How dare he? I fume to myself as I move around the tables, catching as many orders as I can. That arrogant son of a biscuit!

Shane had me all fired up and ready to break the rules. He talked about Dominick, but I know that rule too.

The first day I worked here, before I’d even met Shane, Dominick had gone over his employee rules. Number one of which, and the one that seems the most pertinent right now, considering my wet panties, was no fraternizing between staff.

Considering what I now know about the way his eyes follow Allie’s every move, it seems a bit hypocritical. But he’s the boss, and if he wants to break his own rules, I guess he’s allowed. Although, maybe he really does just watch her from afar. Allie has never said otherwise.

At the time of my sit-down with Dominick, I’d just been concerned about getting the undercover job without his being suspicious, and the rule seemed reasonable. I totally understood, but now I’m frustrated. Shane has me so . . . darn it, all I can do is try and avoid him. But he’s a dang moving target all night, working the door, working the floor, and with those dark clothes of his, he’s like a ninja when he wants to be.

At one point, he settled into a position on the far wall, so I asked Sarah to switch sections with me, and she did, albeit with a questioning look.

I had a few moments of glee at getting away until Shane switched stations too, glaring at me as he took up his new perch. Ugh, fine. Play your games, but I’m not playing.

Even as I tell myself that, I know it’s not true. I’m pissed, I’m disappointed, but if he told me right now ‘one-time ride . . . get on’, I’d hop on his dick so fast he would see stars.

I sigh, shaking my head. Why do bad boys have to be so hot?

How is that even fair to us mere mortal girls? I mean, I know that I shouldn’t be looking at guys like Shane.

I should try to find a nice guy. One who’ll take care of himself and his family, who might not be perfect but will love me and any children we have. I need a guy who wants that too, a simple, happy life. That’s what good girls are supposed to do.

But with Shane, I feel such a connection. And I’m no fool. Chemistry like that is rare, and if once was all I got, I’d go for it and pay the emotional price later.

So I spend the night alternating between ignoring him and glaring daggers at him.

Marco doesn’t slow down, though. He’s got drinks to get ready and customers to serve. Still, he’s not heartless. “Hey, Meghan, here’s your pitcher for table forty-five, but what’s up with you tonight? You okay?”

I huff, trying to make my voice light and bubbly but failing miserably. Still, I gotta try. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

Marco laughs, shaking his head. Good bartenders are half-baked shrinks, and Marco’s no different. “Nice try, sweetheart. Last night hit you harder than you thought?”

“No, it’s not that,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t push the issue. What Shane and I did in the back was probably close enough to being over the line, and as pissed as I am at Shane and his sexy bad self, I don’t want him to get in trouble. “Just one of those nights, I guess.”

“I can dig that,” Marco says with a chuckle. “We all get them. By the way, I heard you put the smackdown on Mr. Creepazoid last night. That right?”

I grin a little, showing Marco my knuckles. “Yeah, I got one good punch in before Dominick sent me home.”

Marco takes my hand and looks it over, giving a small whistle. “Sweet. Glad that Shane and Dom took care of the rest though. You mad at that?”

He looks at me questioningly, and I know that he’s giving me an evaluating question, one that might have multiple layers to it. But regardless of the legality of the beating, my reply is quick and honest. “Oh, heck no, definitely not mad at that. I appreciate their having my back. Tonight’s just a weird night.”

Before I can stop it, I glance over my shoulder at Shane, who is watching my exchange with Marco with eagle eyes, even from across the room.

Marco follows my eyes and sees Shane looking our way. “Hmm, not really my business to get involved in. But Meghan?” He waits for me to look back at him before continuing, “Don’t go barking up that tree. He might’ve saved you a couple of times, but he’s no Prince Charming. And you know the rules.”

Marco’s eyes pointedly flick up to the camera at the corner of the bar. I understand. Dominick’s always watching. You just never know when. “Best to stay in your own lane, especially around here. I wouldn’t rat you to Dom, but I’m also not going to lie to the man if he asks.”

I sigh, nodding. “I would never ask you to. Not trying to court trouble. Just . . . a weird night.”

I know I’m repeating myself, but I don’t want to take the risk of exposing what happened backstage. At least I can be assured that Dom didn’t see that. He’s never put a camera back there to give the girls some privacy. Or that’s what we’ve been told. “Okay,” Marco says, giving me a shrug. “Just be careful.”

“I will, thanks. Thanks for listening,” I reply. “Anyway, back to work.”

I grab the pitcher Marco poured for me and deliver it to table of what looks like personal trainers, who seem to be out for more work talk than to watch the performances on stage. At least, while they remark on Tina’s dance on stage, they’re peppering their comments with remarks about her ‘intercostals’ and ‘core stability’ as much as her boobies.

After another hour, I’ve managed to push Shane from my mind, too busy slinging drinks to see if his eyes are still following my every move.

At least he’s not positioned in my section anymore, the security team’s rotation putting him on the other side of the room now. Thank goodness for small favors. Besides, I’m nearing the end of my shift, and I can’t wait to go home, slam a Nytol to put me out quick, and dream of a tomorrow without a certain bad boy both frustrating and arousing me.

I come back around, checking on one of my loner tables, a single guy. He’s my age, maybe, but his eyes look wiser than my twenty-five years and his suit easily costs more than my car. He has a worldliness to him, watching the performances almost as though they are artistic displays, not tawdry fantasies of the flesh.

As I come nearer, he raises a manicured hand. “Can I get another Macallan, miss? Actually, I’m headed back for a private dance with Allie. Can you bring the bottle back, Rare Cask Single Malt?”

I nod, surprised. Allie’s very particular about her private dances, and her rates are pretty exorbitant. “Of course, sir. I’ll keep your table reserved for after?”

He dips his head, rising to stride confidently to the back, and I head back to Marco to order the bottle service. With the bottle and a fresh glass on my tray, I head back to Allie’s usual private dance room, the one closest to Dominick. It’s the best room in the back too, mirrored and with a pole, but with a luxury feel to the supple leather seating and soft lighting.

I give one sharp rap as warning and then slowly and invisibly enter, pouring the scotch for the customer as Allie selects her music from the playlist in the corner. I give her a wink as I turn to leave, and she winks back. Considering that he just ordered a three-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch, it’s gonna rain in here.

As I head down the hallway, I see a large guy striding toward me. He’s wide, and the black of his jeans and T-shirt blend with the dimness of the hallway, although the moving laser lights bounce off him. He looks cold and calculating to a degree that seems to almost chill the very air around him. Our security guys are pretty badass themselves, but there’s something raw about this guy, a missing element to his soul.

He’s ugly as sin too, with a bald head that gleams lightly in the dim light and squinty eyes. His left ear’s all types of screwed up, what I think some people call cauliflowered, like an alley cat that’s had one too many scraps over the garbage cans.

I walk past him, hugging the wall and drawing myself in tight to seem as small and unimportant as possible, knowing that I’ll have to tell security to keep an eye on him. Even still, my back ripples in goosebumps as I slide by.

This guy zings my red flags as a definite potential problem. I’m almost to the corner when I hear a fast ra-tat-tat sound, but it’s barely audible over the loud bass-thumping music on the main floor. My brain takes a split second to register the sound as gunfire, but it’s not until I hear Allie scream that I turn and run toward her. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t be running toward gunfire, but all my brain is telling me is that my best friend may have just been shot, and I have to help her.

I see the guy in black running out the other end of the hallway as I stop in the doorway of Allie’s room. She’s crouched in the corner and covered in blood splatter but seems to be uninjured. She’s just frozen in shock, her eyes wide as she stares at what used to be a human being slumped on the couch.

My brain seems to shift, taking all of this in, not in panic, but in still-frame shots like my eyes have turned into a camera. I see the scotch-drinking suit guy, obviously dead since he’s got three bullet holes in his chest, slumped over on the couch, blood pooling brightly across his white shirt.

I see the other holes in the wall and can only assume that Allie’s alive because she was near the wall when the attack happened. Maybe she hadn’t fully gotten into her routine, or maybe she was getting ready to drop her bra. Whatever the case, there’s a bullet hole in the wall just about a foot from where she’s cowering, and it’s by luck or fate that she’s not wounded too.

“Allie—” I start before Dominick blasts through the door that leads to his office, charging down the hall like a raging bull.

“What happened?” he yells, his face taut. “Allie?”

Dominick pushes me out of the way, rushing in the room and gathering Allie in his arms, blood and all, as he checks her over. I somehow find my voice, pointing down the hall. “He went that way. Big guy, in all black, black and cold eyes. Had a screwed-up ear.”

As I speak, the security guys surround me, so fast and quiet I didn’t even realize. Nick turns, his voice hot with anger. “On it, Boss.”

He races down the hallway, following the direction I pointed. Shane grabs me, turning my face to his chest, where I burrow in without hesitation, needing something solid to hang on to because this is all too surreal. “I’ve got Meghan.”

Dominick never takes his eyes off Allie, but he talks over his shoulder to Logan, the last of the security guys. “Take care of that.”

Logan nods, moving closer to the suit, and Allie flinches. Dominick picks Allie up, heading toward his office, and Shane moves me quickly and steadily to the dressing room, dragging me to my locker and pulling out my backpack.

His voice is urgent but quiet in my ear. “What do you need outta your locker? Anything?”

He’s shoving my wallet, my phone, my makeup, and clothes into my backpack. “What? What do you mean?”

He glances back once but then returns his attention to my locker, giving it one last scan before closing the door. It’s nearly empty, except for maybe that chocolate chip muffin I brought in last week and had sort of forgotten until now.

He slides the backpack onto one shoulder before turning and looking into my eyes. “Meg, we have to go. You can’t have seen what you just saw. They won’t allow it. We gotta go. Now.”