders that she now knew were capable of snapping necks. He had combed his hair back, revealing the sharp, predatory angles of his face. He didn't look like a Logistics Manager. He looked like a man who owned the darkness.
Daniel froze. His eyes swept over her. The red lips. The exposed skin of her back. The silver pendant. His pupils dilated. It wasn't just appreciation. It was a physical hunger.
He crossed the room in three strides. He stood behind her, his hands settling on her bare shoulders. His thumbs brushed the skin near her neck, dangerously close to her pulse. His hands were hot. Possessive.
"You look..." He struggled for the word. His voice was rough, like gravel. "Trouble."
"Is that a compliment?" Elena asked, meeting his eyes in the mirror. She tried to sound playful, but her voice came out breathless.
"It's a warning," Daniel murmured. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck, right next to the tracker. "You're going to give Mrs. Gable a heart attack."
"Good," Elena said. "Cynthia Gable tried to shut down my café last week. She said the smell of cinnamon was 'offensive' to her chakras."
Daniel's grip tightened on her shoulders. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to claim. "Stay close to me tonight, El. I don't like the way people look at you when you wear red."
"Why?" Elena teased, leaning back against him, letting his warmth soothe her aching ribs. "Are you jealous?"
Daniel didn't smile. He looked at her reflection with a terrifying intensity. "Yes."
The Annual Oakwood Charity Gala was a sensory nightmare. Too much perfume. Too much cheap champagne. The sound of forced laughter echoing off crystal chandeliers.
Elena and Daniel walked in arm-in-arm. The room went quiet. In a sea of beige cocktail dresses and ill-fitting grey suits, the Reeds looked like a bloodstain on a white sheet. Vibrant. Dangerous.
"Heads up," Daniel whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "The Vulture is inbound. Twelve o'clock."
Cynthia Gable was marching toward them. A woman in her fifties, dripping in diamonds that cost more than Elena's mortgage, wearing a gold dress that looked like tin foil.
"Elena!" Cynthia trilled. Her voice was high enough to crack glass. "I didn't think you'd make it! I heard about the... incident at your house. A break-in? How dreadful."
She said "dreadful" like she meant "tacky."
"We're fine, Cynthia," Elena said. Her face hurt from smiling.
Cynthia's eyes raked over Elena's dress. Her lip curled. "Well. You certainly recovered quickly. Though... isn't that dress a bit... bold? For a café owner? It sends a message, doesn't it?"
Elena took a sip of champagne. She didn't get angry. She got bored. "You're right, Cynthia. It does send a message." She stepped closer. She loomed. "It says I don't need to wear my husband's bank account on my wrists to be the most memorable woman in the room."
Cynthia's mouth opened. No sound came out. She flushed a blotchy pink.
Before she could sputter, a man stepped up. Richard Gable. Short. Sweaty. A suit that cost ten grand but still looked cheap. He was a real estate developer who bullied small businesses for sport.
"Reed," Richard grunted, nodding at Daniel. He looked at Elena. His eyes lingered on her chest. Gross. "Nice dress. Shame about the café, though. I heard the zoning board is looking closely at your permits. Might be time to sell. I could make you a... generous offer."
It was a threat. A clumsy, arrogant threat.
Elena felt Daniel's arm tense beneath her hand. The muscle coiled like a steel spring. The Doting Husband was gone. The Secret King was assessing a target.
"The café isn't for sale, Richard," Daniel said. His voice was polite. Mild. But his eyes were dead flat. Shark eyes.
"Everything is for sale, son," Richard laughed, clapping a heavy hand on Daniel's shoulder. "You'll learn that. Logistics doesn't pay that well, does it? You need the cash."
Daniel smiled. It was a terrifying smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "Hold that thought, Richard. I need to check something."
Daniel pulled out his phone. Elena watched him. She knew that look. It wasn't him checking a text. It was the look he had when he was deciding which wire to cut on a bomb.
"What are you doing?" Elena whispered.
"Just checking his logistics," Daniel murmured.
His thumbs moved across the screen. Blurring speed. He wasn't texting. He was accessing a backdoor into the Oakwood County Tax Assessor's database—a backdoor he had installed years ago for Agency purposes. Tonight, he was using it for petty revenge.
Tap. Tap. Swipe.
"Richard," Daniel said, looking up. "Did you know that your offshore holding company in the Caymans—Gable Ventures Ltd—missed a filing deadline yesterday?"
Richard's face went pale. The sweat on his forehead glistened. "What? How do you know about—"
"And it looks like," Daniel continued, raising his voice just enough for the Mayor nearby to hear, "that because of the missed filing, your assets are temporarily frozen. Which means the check you wrote for tonight's charity auction... is going to bounce."
Richard started sweating profusely. "That's private information! Who are you?"
"I'm just a Logistics Manager," Daniel said innocently. "I notice things. If I were you, I'd go call your accountant. Before the IRS gets the automated flag I just saw triggered."
Richard looked at Daniel. Then at the Mayor, who was frowning. He grabbed Cynthia's arm. "We're leaving."
"But the auction—" Cynthia squeaked.
"Now!"
They scurried out of the ballroom like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
Elena watched them go. She hid her smile behind her glass. She looked at her husband. He pocketed his phone and winked at her. A boyish, mischievous wink that didn't match the cold calculation he had just shown.
"You hacked the Cayman registry on public WiFi?" Elena whispered. "That's illegal."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Daniel said, offering her his arm. "Shall we dance?"
As they turned toward the dance floor, Daniel's phone buzzed against his ribs. Not his personal phone. The burner phone in his inner tuxedo pocket. The one set to vibrate only for Red Clearance emergencies.
He froze. He checked the screen discreetly.
TEXT MESSAGE: SENDER: UNKNOWN TARGET LOCATED: THE RED QUEEN. SIGNAL DETECTED. LOCATION: OAKWOOD COUNTRY CLUB. BALLROOM. DISTANCE: < 5 METERS.
Daniel stopped dead. The color drained from his face. Less than five meters.
He looked around the room. The waiter? The Mayor's wife? The band? He looked at Elena. She was smiling at him, touching the silver necklace he had given her.
The Tracker. The Agency wasn't tracking the necklace. They were tracking the old signal. The one Elena had emitted at the warehouse.
She's here, Daniel thought, panic clawing at his throat like a physical hand. The Red Queen is at this party. She's breathing the same air as my wife.
He grabbed Elena's hand. His grip was bruising. Desperate.
"We need to leave," he said, his voice ice cold. "Now."
End of Chapter 11