Epilogue

EPILOGUE

THE CLIENT

ONE YEAR LATER

T here was too much testosterone in the room. It thickened the air and made it difficult to choke down the cheap coffee staring back at me from the bottom of my mug. Too many supposed alpha males holed up in one space all thinking the same thing. That the fact they were born with an outie instead of an innie made them superior.

It didn't. It made them easier to manipulate. Which was exactly what brought me to their doorstep. Claiming to be interested in their services. I wasn't. I was interested in them. In what made them tick and if they were worth the hefty bounty on their heads, should my team decide to bring them down. It wasn't a question of whether or not we could. It was a question of whether or not I thought it was a challenge.

I clicked my nails across the conference room table as I waited for the children to quit scratching their balls and start settling down. I was the client after all. I expected a little more professionalism in my presence. But boys would be boys and all that nonsense that allowed men to act like neanderthals without consequences.

Dr. Adrian Lambert sat at the head of the table. The Surgeon. I respected his work far more than I respected him, which was saying something. His hands steepled and his head tilted to one side as he eyed me like a weed he wanted to pluck from the garden and squash in his hand. On his left were the brothers. Not much was known about them other than the fact one was a computer whiz and the other couldn't find his way out of a paper bag. The Russian sat to the right, his stare nearly as crazy as the reputation that preceded him. Leaving two empty spots between us.

I could only assume they belonged to the one-eyed freak they'd taken on a few years back and the newcomer we'd yet to pull a file on. They called him "The Negotiator." The guy was in charge of the details, laid out the rules for every hand-off and had the last word when it came to the final take-home rate. Odd, considering no one could tell me a thing about him, other than he was a fucking ball-buster. But then again, so was I. And everyone was always so eager to drop their pants and allow me to do it too.

I spun in my chair at the sound of the door opening, telling us the last members of the Renegades had finally arrived. But it wasn't the first guy's face—as horrifying as it was to look at—that had my coffee nearly coming back up the way it went down. No, it was the petite figure behind him, her swollen belly entering the room several seconds before she did that had one side of my mouth tipping up into a sickeningly sweet grin.

"This is my wife," the man grunted in my direction before guiding the woman over to the seat beside me. "Emily Michaels."

I scooted my chair another inch closer and offered Emily a hand, while my glare dipped to the metal collar around her neck and back to her face again. "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Michaels."

She cocked a challenging brow, taking a moment to eye me up and down. "Is it?"

"It is. Makes things interesting," I hummed. Far more pleased with this sudden turn of events than I should have been.

"Oh, yeah? How's that?"

I lifted a shoulder before pinning the woman with my most-disarming grin. "Well, from what I hear, Mrs. Michaels, you're one hell of a negotiator."

THE END