The Syndicate’s territory was a world away from the sleek, manicured streets Livvy had grown up in.
Neon signs flickered weakly over crumbling motels. The stench of sweat and cheap liquor clung to the air. Shadows slithered in alleyways, watching. Waiting.
Her heels clicked against the pavement, each step a reminder of the knife strapped to her thigh.
The dress Storm had stuffed her into was barely clothing.
Thin straps. A neckline deep enough to be criminal. A slit that made every step feel like too much skin was showing.
She hated it.
Storm’s arm looped around her waist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. His grip screamed mine—not in ownership, but in protection.
Anyone looking would assume the same.
Luca walked ahead, posture casual, but his sharp eyes scanned every face they passed, his hand resting on the gun at his hip.
Livvy tried to breathe through the tension, but it wrapped around her like a noose.
Women draped themselves in men’s laps on street corners, their laughter forced, too bright. Drug deals happened in plain sight. A man with dead eyes leaned against a graffiti-stained wall, his lips twisted in something too knowing as he watched them pass.
Her nails dug into Storm’s arm.
He leaned down, his voice dark silk against her ear. “Relax,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
But his grip tightened. And she could feel the tension thrumming in him, his muscles tight, his jaw clenched.
Even Luca was quiet. And then they turned a corner and nearly ran straight into a group of Syndicate fighters. There were four of them.
Tattooed necks. Cold, dead eyes. One of them smirked, his gaze dragging over Livvy’s exposed skin.
“Well, well,” he sneered. “Didn’t know the circus was in town.”
Storm’s grip tightened.
His jaw ticked, his entire body coiling, but before he could do something reckless, Luca moved.
His arm yanked Livvy against his chest, his other hand sliding down to her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp.
“She’s with me,” Luca drawled, his smirk lazy, taunting. His fingers pressed into her thigh, brushing the knife strapped there. “Hands off.”
Livvy’s cheeks burned, her breath catching, but she forced herself to melt against him. She fluttered her lashes, her hands resting lightly against his chest. Play along.
The men snickered.
“Feisty,” one of them chuckled. “Might have to borrow her when you’re done.”
Storm’s murderous energy spiked.
But Luca only chuckled, his voice low and smooth. “Sorry, boys,” he said, his fingers sliding lower, teasing the skin of her inner thigh. “She likes it rough, but she’s picky.”
Livvy bit down hard on her lip to keep from flinching, her thighs clenching involuntarily.
Luca’s breath warmed her ear. “Play along,” he muttered, voice low and serious. “Or we’re dead.”
Her nails dug into his chest.
But she giggled, arching slightly, letting the lie settle over her skin. The men snorted, laughing, moving on with one last sneer. The second they were out of sight, Livvy shoved Luca hard.
His smirk only widened. “What?” he drawled. “You looked the part.”
Storm’s snarl was lethal.
“Touch her again,” he said, voice ice-cold, “and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”
Luca raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t get jealous.”
Livvy’s pulse was still racing, but there was no time to dwell.
The motel loomed ahead. Storm’s grip on her arm was steady. And they were one step closer to finding Michael.