King tried to leave but he wanted a distraction.
The duffel bag hit the hidden compartment under the spare tire like muscle memory. King had done this a hundred times….stashing, disappearing, doubling back but this time, his fingers lingered.
Something told him he wasn't done, at least not yet. He slammed the trunk shut, locked the car, and turned back toward the club.
He adjusted his shirt and scanned the crowd. She was there, exactly where he expected her to be. Perched at the edge of the VIP lounge like she owned the room, long legs crossed, glass in hand, bored eyes scanning the crowd.
She saw him before he reached her dark, deliberate, the kind of man who had secrets tucked under his collar. He moved through the crowd like he didn't owe the place an explanation, and it intrigued her. She wanted to fuck him, she was glad he came back, for a second she thought she was losing her edge.
