The surveillance van vibrated with the low hum of anticipation as Riley adjusted the collar of her black crop top, checking her reflection in the small mirror attached to the wall. The scent of cheap cologne and hairspray mingled in the cramped space, and the tension was palpable. She couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and nerves; this was her first shift undercover as a bartender at The Warehouse Club, and she had been preparing for weeks. She hadn't seen Luke since the last time he tried to talk her out of doing this- and while she was glad for the reprieve from him doubting her at every turn, she couldn't help but wonder about how his own undercover job was going.

Detective Jackson, who had been a constant presence throughout her training, leaned against the side of the van, flipping through his notes. "You ready for this, rookie?" he asked, a playful grin on his face. "Just remember, it's all about confidence. Show them you belong."

"Yeah, I've got this," she replied, forcing a smile. In truth, her stomach fluttered with uncertainty. She had always been in control, but now she was stepping into a world where everything felt foreign.

Just then, the door swung open, and to her shock, Luke stepped inside, his presence commanding the cramped space. "What the hell are you doing here?" Jackson asked, mirroring Riley's thoughts. "You're in the middle of deep cover, it's too risky for you to be here. Are you insane?"

Luke ignored him and turned to Riley.

"I came to check in on you," he replied, his eyes scanning the van before landing on her. "I don't like the idea of you being in there alone."

"I'm not alone; I have Jackson," she pointed out, trying to deflect the growing concern in his gaze.

"Yeah, well, I don't trust him to keep an eye on you," Luke shot back, his tone laced with frustration. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Promise me you'll be safe."

Riley met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. "I promise, Luke. I'll be careful. You can't keep hovering over me."

"Just... be aware of your surroundings," he insisted, his tone softening slightly. "If anything feels off, you get out of there. No matter what."

"I will. I know how to take care of myself," she assured him, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, thick with unspoken worries.

"Okay," he said, taking a step back but still watching her intently. "I mean it."

With a deep breath, Riley stepped out of the van, the music from inside the club pulsing like a heartbeat. As they entered, the atmosphere swallowed her whole—dim lights, flashing neon, and the scent of sweat and alcohol filled her senses. She was ready.

The low thrum of bass reverberated through the walls of The Warehouse Club, creating a pulsating rhythm that matched Riley's racing heart. Riley found herself slipping into the role with surprising ease; she settled behind the bar, skillfully mixing drinks and flashing her best smile at the patrons who leaned in, hoping to catch her attention. Tonight, she was all about blending in and gathering intel, and she was determined to do both.

A couple times, she made eye contact with Detective Jackson, who usually had an arm slung around a stripper and a shit-eating grin on his face. He winked at her across the room and held a fake phone to his ear, exaggeratedly mouthing the words 'call me'. Each time, Riley giggled and rolled her eyes.

Mid-way through her shift, a tall, rugged man with a chiseled jaw and dark buzz cut approached, leaning against the bar with a casual confidence that made him stand out among the crowd. His shirt hugged his muscles just right, and the gleam in his eye suggested he was no stranger to this place.

"Hey there, beautiful," he said, his voice smooth like the whiskey she poured. "What's a girl like you doing in a dive like this?"

Riley tilted her head, a flirtatious smile playing on her lips. "Just trying to make some money and have a little fun. What about you? You look like you belong in a magazine rather than this smoke-filled room." She threw in a little giggle at the end.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. "Touché. Just here for a good time, like everyone else, I guess. Name's Cole."

"Riley," she replied, leaning slightly over the bar, creating a conspiratorial atmosphere. "So, Cole, what's the craziest thing you've seen in this joint?"

Cole raised an eyebrow, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a low, playful tone. "You'd be surprised at what goes down here. But I bet you can handle anything that comes your way."

Riley laughed lightly, keeping the mood light. "You have no idea. I've dealt with worse than rowdy club-goers."

"Is that so?" he replied, his interest piqued. He cocked his head, as if in thought. "Are you working next Thursday?"

Riley winked. "For you? I'll work any day, honey."

Cole leaned in even closer, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "I'm counting on it." With that, he blew her a kiss and stalked off.

As the night wore on, Riley chatted up a number of other patrons. Her feet grew increasingly sore in the heels, but she was satisfied with the amount of information she had gathered. And she was very excited to take a shower and wash off all of the glitter.

It wasn't until one particularly intoxicated man stumbled up to the bar that the nerves came back. He slid up to the bar, eyeing her with an unsettling intensity. "You're the hottest thing in this joint," he slurred, leaning in too close for comfort. "What do I have to do to get your attention?"

Riley forced a smile, but inside, she felt her pulse quicken. "Just enjoy your drink," she replied, trying to deflect his advances.

But he didn't take the hint. "Come on, don't be like that. I can show you a good time," he said, leaning even closer, his breath hot on her face.

Riley's stomach twisted with anxiety. Jackson was busy chatting with a group of patrons, seemingly oblivious to her predicament. She glanced over at him, hoping he would notice, but he was lost in conversation, laughter ringing out around him.

Determined not to let the situation escalate, Riley took a step back, placing her hands on the bar to create distance. "Seriously, back off. I'm working," she said firmly, trying to sound confident.

The guy smirked, his eyes narrowing. "Working, huh? I bet you're working it real good back here," he said, reaching out to grip her wrist.

That was the last straw. Riley's heart raced, but she drew on her training and instincts. She yanked her arm free. "Let go of me," she snapped. "I don't want to deal with you. If you don't leave me alone, I will have you removed."

It was about time for her break anyways. As she began to storm away, the pushy guy began to follow her.

"Yeah, baby," he continued to slur. "Where we goin'?"

That was the final straw. Riley grabbed a drink off of a nearby tray and threw it in the man's face. "Get away from me, asshole," she seethed.

"What the hell?" he shouted, his expression a mix of shock and anger, as a bouncer finally came to her rescue. He continued to shout profanity as he was dragged outside.

"There's always a couple of them," another server nearby said lightheartedly.

Riley forced a laugh and a smile onto her face in spite of her rapidly beating heart.

Riley looked around the bar, searching for Jackson, but he was still chatting away, unaware of her mini-drama. She shook her head, feeling a mix of triumph and frustration. This was her job now—her chance to prove herself.

She sighed and stomped toward the locker room for her break.

As she walked down the staff hallway, Luke appeared out of nowhere and pulled her into a supply closet. She could barely see his face in the dim lighting.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low. He scanned her from head to toe as if looking for signs of damage. She felt a rush of conflicting emotions at the sight of him; it was reassuring yet infuriating.

"Are you crazy?" she hissed, crossing her arms. "You could have blown my cover. And yours, for that matter."

"Riley," he said, ignoring her protests. "Are. You. Okay?"

Riley sighed and looked away. "I'm fine, Luke."

"That guy deserved a lot more than a drink thrown in his face," he said, fists clenching. "I'm going to kill Jackson."

Riley stared at him. "What are you doing here, Luke?"

He said nothing for a moment, jaw clenching. "I needed to make sure you were okay."

Her heart began to beat out of its chest, due to the things Luke was saying and his proximity to her. She shook her head, frustrated. "I have a job to do. And so do you." With that, she turned her back to him and left him in the closet alone.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of laughter, drinks, and hidden conversations. Riley gathered snippets of information, but the encounter with the pushy guy—and Luke's subsequent concern—left her with a simmering mix of emotions that she couldn't shake.