UNDERCOVER TO MY HEART

THE SERGEANT'S SECRET

A suicidal man with a gun is dangerous, but a ghost with nothing left to lose is terrifying.

The red strobe light washed over Jack's face, turning his dark eyes into deep pools of shadow. He held the heavy pistol at his side, his thumb flicking the safety off with a soft click that chilled my blood.

"Revenge?" I whispered, staring at him while the alarm wailed above us. "You threw your entire life away, let me drown in grief for seven years, just to go on a suicidal mission?"

"My younger brother died in one of Xavier's shipping containers, Bella," Jack said, his voice flat and lifeless. "My own family sold him out to pay a debt. I faked my death so they would leave you alone, and I joined this club to kill every single man involved."

"That is crazy, Jack!" I said, stepping closer to him despite the gun in his hand. "You cannot take down an entire cartel by yourself!"

"Watch me," he growled. He grabbed my arm, his grip quick and firm, and shoved me toward the back door. "When we go back inside, you keep your mouth shut. You do not look at me, and you do not act smart. You are just a scared bartender who needs a job."

"I am a federal agent," I reminded him, my voice tight and hard.

"Out there, you are just flesh and bone," Jack shot back, his hand gripping the door handle tightly. "And these men will tear you apart without a second thought."

He yanked the heavy metal door open and stepped through first. I swallowed hard, adjusted my jacket over the hidden wire on my ribs, and followed him back into the greasy kitchen.

The blaring alarm cut off suddenly, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in its place. We walked out onto the main floor of The Rusty Anchor. The rowdy music was gone. The clinking glasses had stopped. Every single club member stood at attention, their arms crossed over their leather cuts, staring at the front entrance with serious faces.

The double front doors swung open slowly.

Four heavy guards walked in first, their hands resting on concealed holsters under their dark jackets. Right behind them stepped a man in a sharp grey suit that cost more than my annual ATF salary. He had slicked-back dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and eyes as cold and gray as winter rain.

Xavier Knight.

He walked into the filthy dive bar like he owned the ground under it. The club president stepped forward, bowing his head slightly in respect, but Xavier barely glanced at him. His sharp eyes scanned the room, sweeping past the patched bikers until they landed right on the bar.

"Clear the room," Xavier said smoothly. His voice was soft, almost gentle, but everyone moved instantly without argument.

The lower-level members filed out toward the back exit without a word, leaving only the inner circle, Jack, and me.

I moved behind the counter, grabbing my wet rag to keep my hands busy. My pulse hammered in my ears, but I kept my face blank, forcing myself to look like a clueless girl who was scared of a gang boss.

Roxy stepped out from the shadows near the pool tables, a sharp, wicked smile lighting up her face as she walked straight up to Xavier.

"Welcome back, boss," Roxy said, her voice dripping with fake charm.

"Is everything ready for tonight?" Xavier asked, not looking at her.

"The trucks are fueled and ready," Roxy said. Then she turned her head, her eyes locking onto me with pure malice. "Though you might want to check on our new hire before we load up."

Xavier paused, raising one dark eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She has been wandering around where she does not belong," Roxy lied smoothly, leaning her hip against the counter. "I caught her snooping near the private back offices earlier. Asking questions about who manages the late night deliveries."

My stomach dropped into a tight knot. I had not been near the back offices yet, but Roxy was playing for blood, trying to get me discarded before I could become a problem for her and Jack.

I looked at Jack out of the corner of my eye. He stood near the end of the bar, his expression completely blank, but the muscles in his jaw were locked tight.

Xavier walked slowly over to the bar, his expensive leather shoes clicking on the dirty floorboards. He pulled out a stool right in front of me and sat down, leaning his elbows on the wooden counter.

"Snooping?" Xavier asked softly, staring directly at my face.

"I was looking for the supply closet, sir," I lied, keeping my voice small and nervous like a frightened girl. "The manager told me to get fresh towels for the tables. I got lost in the back hallway."

"Is that so?" Xavier smiled, but the warmth did not reach his cold eyes.

He reached into his suit jacket. My hand twitched under the counter, inches from my weapon, but I forced myself to stay still.

Xavier pulled out a heavy, polished silver revolver. He did not point it at me yet. Instead, he laid it flat on the wooden counter right next to an empty glass, the bright steel catching the dim light of the bar.

"Pour me two fingers of bourbon, girl," Xavier said quietly.

"Yes, sir," I whispered.

I reached for the dark glass bottle on the shelf behind me, my mind racing. I pulled the cork and began to pour the golden liquid into the glass beside the gun. I focused every ounce of my energy on keeping my fingers completely still. Not a single drop spilled over the edge.

"You have very steady hands for a lost bartender," Xavier murmured, watching the glass fill.

Before I could answer him, his hand moved like a striking snake. He snatched the silver revolver off the counter, lifted it up, and pointed the dark barrel straight at my chest.

"Drink," Xavier ordered, his cold smile widening as his finger rested lightly on the trigger. "Or tell me who sent you."

The air in the room turned to ice. Across the counter, I saw Jack's hand slowly drop toward his belt. If he moved, we were both dead. I held my breath, staring down the dark hole of the gun barrel, knowing my next breath could be my last.