All For You

Twenty-one

Isla

Three weeks later

"We're in," I mumble through my teeth, smiling picture-perfectly at a man hanging coats near the doorway. My earpiece, somehow expertly camoflauged as an earring, cracks with whatever movement is happening on the other side of it.

Eliott-probably. Clacking away at his keyboard, working the magic I've taught him how to use, just so we might get out of this awfully grand house with our heads still on our shoulders.

"What should I do with my hands?" I glance back at August, at his jazz hands, and slap them back down.

"Keep them to yourself," I grit, grabbing champagne from a passing waitors tray.

"We're supposed to be a couple, you know." He smiles, but I already knew he would enjoy this-the opportunity I gave him to tease the living shit out of me the second I told him we'd be going undercover as an engaged couple. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already."

"You haven't let me," I hiss, smiling still. I wish he'd shut up. We're on enemy turf, and I'm not even sure if we're a good match.

At least me and Killian knew each other's fighting styles. At least we knew who'd do what in which situation, and what we'd have to do to survive each other.

But I don't know August. I don't know that he won't run out on me if this plan goes to shit. I don't know that he won't shove me on my ass and point a gun at my head, just to save himself.

I know he wouldn't do that, but do I? Killian would've. Killian has. And I know August is nothing like that bastard, but I need to be prepared for the worst.

It's all I know. All I did with Killian.

I always had a plan to escape in the case Killian got any bright ideas and decided he didn't want me around anymore. Always a plan B. Always a way out.

It's become a kind of habit, even if I trust this idiot a lot more than I ever did trust Killian.

I'm not one to take risks.

"You seem mad," August quires, a tapping finger on his chin, the tease seeping through the laughter in his tone.

"Really?" I try not to punch the man and seek out our target. A twenty-two year old spoiled brat, a pathetic excuse for a man, and the son of Spencer Ried Smith.

He needs to die tonight. Once we kill him, Mr. Smith will get our message. Hopefully loud and clear.

We're ready for this fucking war.

Plans changed a bit. Once I realized Mr. Smith wouldn't be as easy to get to as I'd hoped, I turned to the next best target. Mr. Smith's son, and an old enemy of mine. Someone I'm happy to rid the world of.

"Come on, Lily." He pokes my side, the satin black silk creasing around his finger. I finally found a use for Mia's fancy dresses, though I feel a bit guilty spilling blood on them. "Play the part. Relax a little. You're not alone anymore. I have your back, so stop going commando and just...enjoy yourself a little."

He drapes an arm over my shoulders and takes a sip of his bubbly drink, looking around at the splendor and, hopefully, trying to spot the sad sack of a man we need to lure away and kill tonight.