by Mara McQueen
Patrice narrowed her eyes. She was gorgeous even when she looked like she wanted to rip his head off.
"If your precious Brotherhood Prince finds out about me, he'll send his dogs after me," he said, tilting his head to the side. Patrice smelled so good and felt so right pressed up against him. "We both know I'm our best shot at finding out what really happened."
"I'm loyal to my Clan," Patrice whispered, gaze falling to Enzo's lips. It sent a shot of desire straight through him.
Just one taste of her lips. Would that be so bad?
"But you're right. If everything they said about you is true, you are our best chance. For now." She shook her head, as if coming out of a reverie, and stepped back. "You get tonight to show me you know what you're doing. Otherwise, I'm blowing your cover in the morning."
"An ultimatum?"
"A promise," Patrice said, the absolute Underworld professional that she was. Stern, unflinching.
But Enzo saw the doubt in her eyes and, for once, it wasn't directed at him. She didn't want to blow his cover, she just thought that's what she was supposed to do, out of that misplaced loyalty to her Clan.
That, Enzo could respect, even if he didn't like it all that much. They all lived and died by the Underworld's unflinching rules.
"Then I should be careful and not mess up tonight." Enzo bent down and picked up Jason, steadying him upright with his shoulder.
"What now?" Patrice asked, sounding unsure for the first time.
"Since my original plan has gone to shit, now you're going to help me infiltrate one of the most dangerous places in Paris."
Chapter Eight
PATRICE
"I can't believe you." Patrice groaned and steadied Jason against her side.
She knew Enzo was taking the brunt of the burly man's weight, but she'd been the one who'd attacked him first, the least she could do was help carry his body, despite Enzo's protests.
"I am pretty unbelievable," Enzo said without a hint of shame. Of course he would think that was a compliment.
After Enzo had knocked the dingy door down with a single kick—trying to get it open had been a ploy, to give Jason enough time to attack him—they'd made their way down an even narrower corridor.
Enzo used his watch to light their way through it.
Patrice knew the Catacombs had dozens, if not hundreds of passageways, most of them hidden, but this was ridiculous.
"You pretend all your life to be a hedonistic Adonis, and here you are, one of the most feared men in the world and Underworld. Why?"
No, seriously—why? He could've chosen any other cover, why this one?
"Because I'm that good of a spy. Nobody looks too closely at people they like and who don't seem all that scheming." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "I even fooled you at first."
Patrice pursed her lips. She had fallen for his spiel—but he'd intrigued her even then. Now, he fascinated her. He'd carefully planned tonight down to the musty books. She'd known Underworld spies. Had worked with them since joining the Brotherhood. But none had been as methodical or creative as Enzo.
"Humor me," she said.
"My pleasure."
"After this Jason dragged you wherever we're heading, how were you going to explain everything?"
"A misunderstanding, of course," he said simply, with the confidence of a man who'd done this a hundred times before and had come out winning every time. "Darryl must've lost his key somewhere and skulking in the Catacombs isn't against any laws. Well, Underworld laws. Trust me, poor Jason would've untied me from the chair himself, offered me a drink to make up for it, and then I would've gotten what I came here for and had been back by your side at the party before you would've left in a huff. I can be very persuasive when I want to."
Patrice's cheeks heated up. Yes, he could be—and she was insane for going along with his plan but, damn, it sent a rush through her like only being out on a mission could, only ten times better. She kind of liked that she had someone by her side while she was risking her life, especially someone as charming as Enzo.
The cold spy in him had disappeared as fast as it had appeared.
"What are you after?"
"There have been talks Runagates are being recruited all over the world. What for, nobody knows, but if anyone would have any record on that, it would be Darryl."
"You think the Runagates are behind the wedding massacre?"
It would make a hell of a lot of sense. Clans kept an eye on Runagates. Intervened when they stepped out of line. There was no love lost between them. Taking down the Syndicate and Brotherhood leaders in one go? Victor was dead, and Raiden, the Brotherhood Prince and future leader, had almost been shot straight through the skull at the wedding. Someone wanted them both gone.
That would have solved a lot of the Runagates' issues. Without the Syndicate and Brotherhood keeping them in check, they'd be free to wreak havoc.
But this whole mess didn't feel Runagate. The attack had been organized. Methodical. One of the grandest schemes the Underworld had seen. It reeked of Clan interference.
"I think they were involved somehow," Enzo said cautiously. "They're not our main target. But if you find the muscle behind the operation—"
"You find the brain," Patrice whispered.
It was weird, how much she and Enzo seemed to think alike.
She braced herself harder against Jason's side. Her left hand ran up his back; instead of clutching his shoulder, she ended up grabbing Enzo's forearm.
Patrice jerked her hand back, heat spreading through her. What was wrong with her? It was just a forearm.
But it belonged to Enzo. Fiancé. Future husband. The Phantom.
Even in this dingy, dark hallway, with an unconscious man between them, Patrice still fidgeted at being so close to the Syndicate princeling. Actually, the Syndicate's best-kept secret.
"We're not supposed to be here, though. The Treaty—"
"Says we can't do any official Clan business for a year. This is us going rogue. Nobody needs to know what we've been up to." Even in the dim, jittery light of his watch, Patrice could see Enzo's devilish grin.
But he was wrong. How could Patrice keep his identity a secret from her own Clan?
The corridor ended abruptly. Nothing but rough stone and packed dirt greeted them.
"Now what?" Patrice asked, cursing her heels; they were slowly, but surely, sinking into the ground.
"Now it's showtime." Enzo's hand ran over the edges of the wall. "There should be a concealed switch over here somewhere. Darryl gets very talkative when he's had a few too many to drink."
A click vibrated through the stuffy passageway. A second later, a trap door opened up in the ceiling right above them. Flecks of dirt rained over them as a soft light filtered down.
"Sorry about that." Enzo propped Jason against the wall and rolled up his sleeves in quick, precise movements.
Patrice held her breath as he revealed those damn forearms of his. Lean, glorious arms she just wanted to lick.
In the blink of an eye, Enzo scaled the walls and stuck his head through the opening.
"Damn, you're fast," Patrice muttered before she could stop herself.
Enzo grinned down at her. "Only on missions, don't worry."
"Stop making me blush."
He gave a low, satisfied chuckle and dropped down with feline grace. "Coast is clear. You go up first, then I'll pick up Jason and—"
"Why?" He was trying to get her into trouble, wasn't he? This was a ruse—
"Because you can't climb up with Jason on your back," he said patiently, as if reading her thoughts, and took off his mask. "And I need to help you up, too."
Patrice bit her lower lip. "I don't know about this."
She didn't like going into enemy territory unprepared. She planned her missions months in advance and she always came in armed with enough toxins to sedate a small village. Now, she had nothing.
"Relax, we're going to be okay." He ran his fingers
on the inside of the mask. When he finished, each digit had a shiny, transparent film on it. "You want to clear the Brotherhood's name?"
More than anything. She nodded.
"Then let's cover your fingerprints." He held the inside of the mask to her. Ten transparent circles were stuck to the silver metal. "I always carry an extra set of fake fingerprints, taken from some assholes who've been dead in the ground for more than a decade."
"You really planned this," Patrice said, not able to hide her surprise. Most people in the Underworld tended to shoot and loot before asking any questions.
But Enzo was methodical. Organized. No wonder he'd become the Phantom.
"I really, really did," he said, laughter in his voice.
Patrice ran her fingers inside the mask. The circles stuck to each of them; they felt like a thin sheen of glue.
Enzo stuck his mask back on. "In case of cameras. Good thing you smudged your make-up, should help."
Yes, because Patrice hadn't known she'd be infiltrating anything tonight and had left her mask back in the Catacombs. She smeared her eye make-up some more, just in case. She must've looked like a raccoon.
She stilled as Enzo's hands circled her waist. He pulled her into him gently.
Patrice wanted to melt against him. She looked up into his bright, beautiful eyes. A moment of stillness fell over them. No mission, no skulking, just the two of them.
This weird tension between them that sprung up at the most ridiculous times was more dangerous than what they were about to do. Feelings always got you into trouble in the Underworld.
Patrice and Enzo seemed to snap out of the reverie at the same time.
They both cleared their throats and looked up at the opening.
"Up you go," Enzo muttered and hoisted her up in one go, as if she weighed nothing.
Patrice missed his warm touch as soon as she climbed up into what looked like a wine cellar.
A second later, Enzo hoisted Jason's body and climbed up. The trap door slit shut behind him.
Whether they liked it or not, there was no going back now.
Adrenaline pumped through Patrice's veins as they began walking through the rows of wine bottles flecked with dust.
"Where are we?" she whispered.
"One of the most dangerous places we could have wandered into—the Runagates' European headquarters."
Patrice gulped. "What if someone finds us?"
Enzo made a sharp turn, dragging Jason and Patrice along. They reached the end of a narrow staircase, embedded into the rock wall. Patrice cursed under her breath. Why didn't the Runagates invest in elevators and call it a day?
"Nobody will see us." They began climbing the stairs slowly, Enzo in front. "But if anyone asks, we got lost from the party and our little friend here had too much to drink after he let us in."
Patrice wrinkled her nose, struggling up the steps. "Who'd buy that?"
"Everyone I've ever said that to. How do you think I haven't gotten caught yet?"
"Because you're the devil," she wheezed out. After a three-month stint in her lab, she wasn't in the best shape of her life.
"A charming devil, remember."
"So we've been lugging this man around as an excuse?"
They reached the end of the stairs. Another wall greeted them, this time made out of polished rock and white concrete. Garish.
"No, as our key." Enzo pushed one of the stones to his right. A control panel slid from the wall. "This can only be opened through a retina scan."
Enzo opened Jason's eyes and pressed his face into the panel. A small blue light scanned his eye. A scratchy little beep filled the staircase.
"Scan unsuccessful," came from the panel.
Enzo clenched his jaw and slammed Jason's head forward.
Cold chills ran down Patrice's spine as the light began scanning again. "Say we do get in—Jason will rat us out as soon as he wakes up. My draught can cause some memory issues, but they fade."
"He won't," Enzo said in an unflinching voice. He was doing it again—had that dangerous, impenetrable facade back on. It was like he transformed from the charismatic man to the dangerous spy, though Patrice knew both sides lived inside him. "We'll drag him back and wait by his side until he wakes up, all panicked that he fainted. You were lost, I was having some fun exploring, and we won't leave until we convince him of that, too."
He sounded so confident, Patrice almost started to believe they could pull this off.
The second retina scan finished. Patrice held her breath as another beep resounded.
"Scan successful."
Thank God.
The wall slid to the side, revealing a lavish office with a massive desk in front of floor-to-ceiling windows.
Enzo slumped Jason in one of the humongous leather armchairs, patted him on the head, then turned. His gaze had turned predatory.
"If I was a creep like Darryl, where would I hide my associates' private information?"
"On a computer with unbreakable passwords?" Patrice said.
She stuck her nose in the air. There was a faint scent lingering in the room. One that felt familiar, but foreign all the same. It was strongest by the main door, taller and wider than the secret one they'd just come through, which had already slid shut behind them.
"You'd think, but Darryl mistrusts technology. Doesn't even own a smartphone. He's old-school." Enzo prowled in the stillness, unforgiving gaze taking in every nook and cranny.
Patrice stared at him. It was unnerving to see the Phantom in action.
"He'd probably use a safe. An old one, stolen from some Clan warehouse, to make himself feel like he stuck it to the Underworld," he went on. "He'd be proud of it. Would want to display it somewhere people would see it all the time, but wouldn't notice it. Not his desk, he hates bending down, his gut gets in the way."
Patrice began mirroring him, walking in a slow circle, gaze taking in every surface. Why have a TV in a study? Who could conduct business with it blaring in the background? Though, from the look of this place, not much business went down. Darryl even had a bronze bar taking up half the wall on the—
"Somewhere people would look all the time you say?" Patrice sniffed and turned to Enzo with a triumphant smile. "He has three absynthe bottles, but I smell no anise anywhere."
Enzo grinned and picked up one of the bottles in the front, shaking it. No sound came from inside. "Because they're decoys."
He pulled the middle one toward him. A whirring noise resounded as the reflective bronze wall creaked and opened right in the middle, revealing an old safe. It had a rotating number lock on it.
Patrice grimaced. "This belongs in a museum."
If she'd had some explosives on hand, she could've opened it in ten seconds or less. But not without leaving marks.
"But this one can't be cracked through a computer virus. We have to use our minds." Enzo drummed his fingers on the lock combination. "There's only one number I've managed to wring out of him with way too much alcohol—the number of people he's slept with."
Patrice rolled her eyes. "Disgusting."
"Yes, he's a small, horrid man. He's also a liar, but let's suppose the three-hundred-seven people he's bragged about is the true number, plus the little rendezvous at my party…"
"Three-hundred and nine. Since there were two." What those two women saw in Darryl was beyond Patrice.
"Good catch." Enzo licked his top lip and turned the safe's lock. Three. Zero. Nine.
The door popped open. Patrice exhaled in relief.
Enzo wasted no time. His hands dug inside the safe and came out with a handful of reports. A wicked smile spread over his beautiful face. "Got them."
He flicked a button on his watch and began scanning the papers quickly.
The seconds flew by. Patrice's adrenaline ran wild. She could hear each of her erratic heartbeats.
"We make a good team, don't we?"
"Yeah." Patrice smiled. "Except we're enemies."
A shadow marred E
nzo's gaze. "Supposed enemies. I've never done anything to you or you to me. Except that little knocking me out incident."
Patrice tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry about that. But you've been lying to me since we met."
"Consider it even?"
"As long as neither of those things happens again."
"Deal. Whether we want it or not," Enzo went on, his voice dropping. His gaze met hers, rooting her to the spot. "From now on, we're on the same team. For the rest of our lives. How about we make the most out of the years we have?"
Patrice wanted to say yes, she did. But fiancé or not, Enzo was still Syndicate. She was Brotherhood. That wouldn't change, no matter how much she actually enjoyed spending time with him.
As Enzo finished scanning the reports, barks echoed outside the door.
That was the smell. Animal scent.
Patrice's heart fell somewhere near her impossible heels. Hurried, furious steps resounded between the barks.
Enzo's gaze snapped to the door. "They're coming."
"Shit." Runagates. A dozen of them, judging from the sound. "Escape route?"
"I don't leave the house without one." Enzo closed the safe, grabbed Patrice's hand, and ran to the windows.
Someone banged on the door. Hard.
"Jason, it's been a blast," Enzo said over his shoulder and nudged open one of the windows. "See you at the next poker game."
Enzo and Patrice stepped onto the narrow ledge. The soft night breeze flowed through her hair. Either an omen or a good sign, she couldn't tell.
Another bang on the door.
Harsher.
Harder.
Enzo's steady gaze met hers. "Do you trust me?"
"Do I have a choice?"
They nodded at each other and, together, they jumped.
Chapter Nine
ENZO
This night could have gone a lot better. It could've also gone a whole lot worse.
As it was, Enzo and Patrice were walking along the almost-deserted Parisian streets, soaking wet, but unscathed.
