Dangerous Alliance

The Devil's Invitation

"You really thought that would work?"

The words hiss through my teeth as I collapse into the chair Kieran just vacated, my hands gripping the armrests hard enough to turn my knuckles white. The private lounge is empty now, the other business travelers having scattered the moment they sensed the predator in their midst. Smart of them. I should have done the same.

Instead, I'm sitting here with a wiped tablet, a father who's clearly been playing me for a fool, and the distinct sensation of having just met my equal.

And I've never been more furious in my entire life.

Deep breath. Analyze. Adapt.

This isn't the first time someone has tried to strip me bare. It won't be the last. But Kieran Aldridge made one crucial mistake in his small performance.

He assumed I was like everyone else.

I reach up, my fingers finding the edge of my blazer collar, and press hard. The fabric gives, and I feel the familiar bite of the micro-encrypted thumbnail drive sewn into the lining a contingency I've maintained since my father tried to sell my firm's research four years ago. The drive is smaller than my pinky nail, virtually undetectable, and contains everything Kieran just erased from my tablet.

Raw audio files. Murder timestamps. Bank records that would make Interpol weep.

Everything I need to prove that Kieran Aldridge is exactly the monster I suspected he was.

"Not so fast, Mr. Aldridge," I murmur, pulling the drive free. "You're about to learn that I don't just survive attacks. I weaponize them."

The drive fits perfectly into my encrypted burner phone, and within seconds, my interface lights up green. Everything is pristine. The audio files from my glasses, the timestamps cross-referenced with satellite data all intact.

I have him. I actually have him. But I won't drop this bomb yet. Not until I know exactly what game he's playing and who else is on the board.

My fingers fly across the screen, dialing the one person I trust with my life. Elena picks up on the first ring.

"You're still alive. Good," she says, her voice clipped. "I've been monitoring the hotel feeds. That man who just left your lounge? He's not just dangerous, Aurora. He's apocalyptic."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Like the fact that he had three of his security detail stationed outside the lounge the entire time you were talking, and they just cleared out to follow his convoy?"

"He wanted to leave an impression," I say, stepping toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the rainy Geneva skyline. Down below, three sleek Maybach’s cut through traffic like shadows. "He touched my hair, attached a hardware transceiver patch to my bezel, and wiped my decoy drive."

Elena gasps. "He got close enough to attach a hardware patch? Kieran Aldridge?"

"He wanted me paranoid. He wanted me to play defense," I replied, my voice turning to liquid ice. "We're escalating. Hack the Aldridge Corporation's European logistics servers. Don't breach their core just drop a breadcrumb inside his primary shipping manifest in Rotterdam. A single encrypted string containing the timestamp of the first lieutenant's death."

"You want to wave the red flag right in his face?" Elena's tone shifts from concern to dark excitement.

"I want him to know that what he took off my tablet was a bone I threw at him. I want him to realize that if he wants to play with fire, I brought the gasoline."

"Give me three minutes," Elena says. "Ping will be deployed."

The room service notification that pings my phone catches me completely off guard. The hotel's automated system says a delivery was made to my penthouse suite less than five minutes ago.

My eyes narrow. "Elena, did you order something for my room?"

"No. Why would I—" She stops. "Aurora, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's exactly as it should be. He's just shown his hand."

"What are you feeling right now?"

"Fire."

I end the call and head straight for the private elevator.

When I push open the heavy mahogany door to my penthouse suite, everything looks untouched. The papers on the desk are undisturbed. The curtains are drawn the way I left them.

Except for the bed.

Lying in the dead center of the white duvet is a sleek, matte-black velvet box.

I approach it slowly, my hand sliding down my sleeve toward my concealed micro-blade. I reach out with two fingers and flip the lid back.

Inside lies the forged European delegation badge I used to gain access to the private lounge, the one I had locked inside my secure briefcase an hour ago. Pinned through the center is a handwritten note on heavy cream card stock:

You're not the only one who comes prepared, Aurora. Clever. But not clever enough. Join me at the UN Gala tonight. 10pm. I'll be waiting. K

A cold spike of adrenaline shoots down my spine, instantly replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated fury. His men breached my penthouse, picked my locks, and went through my things while I was sitting five floors below.

"Elena," I said, dialing her back without taking my eyes off the note. "Change of plans. The Rotterdam breadcrumb? Add a message buried deep in the code."

"I'm listening."

"Tell him this: Next time, try something original. Breaking into my room is so predictable."

Elena laughsa in a delighted, vicious sound. "He's going to know it's us. He's going to come after you."

"He's already coming after me. At least now he knows I see him coming. Get me the guest list and security layout for the UN Gala tonight."

"You're actually going?"

"I'm going to walk in there looking like the most dangerous woman in the room, and I'm going to make him realize what a catastrophic mistake he made by targeting me."

Ten minutes later, my burner phone buzzes with an unlisted text:

You're going to be trouble. I like trouble. See you at the gala, Aurora. Don't be late.

I reply instantly:

Wouldn't dream of it. Then you'd miss all the fun.

I spent the next hour turning myself into a weapon.

The emerald dress I choose is armor floor-length silk that hugs every curve, a plunging neckline that dares anyone to look away, and a thigh slit that climbs dangerously high. The color is bold, unapologetic, demanding total submission from the room.

I sweep my hair into an elegant chignon, exposing my neck and my mother's diamond drop earrings. Then I pull a sleek, black leather thigh holster from my luggage and strap it beneath the emerald silk.

The titanium blade slides into the sheath with a satisfying click.

I am not going down to that ballroom to play defense. I am not going to be intimidated, cornered, or protected.

I step into my six-inch metallic heels, apply a coat of dark crimson lipstick, and take the private elevator down to the grand ballroom.

When the doors slide open, revealing the glittering palace of crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and corrupt global elites, I don't hesitate. I step out into the light, my chin high, my posture radiating absolute, lethal power.

Kieran Aldridge thinks he backed me into a corner.

Now, I'm going to tear his room apart.