Bound to the calloway's heir

Zane. I could have chosen to cut the CCTV feeds and kept the cartel men in the dark. Instead, I saw it as a chance to lure the rival cartel into the open. Let them think we're sloppy. Let them strike. The lounge was filled with the scent of bourbon and cigarette ash, the low thrum of a jazz baseline vibrating through the floor. Dim lights spilled shadows across leather booths. I leaned back in a corner booth, my arm slung over the backrest, Sienna pressed against my side. Her laugh rang out as Noah spun a story about a deal gone sour in Miami. My eyes flicked to her, searching for fractures in her façade, but her face was smooth, her smile honed to an edge. I kept my hand steady on my glass. Liam sat to my left, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on his whiskey, his eyes scanning the room with a predator's focus. Noah sprawled across from me, playing the part of a man with no weight on his shoulders. Ethan and Damian were at the bar, their laughter loud, deliberate, drawing glances from the crowd. Every patron in the place was one of our trained men, from the brunette woman in the red dress by the jukebox, her hips swaying to the music, who had a knife strapped to her thigh, to the plump guy nursing a beer in the corner, his eyes half-lidded with a pistol kept under his coat. Even the couple whispered at a high-top, their hands brushing, each carried enough hardware to level the room down to the bartender, who kept filling wine glasses professionally, but I knew he could draw a gun faster than a heartbeat. They were all ours, every one of them ready to snap into action when the time came. The plan was for the cartel men to see us here, laughing, drinking, and believing that we had our guard down, and they would think they had caught us sleeping. That would trigger them to move. And when they did, we would be ready to beat them at it. Sienna shifted in her seat, putting a thigh over another, her hand resting against the couch. "You're quiet tonight," she murmured, "Something on your mind?" I leaned forward to her to hear her better against the loudness of the room, "Just soaking it in," I said, my eyes locked on hers, searching for the truth in them. Despite my lustful desire to loop her in on the plan, I didn't tell her this wasn't another hangout time for the boys and me, but work. I had to be certain she was who she claimed to be before I trusted her with details of our operation. "Okay, I still don't understand why you dragged me out here anyway." "Because it is my job to protect you, even if you do not agree with my method," I winked at her. She glared at me without responding, and I was grateful she had chosen to remain silent instead of arguing again. I turned my eyes away from her to my friends. Noah leaned forward, his glass sloshing, his voice carrying across the booth. "Zane, you remember that time in Vegas? "Ethan nearly lost his car in a poker game." He laughed. It sounded a bit forced and I shook my head at him, silently giving him the cue to stop. Ethan shot him a mock glare from the bar, raising his glass. Though he remained in his usual relaxed posture, his eyes were fixed on everything, as he kept track of the room. Damian leaned against the bar beside him, his fingers brushing the edge of his jacket, where I knew a blade was hidden. The crowd buzzed with chatter, the clink of glasses and the murmur of voices blending with the jazz, a saxophone wailing softly in the background. My eyes flicked to the door and the windows at minute intervals as every nerve in my body was taut, waiting for the action to unfold. I sipped my vodka, swallowing slowly, so it could burn my throat and keep me alert. Glancing at Sienna, I saw how tensed she was, feeling out of place. I reached to her and wrapped my arm around her protectively. Nudging her body warm against mine. She didn't fight it. That was progress. She laughed again at something Noah said, her head tilting back, which exposed her silk porcelain skin, and for a moment, I could almost forget the photos and the plan, only to take her out of the lounge and perhaps to the car. Almost. My fingers tightened on my glass as I struggled to gain control of my desires. Not right there. Liam's fingers stopped tapping, sliding his hand under the table, his fingers brushing the grip of his gun, a movement so subtle only I'd notice his eyes locked on something across the room and I followed his gaze, my pulse kicking up, but it was just the woman in red by the jukebox who had walked out of the lounge. Sienna leaned closer, her lips grazing my jaw, "You're tense, really. You should relax, I am the one in danger," she said. My eyes flicked to hers, searching for the lie, but her face was a mask, her smile a shield. I leaned in. "You would tell me if something was off, right?" My hand slid to her waist, my fingers brushing the edge of her dress, feeling the contours of her, the warmth of her skin against mine. She raised her eyes to mine, "Always," she said. She reached for her drink, the glass catching the neon light as she took a sip. Noah kept talking about Vegas spinning on, but his eyes flicked to me again, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second. Ethan and Damian were still at the bar, their laughter quieter now. The lounge door swung open, and the air snapped instantly as three men stepped inside, all dressed in glossy leather jackets and pants. When their eyes swept the room with a predatory focus. I knew at once who they were. The Cartel. They had taken our bait and showed up. My pulse roared in my ears, but I kept my arm around Sienna as I gave Liam a nod. His body stilled in response as his gaze locked on the newcomers. Ethan and Damian shifted at the bar, their laughter gone, their hands hovering near their jackets. The woman in red turned fully now, her hand inside her purse. The guy in the corner leaned forward while the bartender set his glass down, his movements slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing the edge of a hidden panel. "Here we go," I said, my eyes flicking to the three men, now spreading out, one heading to the bar, the others moving toward the back, their hands close to their jackets. The cartel had walked in, thinking they'd caught us slipping, but they were the ones in our crosshairs now.