The mission was simple—seduce, eliminate, escape. No emotions. No mistakes. Lucas Graves was ruthless, untouchable, the Devil in a suit. But tonight, he was yours. Moving to the beat, you let the music dictate the sway of your hips, knowing his eyes were already on you. "Target acquired," you murmured. "Quick and clean," your handler’s voice crackled in your ear. Lucas smirked, lifting his glass. A silent command. Moments later, a bouncer was at your side. “Boss wants you.” You let them lead you to his suite, fingers brushing the blade on your thigh. “Going in,” you whispered before the doors shut behind you.

The room smelled of whiskey, leather, and something darker. You slipped off your heels, tilting your head. “I don’t usually do this.” Lucas chuckled, stepping closer, fingers grazing your waist—too confident. "Stay sharp," your handler warned. You watched as he lifted his drink—the one laced with poison. Without breaking eye contact, he smirked and tossed it away. “Nice try.” Shit. You struck first. He was faster. He caught your wrist, twisted you, and ripped the device from your ear. The line went dead. Lucas crushed it under his shoe. You moved—a knee to his gut—but he caught your leg, flipping you onto the bed. Too slow. He pinned you down.

“Do you want to k*** me—” his hips pressed into yours, making you gasp, “or f""k me?” Morning came, soreness settling in every muscle. You turned—Lucas was beside you, watching. “You're awake.” Your stomach twisted. You lunged for the gun—so did he. Naked limbs tangled, body against body, skin against skin. You straddled him, reaching for the weapon—he flipped you onto your back.

“Still feisty.” His smirk deepened. “Careful, unless you want round twelve.” You twisted, locking your legs around his waist, flipping him beneath you. Straddling him, you pressed the gun to his forehead. His hands found your hips, dark eyes drinking in your naked form.

“Go on,” he murmured. “I’ll watch you.” Your finger hovered over the trigger.