Page 32 of Trigger Happy Ending

“Mmhmm.”

“Well, Angel. I’ll take a whiskey, neat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir?” He chuckles, eyes drifting down the curve of my waist. “I like you.”

I pick up the whiskey and slowly tilt the bottle, pouring his drink in a crystal tumbler, keeping my eyes locked on him the entire time.

Straight out of the slutty book of seduction, which, incidentally, I wrote. In my world, it’s a bestseller.

I slide the drink across the bar to him. “Tell me how it tastes?”

Who doesn’t love a double entendre?

Carson takes a sip, flinches almost imperceptibly. Whiskey burns, no matter how seasoned you are. “Tastes smooth.”

I run my tongue along my bottom lip. “I can keep them coming for you, if you like?”

“I’d very much like that,” Carson replies, eyes locked on my mouth. “Where are you from, Angel?”

“Everywhere.”

Carson’s close-lipped smile tells me all I need to know: He loves the mystery, the flirting, the illusion I’m creating. The plan is working perfectly.

“Boss?” His security murmurs in his ear. “Your guest is here.”

“Bring him up,” Carson orders. “Angel, keep the drinks coming. I’ll be in the UVIP. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, sir.”

Carson taps the surface of the bar twice, before walking towards the mirrored entry to the UVIP room, slipping inside.

Minutes later, I’m replenishing a rack of crystal tumblers behind the bar, when the private elevator opens and I see him.

Senator Wilson. The man the Agency thinks is shopping around PARM-17.

I hate men like him. The kind who tell their wives they’re away on a business trip, when really they’re snorting coke off their mistresses’ tits and fucking around in a cheap-ass motel. Not saying he does those things … But keeping company like Carson tells me he’s into shady shit. Even still, Senator Wilson is a powerful figure in American politics. Some even say he could become the President. I’m surprised the Agency hasn't sunk their talons into him yet. They are always propelling political careers forward for those who they can control or blackmail. And it wouldn’t take much to blackmail Senator Wilson. He is here at the Golden Claw after all, and if intel is correct, has access to a serum that can rewrite human capability.

Yeah. He’s most definitely caught up in shady shit.

Security shepherds the Senator through the crowd and into the UVIP room.

I prepare a tray of drinks to deliver to Carson and the Senator. The chances of them talking about PARM-17 in front of me are slim, but I have to start somewhere. Carson’s personal guard blocks the UVIP door like a wall of granite. He doesn’t move or blink as I approach. I could drop him with one well-placed punch to the throat.

But I won’t.

Not tonight anyway.

“Carson told me to keep the drinks flowing. Can you open the door for me, please?”

He stares at me for a moment before knocking twice. He pushes on the door and steps aside.

I slip through and am immediately surprised at the intimacy of the room. The lighting is low, it’s soundproof, and there are no cameras (that I can see anyway).

Perfect for dealing in (and doing) illegal shit.

A small, round stage gleams in the center of the room, a gold pole planted right in the middle. There’s a half-moon-shaped dark velvet lounge positioned in front of it, which is where Carson and the Senator sit, deep in conversation. Carson straightens as he sees me approach.