I

ocess the panic, or the sound

earm brushing my shoulder, and s

tely step aside without looking at h

s and sweet, artificial

bracing myself for a dark,

boots literally glue t

hire Barbie as his

needs to fire

where Velvet Tears looks like a b

hing i

ush velvet. The VIP booths are u

nd the dozens of women dancing inside elevated glass cages ar

thick with the scent of expensive Frenc

e crowd, heads immed

. He wa

l winter coat makes me stick out like a flare in the d

he asks over the pounding bass, no

whatever these peo

ocking smirk tugging at the corner of

N

s a lie. Unless Go

earched enough seedy underworld

time in one that looks like a c

thick tribal neck tattoos b

drop hungrily down

y path, blocking me off from my escort, his br

a hand out toward the lapel of my coat. "There's a

, a large, scarred hand

my coat, jerking me backward so fast my spine

tooed guy laughs, his eyes darting down to

au

ter finally

mehow slicing straight through the thumping bass. "And you're reac

houlders, lifting his chin lik

esn't ev

e his voice or

lanting his body between me and the g

adiating off hi

ws seven different ways to snap a win

res at him for a lon

tense smirk spreads across the guy's face,

around,

elts back into

n't let go

the maze of grinding bodies, up a flight of curved glass stairs

mering wildly a

at of his palm burning straight through

ce as he hauls me up the final step. "It's impossible to move you t

t to pry his fingers off my waist. "I told you we c

shoving the glass door open, "y

side and steps i

the pounding bass and p

instant. Soundp

locke

lly taking in the r

s my lungs in

VIP lounge. I

k mahogany, lined with leather harnesses, coile

lly promising to murder Gia i

just trying

stage compromising photos and bla

traight into my