4
Silas stared blankly at the folder in his hands, his mind drifting, heart pounding in a strange rhythm he couldn’t explain.
Then—
blink. blink.
The white pod in his left ear flashed twice, pulling him straight out of his thoughts.
A soft static buzzed—
Then a robotic voice whispered:
“Mission started.”
Silas sat up straighter.
“Mission 1 till infinity... till we get what we want.”
“Be careful.”
The pod went dead.
He blinked.
Then—
buzz.
The second pod in his right ear kicked in.
“Mission: Strip club.”
“Do all it takes.”
“Get him drunk.”
“Make him talk.”
“Update us.”
Then—click.
Gone.
Silas let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his damp hair.
“Of course it’s a strip club,” he muttered, standing up.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, jaw tight, heart heavier than it looked.
“Fine,” he whispered.
“For Isabel.”
His fingers clenched the edge of the dresser.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
Silas found Mateo in the living room, stretched out on a wide leather couch with a tablet in one hand and a mug of steaming coffee in the other.
He looked like a rich, spoiled devil in sleepwear—again—with his silk robe barely tied and tattoos peeking through the open chest.
“Morning,” Silas said, clearing his throat.
Mateo looked up with that usual half-smirk. “Morning, bodyguard.”
Silas ignored the nickname. “What’s your schedule today?”
Mateo yawned and took another sip. “Hmm… meeting with the board at 11, dinner with that annoying French investor after, then dinner at seven. That’s about it.”
Silas blinked. “That’s it?”
Mateo raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? A gang war?”
“…No,” Silas muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Just asking.”
Mateo went back to his tablet like it was no big deal.
Silas stood there, trying not to visibly panic.
No mention of a club. No party. Not even a drink.
How the hell am I supposed to drag him to a strip club? he thought, dragging a hand down his face. What am I supposed to say? “Hey boss, wanna go get emotionally wrecked by glitter and lap dances?” 🤦🏽♂️
He sighed.
Silas cleared his throat and leaned slightly against the wall, arms crossed, watching Mateo scroll through something on his tablet.
“Boss…” he started.
Mateo didn’t look up. “What?”
Silas shifted. “Don’t you have, like… other plans tonight?”
Mateo raised an eyebrow without lifting his head. “Other plans?”
“Yeah,” Silas shrugged, trying to sound chill. “You know... entertainment. Clubs. People. Whatever billionaires do when they’re not working.”
Mateo finally looked up—eyes sharp, lips curled slightly like he already knew where this was going.
“You think I don’t have a life outside this house?” he asked, voice smooth and just the right amount of arrogant.
Silas raised both brows. “Didn’t say that.”
Mateo stood slowly, the chair sliding back as he stretched his arms. “I just don’t waste time on things that bore me, Reed. Strip clubs, loud music, drunk idiots throwing bills? That your idea of fun?”
Silas rubbed the back of his neck. “Not mine. Just thought maybe… you needed to unwind.”
Mateo walked up to him, stopping just close enough to make it slightly annoying.
His voice dropped lower.
“You trying to babysit me or seduce me, bodyguard?”
Silas blinked—caught for a second.
“I’m just doing my job,” he muttered.
Mateo smirked. “Sure you are.”
He stepped back, grabbing his coat. “Let’s go then. Let’s see what your version of ‘unwinding’ looks like.”
Silas blinked again.
Wait—he said yes?
Mateo threw him one last look. “You better not bore me.”
And with that, the boss turned on his heel, heading for the door like he owned the night.
Silas let out a breath, heart thumping.
The car pulled up to the front drive—
Silas opened the door for Mateo first, like a proper bodyguard should. Mateo slid in smoothly, crossing one leg over the other like he was born to sit in luxury.
Silas hesitated.
The passenger seat was empty.
But bodyguards stayed close to the boss. Real close.
He sighed and climbed in next to him—shoulder barely brushing Mateo’s.
The car felt smaller than it looked.
Too much cologne. Too much silence.
Mateo glanced sideways, smirking.
“Relax, Reed. I don’t bite,” he said, voice low. “Unless you want me to.”
Silas stiffened, looking out the window like it owed him an answer. “I’m good, thanks.”
Mateo chuckled.
A few beats of silence passed. Then—
“So…” Mateo turned toward him. “What club are we going to?”
Silas froze.
Shit.
He hadn’t thought that far.
“Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, buying time. “You pick. You’ve got better taste.”
Mateo let out a laugh—short and sharp.
“So you dragged me out, didn’t even know where you were taking me?”
Silas grinned sheepishly. “I figured… we’d improvise?”
Mateo turned toward the driver. “Take us to Club Vertigo. The usual.”
“Y-You have a usual?” Silas blinked.
Mateo smirked, resting an arm on the back of Silas’s seat.
“Of course I do. I just don’t take everyone there.”
Silas looked away again—trying not to react to the warm breath so close to his cheek.
The car pulled up to Club Vertigo—a glowing beast of lights, loud bass, and velvet ropes.
People were already lined up, dressed in outfits that left very little to the imagination.
Mateo stepped out first.
Silas followed, trying to keep a straight face while scanning the crowd. His boots hit the pavement. The thump of music buzzed in his bones.
Inside, the club pulsed with red and gold lights. Bodies moved on the dance floor, drinks clinked.
Mateo led the way through the crowd.
He didn’t wait for Silas—just slid into a private booth like it was built just for him.
Silas sat next to him, still tense, eyes scanning every face, every dark corner.
Then—
BEEP.
His right pod blinked once.
He lowered his head slig
htly, pretending to scratch his ear.
A robotic whisper came through the tiny device.
“Reminder: Get him drunk. He’s 2X more dangerous when tipsy. Don’t forget.”
Then it died. Silent again.
