Luke leaned against the cold concrete wall of the dimly lit warehouse club, his eyes scanning the room out of habit. It was the kind of place that always made him feel on edge—dark corners, lowered voices, and too many eyes watching from the shadows. He scanned the room with practiced indifference, taking note of the men in attendance. Scarface—William Crisilan—stood off to the side, casually flipping a knife in his hand, and Garrett, Bill's boss, sat at the back, calmly sipping his drink, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the room. The low hum of conversations and clinking glasses filled the space, but his mind was elsewhere.

Luke's mind kept drifting, unwelcome thoughts of Riley tugging at him like an itch he couldn't scratch. When he was at the club on previous nights, he'd always steal glances at her—an easy habit that had kept him grounded in the mess of their undercover operation. Riley wasn't here, and though he was grateful for that—grateful she was safe—he missed her presence. He was relieved she wasn't in the thick of it tonight, but her absence made him feel like he was flying blind. Luke had grown used to knowing she was near, even when she wasn't next to him. It was irrational, maybe, but it made him feel like he wasn't in this alone.

He didn't have much time to linger on the thought, though. Bill and Garrett's conversation cut through the noise, dragging his attention back to the room.

"Damn shame about that little stripper chick," Bill said, his voice low and gravelly. Luke's jaw clenched, the familiar simmer of anger rising as he remembered how Bill had handled Riley that night—forcing her to serve drinks, ready to dispose of her the moment she stepped out of line. Luke fought to keep his face neutral, his fingers tightening imperceptibly around the glass in his hand.

"She almost blew everything," Garrett replied, his tone dismissive. "But we took care of it. Cole couldn't keep his head straight, and he got what was coming to him. Higher-ups don't care much about some runaway stripper—"

Bartender, Luke thought, suppressing the urge to correct them. Not a stripper. A bartender.

"—but we gotta tighten up. If she'd known more, it would've been a real problem," Garrett continued. He turned to Bill, raising an eyebrow. "You had the rest of the shipment locked down, right? Everything went as planned?"

"Yeah, boss," Bill said, flicking his knife closed and shoving it in his pocket. "Got everything covered."

Luke kept his breathing steady, outwardly calm, even though the reminder of that night made his pulse hammer in his ears. Riley had held her own, but the thought of her under Bill's control, hands bound as she served drinks, still made something dark twist in his gut. He couldn't let that show now—couldn't afford a single crack in the mask.

"We got a new guy comin' in," Garrett continued, his voice casual but carrying weight. "The higher-ups sent Kyle to help with this mess."

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and a man walked in—a tall, broad-shouldered figure with short, dark hair and a cold expression that seemed etched into his face. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew he had power, and that fact alone set Luke on edge. He watched as Kyle approached Garrett, the two exchanging a brief nod before Garrett asked, "Where's Michael?"

Kyle barely glanced at Garrett, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. "He had other matters to attend to."

A few of the men muttered amongst themselves, but Garrett seemed satisfied. Luke's turn came next. Kyle's gaze shifted to him, and Luke pushed off the bar, stepping forward to offer a firm handshake. "Jason Harris," he introduced himself, steady and confident. Kyle's handshake was strong, testing.

"Kyle," he said curtly, looking him up and down before letting go. Luke met his stare evenly, refusing to give any hint of hesitation.

Bill was the first to break the brief silence, his voice carrying a mocking edge. "You and your brother, you lookin' into that girl? The one who offed Cole?"

Luke tensed internally, his mind racing. Stay calm. This could be a trap—a test to see if anyone knew too much, or worse, cared too much.

Kyle's gaze shifted back to Bill, and he let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, we looked further into her," he said, voice dripping with nonchalance. Luke's pulse pounded as he forced his breathing to stay steady. But Kyle didn't seem to notice or care about his tension, because he continued, "Her background checks out. Nothing we need to worry about."

Relief washed through Luke like a wave, but he held his expression firm. He couldn't afford to let even a flicker of emotion show. Kyle's words meant that they weren't suspicious of Riley—or if they were, not enough to dig deeper. It was a small win, but in this game, small wins were everything.

"We'll be around for the next couple of weeks to clean up any loose ends from the situation with Cole," Kyle added, his voice final. It wasn't a suggestion—it was a warning.

Luke nodded, forcing himself to relax. He had to be careful. The next couple of weeks would be crucial, and with Kyle and Michael in the picture, there was even less room for error. He had to keep his cover airtight, watch his every move, and find a way to stay one step ahead.

"Glad to have you here," Luke said, his voice steady, his eyes meeting Kyle's with practiced ease. It was all part of the role, after all. The undercover game wasn't just about lying—it was about making the lie so perfect, so complete, that even the truth seemed like a distortion.

As the conversation shifted and the meeting continued, Luke stayed alert, his mind focused on every word, every glance, and every threat that lingered beneath the surface. But in the back of his mind, one thought remained: Riley was safe, for now. And that was all the reassurance he needed to keep playing this dangerous game.

______________________________________________________

Riley POV

Riley unlocked the door to her apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges welcoming her back from another long run. She was finally cleared for duty by her therapist- after two weeks off-duty, she was finally going back to work in three days. She tossed her keys on the kitchen counter and kicked off her boots, sighing in relief at the feel of the cool floor beneath her feet.

But something felt off.

The air in her apartment was still, too quiet. Her instincts prickled at the back of her neck as she glanced around the small space. It was just a typical night, she told herself. She was just tired. But as she stepped into the living room, her heart skipped a beat.

Sitting on her couch, legs spread wide and looking too comfortable in her space, was her brother, Kyle. His eyes were dark, full of something she hadn't seen in a long time—resentment, anger, but beneath all of it, a dangerous calm.

"Riley," he said, his voice low and sharp. "We need to talk."

Her heart dropped into her stomach. Kyle wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to even know where she lived. She had gone to great lengths to keep her personal life away from her brothers. This wasn't good.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, taking a step back toward the door. She'd left her gun in her bedside table drawer.

Kyle stood up slowly, his hands slipping into his jacket pockets as he eyed her with a chilling smirk. "You've been playing a dangerous game, little sister. And you've pissed off some very important people."

Her blood ran cold, but she kept her face neutral. She couldn't let him know she was scared. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He snorted, shaking his head as if she were a naïve child. "You thought no one would notice, huh? Thought you could sneak into the Warehouse Club and play spy without anyone recognizing you."

Her pulse quickened. The Warehouse Club—her undercover op. "Kyle, I don't know what you—"

"Shut up," he snapped, stepping closer. "You think I don't have eyes on the streets? You think our people don't talk?" He let out a bitter laugh. "I had a friend come up to me, said he saw my whore sister working the bar at the club. At first, I thought he was messing with me, but then..."

Riley clenched her jaw, keeping her hands steady at her sides. "Kyle, you need to leave. Now."

But he wasn't listening. He was pacing now, agitated, the anger bubbling to the surface. "One of our guys got stabbed, you know that? Some girl wandered where she shouldn't have, and now he's dead."

Her stomach twisted. She hadn't thought the operation would hit this close to home, hadn't thought her brothers would be involved in something so dangerous, so deeply. But here it was, staring her right in the face. Kyle, her brother—the one she hadn't seen in months, maybe a year—was part of the gun trafficking ring she was investigating. Then it hit her - the club staff had mentioned a Michael and a Chris, or something. Could they have meant her brothers, Mike and Kyle?

"Kyle, listen to me," she said, her voice steady but low. "I didn't know you were involved. I'm just doing my job."

He gave her a dark look, full of betrayal. "Your job? You're working with the cops, Riley. Undercover at our club. You're a goddamn rat."

The door to her bedroom creaked, and her heart skipped a beat as her older brother, Mike, emerged from the shadows. He was bigger, more intimidating, and in his hand were her handcuffs—the ones she kept in her desk drawer.

Mike leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Did you really think that nobody would figure out who you were? We work for a dangerous man, Riles. He knows you're a cop. And he knows you're our sister."

"So what?" Riley said, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay calm. "What does that mean for me?"

Kyle ran a hand through his hair, looking more stressed than she'd ever seen him. "It means you're a liability. To us, to him, to everyone. He's not the kind of guy who just lets that slide. If he finds out you've been poking around or worse, that you're not on our side, we're all dead."

Even as Riley's heart pounded in her chest, she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at yet another person referring to her as a liability. The room felt like it was closing in on her. Her eyes darted between her brothers, disbelief and fear swirling inside her. "What do you want from me?"

Kyle stepped closer, his expression softening just slightly. "You could help us, Riles. Work with us. Keep Sinclair off our backs. You've got connections, you know how the system works. If you're with us, maybe we can keep him from... you know."

Riley stood up, her legs shaky but her voice firm. "You're asking me to betray everything I stand for. You want me to throw away my career, my life, for what? To save your asses?"

Mike's jaw clenched. "You think we like this? We're trying to survive, Riley. It's not just about us. This guy doesn't play games. If he thinks you're a threat, you'll be dead before you can even blink."

Riley took a deep breath, her pulse racing. Her entire life had been about trying to escape the world her brothers had fallen into. Now they were trying to pull her back in. They had pulled her back in, and the stakes were higher than ever.

"I can't," she said quietly, shaking her head. "I won't. I'm not going to help you work for someone like that. I'm a cop. I swore an oath to protect people from guys like him. And from people like you."

Kyle's face twisted in anger, and he grabbed her arm, his grip tight. "Riley, you don't get it. This isn't about your job. This is about staying alive. You think you're gonna walk away from this? You think these guys gonna let you live if you say no?"

She yanked her arm free, her heart pounding as she stared him down. "If you think I'm going to turn into some dirty cop just because you screwed up your lives, you're wrong. I'm not going to do it."

Mike sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Riley, listen. We're trying to protect you. You think we don't care? You think we want you dead?"

"Protect me?" she shot back, her voice rising. "You're the reason I'm in danger in the first place! You dragged me into this mess, and now you expect me to just... what? Go along with it? Help you stay in business with a psycho?"

Mike moved faster than she anticipated, grabbing her wrist in a bruising grip and snapping the handcuffs onto her. She winced as the metal bit into her skin, and she tried to pull away, but Kyle stepped in front of her, blocking the door.

His face hardened, the softness gone. "If you don't help us, you're dead. And so are we."

Riley swallowed hard, her fear bubbling just below the surface as Mike pulled a black hood out of his back pocket. But she couldn't let it control her. Not now.

"Then I guess we're all dead." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was firm as they slipped the hood over her head and everything went dark. "Because I'm not turning my back on everything I've worked for. And I'm sure as hell not working for you."

**************

Author Note:

Cliffhanger!!!!! What do you think is going to happen next? 

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Aaaaaand thank you for almost 1000 reads! Your feedback means so much to me <3