Chapter 1 - Tears blurred Harper’s vision as she forced her way through the nightclub.
Bass from the speakers vibrated through her ribs. Bodies pressed against her from every direction, hot with sweat and alcohol. Someone spilled a drink down her arm. A stranger grabbed her hip and shouted something she could not hear over the music.
None of it registered.
Her entire world had narrowed to 1 image.
Caleb.
Her fiancé of 3 years.
The man who had kissed her forehead that morning and told her he would be working late.
He had been working late, just not in the way Harper imagined.
She had found him in a shadowed alcove near the bar with both hands buried in Chloe’s blonde extensions.
Chloe.
Her best friend.
Harper had not screamed.
She had not thrown her drink.
She had not created the dramatic scene the betrayal seemed to deserve.
The pain was too complete for anger.
It felt as though someone had reached inside her chest and crushed her lungs without making a sound.
Harper simply walked away.
Every instinct told her to hide.
Find somewhere dark.
Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere she could fall apart without anyone watching.
She pushed beyond the velvet rope of the VIP section while the bouncer argued with 2 drunk men at the bottom of the stairs.
He never noticed her.
The music became slightly muffled as she hurried down a carpeted corridor.
Her heels sank into the thick flooring.
Tears filled her eyes again.
She needed a bathroom.
A coatroom.
A storage closet.
Anything.
At the far end of the hallway stood a heavy oak door.
No window.
No brass room number.
It looked solid.
Private.
Quiet.
Harper did not think.
She turned the handle and pushed.
Then she stepped inside and slammed the door behind her.
The instant the latch closed, the nightclub disappeared.
The pounding bass became a distant vibration.
Silence filled the room.
Harper pressed her forehead against the cool oak.
A harsh sob broke from her throat.
She covered her mouth.
Her shoulders shook.
Mascara ran down her cheeks as she cried for the life she had believed she was going to have.
For 10 seconds, nothing else existed.
Then a chair scraped across the floor.
Harper stopped breathing.
Slowly, she turned.
The room was large and dimly illuminated by amber lamps.
Expensive leather.
Cigar smoke.
And beneath both, something metallic.
Copper.
5 men stared at her.
No 1 spoke.
No 1 moved.
Harper’s grief vanished beneath an immediate surge of adrenaline.
These were not ordinary nightclub guests.
4 men stood around the perimeter.
Each looked capable of breaking someone in half without raising his pulse.
1 had a jagged scar cutting through his eyebrow.
His hand rested inside his jacket.
In the middle of the room stood a mahogany table.
An open leather briefcase sat on top.
Inside were tightly stacked bundles of $100 bills.
Beside it lay a cloth napkin stained with blood.
At the head of the table sat the man who clearly controlled everyone else.
Harper did not know his name yet.
Dominic.
He remained seated in a leather armchair, 1 leg crossed over the other, a crystal glass of amber liquor resting beside him.
His white shirt was open at the top 2 buttons.
The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing muscle and faded dark ink.
His face was sharp and severe.
Straight nose.
Hard jaw.
Eyes so dark they appeared almost black.
He did not seem surprised that she had burst into his room crying.
He did not seem angry.
He looked detached.
Harper’s hand searched frantically behind her for the door handle.
“I…”
Her voice broke.
“I’m sorry.”
No 1 responded.
“I thought this was the bathroom.”
The scarred man took half a step toward her.
His attention had the quality of a predator evaluating wounded prey.
Dominic raised 2 fingers from his glass.
Barely a movement.
The man stopped instantly.
Harper finally found the brass knob.
“I’ll leave.”
Her fingers tightened.
“Excuse me.”
She turned it.
Nothing.
She tried harder.
Still nothing.
Panic rose violently through her chest.
“It requires a key card from this side.”
Dominic’s voice was low.
Gravelly.
Far too calm.
He stood.
Harper’s stomach dropped.
He was much taller than she expected.
Dominic took 1 final sip from his glass, placed it on the table, and buttoned his jacket with 1 hand.
His eyes never left her.
Then he walked around the table.
His footsteps disappeared into the thick rug.
Harper flattened herself against the door.
Caleb and Chloe ceased to matter.
The wedding ceased to matter.
Only the man walking toward her mattered.
Dominic stopped approximately 2 ft away.
Sandalwood.
Smoke.
And something harder beneath both.
Violence.
His gaze moved over Harper’s trembling body, her stained makeup, and the tissue crushed in her hand.
He reached toward her.
Harper flinched and closed her eyes.
Dominic did not touch her.
His arm passed beside her head.
A heavy metal deadbolt slid into place.
Click.
Harper opened her eyes.
Dominic remained inches away.
His arm was still braced against the door above her.
Old scars traced faint lines near his jaw.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
His voice was soft.
The click of the lock seemed louder than the club outside.
“Please.”
Harper barely produced sound.
“I didn’t see anything.”
Her breathing came too fast.
“I don’t know what this is.”
She swallowed.
“I just wanted somewhere quiet.”
“A quiet place.”
Dominic repeated the phrase.
His faint accent rounded the words.
Old-world traces buried beneath American speech.
“Do you usually force your way into locked nightclub rooms when you want peace, sweetheart?”
“The bouncer wasn’t watching.”
Harper spoke too quickly.
“I just pushed the door.”
She pointed vaguely behind herself.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting.”
Her voice cracked.
“Please let me leave.”
Behind Dominic, 1 of the guards scoffed.
“Boss, she could be wired.”
He looked toward Harper.
“Or she’s a spotter for the Rossy crew.”
The man’s hand moved beneath his jacket.
“Let me take her in the back.”
Harper went cold.
Dominic never turned toward him.
His eyes remained on her.
He studied the tears.
The trembling jaw.
The mascara smeared beneath her eyes.
The blotchy red skin of someone who had been crying before she entered the room.
Whatever Dominic saw, it did not resemble a trained rival operative.
“Check her.”
The scarred guard moved immediately.
He took Harper by the arms and turned her away from the door.
She gasped.
Calloused hands searched her sides, waist, and the lines of her dress.
Clinical.
Impersonal.
Humiliating.
Seconds later, he stepped away.
“Clean.”
He held up her damaged phone.
“Just this. Screen’s cracked.”
Dominic moved backward.
“Sit.”
He gestured toward an armchair beside the table.
Harper did not move.
Her legs felt disconnected from her body.
“I said sit.”
The volume never increased.
The authority did.
Harper stumbled forward and collapsed into the chair.
She pulled her knees together and wrapped both arms around her stomach.
The cold leather pressed through her thin dress.
Dominic returned to the table.
He poured 2 fingers of whiskey into a clean crystal glass.
Then he carried it toward her.
“Take it.”
Harper stared.
“Before you faint on my rug.”
She reached out.
Their fingers touched.
His skin was warm.
Rough.
Steady.
The glass immediately began shaking in her grip.
Whiskey spilled across her knuckles.
Dominic exhaled quietly.
Then his hand covered hers.
Completely.
The glass stopped shaking.
“Drink.”
Harper obeyed.
The alcohol burned all the way down.
She coughed hard, eyes watering again.
“Good.”
Dominic released her.
He pulled a chair opposite hers and leaned forward with his forearms resting on his knees.
For the first time, he placed himself at her eye level.
“Now.”
His gaze seemed to strip through every defense she had.
“Tell me why a civilian woman is running through my club crying so hard she can barely see and forcing herself into my private office.”
Harper looked at the bloodied napkin.
Then back at Dominic.
The absurdity of the situation overwhelmed her.
10 minutes earlier, Caleb’s betrayal had been the worst thing imaginable.
Now she was sitting across from a man who appeared to command organized violence while he decided what to do with her.
A hysterical laugh rose unexpectedly.
Harper covered her mouth.
Another tear escaped.
“My fiancé.”
The words felt bitter.
“I caught him cheating.”
She looked downward.
“With my best friend.”
Silence.
The guards exchanged brief looks.
Dominic stared at her.
Then he leaned back.
“You interrupted a $2 million transaction because some mid-level accountant could not keep his hands to himself.”
“He’s a regional manager.”
The correction escaped automatically.
Harper immediately covered her mouth.
Her eyes widened.
Dominic’s expression changed by the smallest possible amount.
The corner of his mouth moved.
Not quite a smile.
But enough to fracture the room’s tension.
“Right.”
His voice softened.
“A regional manager.”
Dominic stood.
Then the coldness returned.
“Well, sweetheart, your regional manager just cost you your freedom.”
Harper stared upward.
“Because until I decide what happens to you, you belong to me.”
“Belong to you?”
Panic returned.
“You can’t keep me.”
She pressed herself deeper into the chair.
“I have an apartment.”
Her voice rose.
“A job.”
She swallowed.
“I have a cat that needs food tomorrow morning.”
Harper shook her head.
“You can’t kidnap me because I opened the wrong door.”
Dominic turned away as though the objection required no answer.
“Pack the cash.”
He looked toward the scarred man.
“Leo, wipe the table.”
His voice remained calm.
“We leave in 2 minutes.”
The room transformed immediately.
The men moved with practiced efficiency.
Bundles of cash disappeared into the briefcase.
The bloody napkin went into a sealed plastic evidence bag.
Glasses were wiped free of fingerprints.
Harper stared at the door.
Still locked.
Then at the men.
4 guards.
Dominic.
Harper was 5’4″ and wearing heels.
Running was not an option.
Dominic adjusted his cuffs.
Then he approached.
“Stand.”
Harper stayed seated.
“No.”
The rebellion sounded weak even to her.
Dominic did not threaten her.
He simply reached down and took her upper arm.
Then he lifted her to her feet as if she weighed nothing.
His grip did not bruise.
It also did not allow resistance.
“You can walk out yourself.”
His eyes remained flat.
“Or Leo can put you over his shoulder.”
Dominic continued.
“If he carries you, people stare.”
A pause.
“If they stare, they remember your face.”
His voice lowered.
May you like
“And if they remember your face, anyone looking for me may start looking for you.”
Harper stopped resisting.
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