The Mercenary's Bond

The Velvet Lounge

The bass hit us before the cab even pulled up to the curb, a deep, rhythmic thrum that vibrated right through the floorboards of the car. The Velvet Lounge was located in a converted brick warehouse in the heart of the nightlife district, its entrance illuminated by a massive neon sign that washed the sidewalk in hot pink and ultraviolet light.

And, just as I’d hoped, the place was completely packed.

The line to get in stretched all the way down the block, a velvet rope holding back dozens of dressed-up people shivering in the night air, waiting impatiently for the massive bouncer at the door to grant them entry.

"Damn," Linda muttered, staring at the crowd as the cab driver pulled over. "That line is at least a two-hour wait."

"Not for us, it isn't," I said with a sly grin.

We paid the driver, stepped out onto the damp pavement, and immediately got to work. I slid my arms up to adjust the straps of my black lace top, subtly pushing my cleavage up while smoothing down the front of my jeans. Linda did the exact same, running a hand down her tight red dress and giving her hair a quick toss. Two seconds, and we went from tactical off-duty operatives to pure, effortless eye candy.

We bypassed the long, miserable queue entirely, walking right up to the front of the line with a confident sway in our hips.

The bouncer guarding the velvet rope was built like a reinforced brick wall, wearing a tight black polo shirt with his arms folded over his chest. His scowl could have curdled milk.

"Back of the line, ladies," he rumbled in a deep, bored voice, not even looking down.

"Oh, come on, big guy," I purred, stepping right into his line of sight. I leaned against the polished brass post of the velvet rope, tilting my head up and giving him a slow, wide smile. "We’ve been dying to get inside all night. Surely a handsome guy like you wouldn't make two sweet girls wait out here in the cold?"

Linda stepped up beside me, resting a hand lightly on his massive forearm with a pout. "Yeah... my friend here has had a really long week, and we just need a place to dance. Is there any way you could help us out?"

The bouncer’s strict, stone-faced expression flickered. His eyes darted down to my lace top, then over to Linda’s red dress, his chest swelling just a little under the attention. The stern edge in his jaw softened completely.

"Well..." he grunted, clear hesitation creeping into his voice as a heavy key card slid into his hand. "I suppose I could make an exception just this once."

"You're a lifesaver," I cooed, flashing him a dazzling, brilliant smile.

He unhooked the brass latch on the velvet rope and pulled it open, stepping aside to let us pass. "Have fun tonight, girls. Keep it in the back room."

"Thanks, sweet cheeks," Linda winked.

As we strutted past him into the warm, scented air of the foyer, a chorus of angry grumbles and muttered complaints erupted from the line behind us.

"Are you serious? They just walked right up!"

"Man, that is total bullsh*t!"

"We've been standing here for forty-five minutes!"

Linda and I didn't even look back. We just exchanged a victorious, silent smirk, let the heavy double doors close behind us, and let the thundering music swallow us whole.

We headed straight through the sea of pulsating lights and moving bodies, aiming directly for the main bar that wrapped around the center of the club.

It didn't take long to spot Rowan. He was leaning against the mahogany counter, looking ridiculously good in a fitted black shirt that highlighted his sharp jawline and broad shoulders. He had two drinks already sitting on the napkins in front of him, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on Linda.

A slow, crooked grin spread across his face, and I saw Linda’s posture instantly shift.

They always swore up and down that they weren't sleeping together—that they were just friends who happened to train in the same facility. But the sheer, crackling tension that flared up between them every time they were in the same room said otherwise. They looked like two matchsticks just waiting for a spark to jump each other's bones. It was honestly kind of cute, even if both of them were too stubborn to admit it out loud.

"Rowan!" Linda called out over the pounding bass, practically gliding into his space.

"Look who made it out of the house," Rowan said, his deep voice carrying easily as he pulled her into a brief, tight hug. He shot me a nod. "Kira. You guys look dangerous tonight."

"We are dangerous," I replied, leaning over the bar and catching the bartender's attention. "Three shots of tequila, lime on the side."

When the heavy glass shot glasses hit the sticky wooden counter, Linda and I lifted ours in a quick, unspoken toast. We threw our heads back and downed them in one smooth swallow, the sharp burn of agave and alcohol trailing hot all the way down my throat. I squeezed a slice of lime between my teeth, letting out a satisfied breath as the liquor hit my system.

"Catch up with you two later!" I yelled over the music, giving Linda a wink.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she shouted back, though she was already leaning in closer to Rowan, her fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve.

I backed away into the thick of the dance floor, letting the heavy bass guide my hips as I melted into the crowd. The heat, the lights, the rhythm—it was intoxicating. I tossed my dark hair over one shoulder, closing my eyes for a moment to let the music wash away every lingering thought of weapons training, dangerous missions, and the Director's heavy expectations.

When I opened my eyes, my gaze idly swept across the elevated VIP section near the far bar, and my breath caught in my throat.