Complicate (Deliver 9)

He wouldn’t need to, for he already caught her, heart and soul.

“Wow. Look at you.” Danni danced around her, smiling and snapping her fingers to the music. “You got your groove, girl. Damn, you’re on fire!”

She observed her form in the mirror, letting the repetitive electronic beat lift and drop her hips as she slid through the box step.

With each booty shake, she felt less restrained. More confident. With the subtle kicks of her pelvis, her movements glided like oil, more relaxed, freer, sexier. If her feet still ached in the heels, she didn’t notice. She only felt the tune, the percussion, and the music.

She was so lost in the zone she didn’t notice Danni had drifted away until the song ended.

“You’re almost ready.” Danni leaned a shoulder against the wall of windows, her attention fixed on something outside.

“What’s left? I swear I’ve learned every dance move in existence.”

“You’ve mastered all the techniques and steps you’ll need.” Danni touched her throat, her cheeks flushing as her gaze remained glued on the window. “What’s left is the fun part. I’ll teach you how to flirt and…fuck.”

“Sorry?” She wiped the perspiration from her forehead and treaded toward the window. “Are you blushing? What are you looking at out…? Oh, shit.”

Outside, dormant grass stretched from the rear terrace to the surrounding tree line. At the center of the lawn, Cole and Trace rolled across the ground, grappling, sparring, shirtless and sweaty. So goddamn sexy.

Her mouth watered. Her skin caught fire. Her stupid knees went weak.

“Oh, shit,” she repeated, entranced by the display of muscle and ferocious power.

They weren’t alone. Cole’s friends stood on the sidelines, bent forward, shouting, laughing, and cheering on the sparring match. Tiago, Matias, and Tate were shirtless, their workout pants clinging to their muscled physiques.

Lucia and Camila wore exercise clothes, too, with their black hair pulled into ponytails. The sisters looked so similar it was hard to tell them apart.

Kate sat off to the side with a textbook on her lap, cramming for an upcoming exam.

“Trace missed his sparring partner.” Danni touched the glass, her expression somber. “I ruined a beautiful friendship.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. Their relationship took a beating and evolved through the hardship. They’re still friends. I mean, they still call each other when they’re in trouble.”

“You’re right.” Danni nodded. Then she grinned, her eyes glowing with sudden mischief. “Let’s take a break.”

They shared a smile and slipped off their heels. Then they raced out of the dance room, through the house, grabbing coats and sneakers before heading outside into the chill of January.

The overcast sky draped the yard in a wintry gray. The shirtless guys seemed unaffected by the cold, their grunts and shouts bursting in clouds of steam. Those who stood on the sideline looked just as tousled and sweaty as Cole and Trace. They must’ve been taking turns sparring.

As she and Danni joined the group, the atmosphere buzzed with energy. Over the past five days, she’d spent more time with Danni than anyone else. But during meals and evening lulls, she got to know the entire group.

Hearing their histories firsthand had given her a whole new respect for this vigilante family. Their experiences in Van Quiso’s attic hadn’t destroyed them. It made them stronger, closer, and those unbreakable bonds had formed a team of survivors willing to take the law into their own hands to decimate the most depraved criminals in the world.

They were the personification of justice.

She never had a plan beyond Vincent Barrington’s arrest and incarceration. Never let herself imagine what she would do next.

Until now.

The sounds of seething breaths charged the air. A few feet away, Cole held the dominant position over Trace, where they lay on the grass, chest to chest, wrestling for a chokehold.

With Cole on top, he had the advantage, throwing his body weight behind the forearm that pressed against Trace’s throat.

Then he looked up, his molten brown eyes homing in on her, softening, heating, then widening as a fist skidded across his jaw and slammed his head backward.

Oops. She winced.

Trace laughed in triumph. Cole scrambled back, flinging a sloppy kick to ward off Trace. They staggered to their feet and circled each other, catching their breaths. Then, with their glares narrowed in determination, they dove back together in a blur of limbs.

“I’ve never seen that guy get distracted.” Tate stood beside her, his crystal blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s nice to see him with a distraction. Especially one that puts a goofy smile on his face.”

“I hope he doesn’t get distracted next week. Did you guys iron out the itinerary?”

“Yep. We narrowed down your list of nightclubs, using Romero’s facial recognition software to identify patterns. There are a handful of clubs between Italy and Romania that are frequented by the same group of men. According to Romero, this group was present on the nights that you spotted Easter eggs.”