“We’re here,” Damien said through an intercom placed close to us. I lifted my head, surprised that the time had gone by so fast. Cameron helped me off him, and I adjusted my dress, making sure I was righted. Through the window I could see the massive house we’d pulled in front of. There were cars lined up, each one waiting their turn. I watched one of the cars farther up, this sleek red sports car. One of the staff opened the door, and a gorgeous blonde in an equally gorgeous ruby-colored gown stepped out. The man who accompanied her was older, maybe even double her age. They walked up the massive steps that led to the front door, and then we were moving forward.

I was still wet between my thighs, the arousal and orgasm Cameron had brought forth in me not dimming in the slightest. Blood rushed through my veins, this excitement and fear coursing through me. Once it was our turn, the back door was opened. Cameron stepped out, then promptly held his hand out for me.

I slipped mine into his much larger palm, allowing him to pull me out gently, and together we ascended the steps. My mind was whirling, my pulse racing. I could hear music coming from the inside. I wanted to ask what this event was about, but I knew better. And truth was I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know about the men who were here, ones who were most likely dangerous, just as much as Cameron.

We headed inside, and my breath was stalled in my lungs at the sight before me. Crystal chandeliers, a smoke-filled atmosphere smelling of sweetness, and servants walking around with silver trays and champagne flutes filled with bubbling liquid took up my view. I saw a few other servants with trays filled with hors d’oeuvres, the staff’s backs stiff and their expressions blank.

The guests were in expensive outfits, diamonds and gems dripping from them. The men looked severe and intense as they spoke to each other. The women appeared to be more ornamental than anything else, their heads downcast, their expressions void.

I didn’t miss the fact that some of the men eyed me, their gazes lewd. I felt Cameron wrap his arm around me, pulling me closer to him. I sank against his hard body, feeling like nothing could touch me. I knew he didn’t have to bring me here, didn’t have to show me off. He wanted to because he knew he could protect me, keep me safe. Twisted reasoning or not, I trusted him.

For the next twenty minutes we walked around. I held a champagne flute in my hand, the liquid warming in the glass because I wasn’t drinking it fast enough. Cameron spoke with a few men, his voice even, the respect they had for him clear.

And then one man started speaking in another language, his voice clipped, his words clearly angry, even though I didn’t know what he said. The man had gray, thinning hair, and his eyes were these thin little black beads. He stopped in front of us, a young, voluptuous, and busty woman hanging on his arm. She too had her head downcast and couldn’t be more than twenty-five.

Cameron’s arm was still wrapped around me tightly, but his fingers digging into my waist told me he was focused on the man he was speaking with, not realizing what he was doing. I slipped out of his hold, and he stopped speaking and looked at me.

The man started rambling off in that other language, and Cameron turned and barked out a string of words. The other man paled, his back going straight, his eyes narrowing. Cameron looked at me again.

“I’m just going to walk around, see the art.”

Cameron looked me in the eyes, his gaze penetrating, intense. He finally nodded, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think he wouldn’t know where I was.

I walked down one of the hallways, the guests thinning as they congregated with each other at the front of the house. The art was colorful, erratic even. I kept moving, looking at each piece. There was a set of open double doors to my right, and I moved closer. I didn’t want to be nosy, but the lights were on, and I saw even more art. Surely if no one was allowed in here, the doors would be shut.

I stepped inside, the lights dimmer than I’d originally thought, the corners hidden with shadows, making the art seem ominous. I walked around, the scent of old leather, roses, and something darker filling the air.

The sound of wood creaking behind me had me looking over my shoulder. A man stepped inside, his focus on his cell, his face cast in a scowl. He said something low, too low for me to understand.

He shoved his cell in his pocket, went to turn around, but then spotted me. For a second he just stared at me, his dark eyes seeming like endless pools. It gave me the chills, made me frightened. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to be in the same room with him.

“You like the art?” His voice was thickly accented.

I nodded, not sure why I felt so nervous, so off-kilter. I wanted to go back to Cameron. I went closer to the door, but he shifted, blocking me.

His smile was so dark it actually made me uncomfortable. Warning bells started going off, red flags flashing in front of my eyes. I needed to get to people, to the crowd. There I’d feel safe, just like at the club, being swallowed whole by the sea of bodies.

“Are you here alone?”

I shook my head, my throat far too tight to manage any words. Force them out. Show strength. “I’m not alone.” The need to run, to lash out, to fight ran strong within me. I was pressed to the wall, my hands flat on it, the sweat starting to form on my palms. He moved closer, the cloying, suffocating sensation of his cologne making me sick.

I tried to look around his shoulder, but he’d backed me into a corner, the people at this event farther away than I would have liked. I was blocked by his grossly large muscles.

He breathed out hard, the scent of his liquor-laced breath wafting over me, the need to gag strong. My stomach was twisted, turned around. I was in flight or fight, my mind screaming to be rational, that I couldn’t stop this man if I wanted to. But my body wanted to lash out, to survive.

“So small, fragile.” He looked into my eyes, his smile grotesque. “I’ll have fun breaking you, girl.”

I didn’t know what came over me, but this surge of power, of strength took hold, making me feel—realize—I was not this asshole’s victim. I brought my knee up, rammed it right between his thighs, and felt really damn good when he made this pained sound.

“You fucking cunt,” he gritted out. He was slightly hunched, and I knew he wanted to grab himself, relieve the pain I’d caused, but instead he raised his hand. I knew he’d hit back, knew he wouldn’t stand for me attacking him. I wanted to move, tried to in that instant, but his big body blocked me.

I tensed, bracing for the hit, but before it came I saw a shadow cross over his body. Then a hand grabbed his arm, pulling back with a force that had him stumbling.

The big brute cursed in Russian. Although I didn’t see, couldn’t see who held him away from me at this angle, I knew it was Cameron.

I felt it in the air, this charge, this intensity that stole my breath, made me weak, had me shaking. And then the Russian was jerked back and I saw Cameron. He looked furious, enraged, his eyes cold, dead.

I shifted, seeing the man’s face now, the fear that covered it.

“Damien, take her to the car,” Cameron said, never moving his gaze off the man he still held. I glanced to the side, seeing Damien, not sure where he’d come from.

“Let’s go,” Damien said, grabbing my arm, steering me out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door.

The limo was already waiting at the bottom of the steps. Damien opened the back door for me and gently pushed me inside. I don’t know how long I sat there, my palms damp, my heart in my throat.

Finally the door opened again, and I saw Damien hand Cameron a white rag. Cameron slipped in, his focus on his knuckles. That’s when I saw the blood covering them. I lifted my gaze to his white shirt, seeing the splatters of red along the stark light color.

“Did you kill him?” I asked softly, almost frightened to know the answer. He didn’t respond me right away, just continued to clean his hands off. I looked out my window, not expecting a response. This was Cameron, after all.

“Whether I did or didn’t isn’t the point.”

I glanced at him after he spoke. “Isn’t it?”

He looked at me then, his face hidden partially by the shadows, his expression void.

“No.”

I slowly inhaled, not sure if I should push this. I wanted to, wanted to see what he was thinking about, what was going on in his head. I wanted to learn about him, know what made him tick. But I also knew Cameron was a mystery, didn’t let people in, and I doubted even if he trusted them.

“But I didn’t kill him, even if I should have.” He stared me right in the eyes. “Make no mistake, Sofia. I wanted to rip his balls off and shove them down his throat for even thinking he could look at you.” This draft of frigid air slammed into me. “The fact he touched you…” He shook his head slowly. “If he wasn’t who he was, and a man I need alive for business purposes, I would have fucking gutted him.”

I breathed in and out hard and fast, his words like a knife, sharp, deadly.

“And no one would have fucking stopped me.” And then this expression covered his face, this hard, cold look that I felt to my bones. It was reflected at me. And then, just as fast as it had shown up, he masked it.

Cameron turned and looked out the window, and I did the same. I watched the scenery pass us by, not sure what the sudden change in him was. He seemed angry. Was he blaming this on me?

Why does it matter? In a few days I’ll be gone—all of this behind me, my life in front of me.

But that felt so empty.