He adjusted his sleeves, squared his shoulders, and walked to the entrance with lethal calm. The two bouncers moved instantly to block his path, their bulk filling the ornate archway.
"Didn't we tell you already?" one of them barked.
Reese's arm shot out — a blur of trained efficiency. One swift jab to the throat, another to the ribs, and the first guard hit the ground with a grunt. The second reached for his radio, but Reese pivoted and slammed him into the doorframe.
The man slumped, dazed, and Reese stepped over him.
Inside, Reese scanned the space. His pulse was steady, movements calculated. And then he saw her.
Sylvia sat with pale fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey. Tom Kane lounged opposite her, smug as ever.
Reese's stomach twisted — that glass shouldn't even be near her.
"Miss Kane!" he called sharply, cutting through the hum of conversation.
