Page 39 of Trigger Happy Ending

Still no excuse for being a right cunt though, I suppose.

She doesn’t know I sat up all night waiting for her to walk through the door, to make sure she was safe. I don’t know why I care. She can look after herself. She’s a killer for fuck’s sake.

She’s been right about one thing, though: I’ve never met anyone like her.

I should hate her for all the shit she’s pulled, but the way she looks at me like I’m her favorite toy and she doesn’t know if she’ll play with me, or break me …

I don’t know what to make of it.

I pull the blacked-out Audi into the underground members-only lot at the Golden Claw. The boom gate lifts after the plate scan. The first test. Still blows me away the resources and power the Agency has. Since arriving in New York, and when I’m not being tormented by my bitchy co-worker, I’ve been learning all I can about Lukas Klein—my new alias. The dead arms dealer is the middleman in an international network who pushes American weapons to criminal networks and militias overseas. The Agency says Carson and Lukas have never met face-to-face, and so far, I’ve got no reason to doubt that particular slice of intel. They’ve never been wrong before. But when you’re undercover and wearing the skin of a dead man? You don’t relax. Not for a second.

Parking, I step out of the car and adjust my long-sleeve dress shirt before walking over to the private elevator. A bouncer the size of a fridge greets me. “Lukas?”

I nod, and he moves to pat me down. I’ve come unarmed for this very reason, though they aren’t to know I’m just as skilled with my body as I am with weapons.

Once satisfied, he presses the arrow up, and immediately the doors ping open. Only two buttons exist, both with the insignia of a claw. One black, one gold. He presses the golden claw. We rise to the VIP floor, and the doors open.

Raine was right; it’s dripping rich.

As I step onto the floor, two more men flank me. I recognize them as Carson’s personal security detail from the photos supplied by Agent O.

“Evening, Lukas. Mr. Oden is expecting you.”

I follow their lead, and we pass the bar before arriving at a mirrored wall. One of the guards presses his palm against it, the door clicking open. Carson stands in the middle of an intimate room, chopsticks in hand, scoffing on a take-out box of Chinese noodles.

“Lukas!” He grins. “Finally!”

“Carson,” I return, smiling, matching the half-hug, half-back-slap routine. His greasy hand smears my shirt. Disgusting. I should snap his neck just for that.

Carson gestures for me to take a seat on the half-moon-shaped lounge facing the front of a small, elevated stage. He places his takeout on the low-set mirrored table in front of us.

For the first twenty minutes, Carson reminisces about successful deals in the past. I silently thank myself for my meticulous attention to detail when reading the files. Dates, amounts, shipment details, who bought what and when. All of it I memorized.

I know my shit.

It’s not long before Carson launches into a new business opportunity. Unfortunately, it’s not PARM-17, but Agent O did predict a different deal would take place prior to being offered the serum.

Carson briefs me on two shipping containers full of seized cartel weapons he has access to. Mostly assault rifles and grenade launchers. He wants me to find a buyer. Someone willing to pay the multi-million-dollar fee, plus whatever my cut is on top. I play the role, nodding like I’m mentally scrolling through buyers. Really, though, I’m wondering who his connection is on the inside. Whoever it is must be big time.

“My contact wants to offload as quickly as possible.”

I crack my neck. “It’s big coin.”

“These are big weapons.” Carson reaches forward, fingers curling around the greasy take-out box. He slurps the noodles down, sauce splattering over his face.

“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll reach out to my network.”

“Good.” Carson grins, greed etched in his eyes. “Glad to finally meet you, Lukas. After all this time.” Carson sits back on the lounge, lifting his chin. “I’ve gotta admit, you’re not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I dunno.” Carson sucks a long noodle into his mouth. “Someone smaller, less … fit.”

“I like to keep healthy.”

“I thought you were a habitual ganja smoker?”

Fuck. My heart begins to race. I forgot that small, yet important, personal detail. Lukas was a heavy marijuana smoker.