Fade Into You

Chapter 13

Faye's POV

I waited patiently at the bar, a glass of Bloody Mary in one hand, my eyes scanning the room for my target.

It was Saturday night—perfect timing for my first mission. 

According to the file, Sam Brewer, my first mark, was an accountant and a shameless opportunist with a nasty gambling addiction. Every Saturday, like clockwork, he'd blow through borrowed money on drinks and cheap thrills.

Just knowing he was wasting our money on meaningless pleasures made my blood boil. I hadn't even met the guy yet, and I already hated him.

I sat on a red, round stool, elbows resting on the spotless glass countertop. One more glance around the room told me it was as packed as expected.

Scarlet Nightclub, one of the most popular spots in L.A., pulsed with energy—neon lights flashing in sync with the bass-heavy pop music thundering through the walls. People danced, drank, and flirted like it was the last night on Earth.

I wore a tight black dress with spaghetti straps that clung to my figure, the hem falling just below my knees with a slit that showed off my legs every time I moved. 

A blonde wig with soft fringes framed my face, concealing my true identity. I couldn't risk being recognized by anyone from school.

Scarlet was a weekend hotspot for students, so it was only a matter of time before I ran into someone familiar.

And then—there he was.

Sam Brewer strolled in with his arm around a woman I'd seen loitering outside earlier. Definitely a prostitute. He wore fitted black trousers and a tight shirt that screamed midlife crisis. He laughed at something she said, then led her toward the bar.

I turned away, sipping my drink slowly, fighting the urge to spit it back into the glass. Dropping the good girl act didn't mean I had to enjoy the taste of alcohol. This was all for show.

Lucky me—they settled on the stools right next to mine. I heard Sam order vodka shots, his voice loud and cocky. The bartender placed a few glasses in front of them but then looked over at me instead.

"Another one, miss?" he asked, nodding at my nearly empty glass.

Sam glanced my way—and did a double take. His eyes swept over me, lingering. Already losing interest in the woman next to him, he tried to act casual and looked away.

I set my glass down and shook my head at the bartender. 

"No thanks. Just add it to my tab."

He nodded, already knowing the drill.

Did I forget to mention that Scarlet Club belongs to my uncle Noah? He named it after his wife, Scarlet. The bartender had recognized me the moment I walked in, calling me "Miss Antonio" before serving me. 

Uncle Noah had already given the staff a heads-up that I'd be here tonight for something important. They knew not to ask questions.

If anything happened in the club, it stayed in the club.

I stood up gracefully and walked past Sam, who was lifting a shot to his lips. I bumped into him on purpose, sending the liquor spilling down the front of his shirt.

The prostitute gasped dramatically, her shriek cutting through the music. Sam leapt off his stool and grabbed my arm.

"Hey! You ruined my shirt, bitch." he shouted in my face. A few people at the bar turned to look.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," I said sweetly, blinking up at him with feigned innocence. "I wasn't paying attention. I guess I'm a little tipsy."

His eyes roamed down my body, a twisted grin spreading across his face. That perverted look only made my stomach turn.

"I don't give a damn if you're drunk. You need to be more careful. You just ruined my shirt."

I dropped the act, my smile turning into a smirk.

"So what? That shirt looks cheap and disgusting anyway."

He stared at me, stunned, then grabbed my other arm, his grip tightening painfully.

"What the hell did you say?"

I didn't answer.

He raised a hand, aiming to hit me.

Big mistake.

I caught his arm mid-swing, twisted it behind his back, and forced him sideways with a sharp cry. My hand shot up to the back of his neck and I slammed his head down onto the glass counter. The prostitute screamed and ran. The crowd around us thickened.

Sam tried to break free, but I yanked both his arms behind him and drove my foot into his back, sending him crashing to the floor.

He staggered to his feet, lunging for me, fist flying toward my face. I ducked and landed a solid punch to his jaw, sending him stumbling into the bar, knocking bottles and glasses to the ground.

I grabbed his head again and slammed it into the counter. Once. Twice. Blood splattered. By the third time, his eyes rolled back.

I spun him around, letting his weight collapse into me. With one arm bracing his side, my other hand slipped the injection from the holster strapped to my thigh and punched the needle into his stomach.

He let out a low groan before going limp.

I withdrew the injection and returned it to its holster, letting his body drop with a thud. 

The silence was deafening.

Some of the onlookers stared in horror. Others looked impressed. But my eyes locked onto the trio standing at the edge of the crowd—three very familiar faces.

Jonathan. Luke. TJ.

I clenched my jaw. Of all the people I could've run into tonight, it had to be them.

Judging by the stunned looks on their faces, they'd seen everything—from the takedown to the kill. Maybe they were shocked that someone my size had handled a man three times bigger. But I knew the real shock would hit when they realized it was me.

I grabbed one of the vodka shots from the bar and downed it in a single gulp. Then I walked toward them, ignoring the whispers trailing in my wake.

As I reached them, I pulled off the wig and shook out my hair. Their reactions were priceless.

Luke and TJ stood frozen, jaws slack. Jonathan just raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable.

I smiled.

"Enjoy the show, Ryder?"

Then I shoved the wig into his hands and walked past them toward the exit. Eyes followed me from all directions, but I only felt one pair burn into my back.

And I didn't have to turn around to know whose they were.