It wasn’t Mir who greeted the shifters tonight, or Barton, but a tall, sandy-haired man with an undershot jaw. He was dressed in a grey suit, and his eyes had what Phair would have described as a dead turtle quality. The look wasn’t uncommon in cold-blooded killers or general run-of-the-mill psychopaths. Clearly this fellow was some kind of hired gun for the boss-man.

“Mr. Barton asked that I escort you two to the Blue Room, but first, may I interest you in a drink?” he said, eyeing one shifter then the other with a look that screamed suspicion.

“No, we’re fine, thanks,” said Cad, shooting him a smile. “I’m sorry. Your name is…?”

“Ivan,” replied the man. The word came out slow and deep. Eee-vaaaughn. It suited him. Though, to be fair, Crazy Face would have suited him just as well. “I’ll guide you, then,” he added, turning on his heel to lead them towards the corridor at the other end of the club’s main chamber.

Within a minute, the men found themselves in the Blue Room. “Miranda will be with you presently,” Ivan said. “I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”

His words were friendly enough, but his tone was laced with venom. He may as well have told Cad and Phair that he wanted to chop them into bite-sized cubes and feed them to his hounds.

“Great, thanks,” said Phair as Barton’s employee sealed the door shut behind him. “I guess.”

“Charming fellow,” Cad laughed. “Reminds me of my grandmother. She was a real sledgehammer.”

“That’s funny,” said Phair, “because he reminds me of a shite I used to know who liked torturing kittens.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely got an aura of kitten-harmer about him.”

Phair wandered about the room, eyeing the strange accoutrements. He drew his fingers up to a pair of handcuffs before spinning around to grab Cad’s attention.

“Listen,” he said, “I think I have an idea of how we can deal with Mir tonight.”

“You’re not going to cuff her, surely?” Cad replied, chuckling. “That seems unlike you.”

Phair realized he still had his fingers wrapped around the damned shackles. “Fuck, no,” he said, releasing them from his grip.

“What? Well, what is it? Tell me.”

Phair was about to open his mouth when footsteps sounded in the hallway outside. “No time right now. Just—follow my lead. Whatever happens, go along with it. I’m going to put a theory to the test.”

“Theory? What theor—” Cad began, but he was interrupted when the door popped open and Mir walked in.

“Good evening,” she said, smiling at the two men. It was a practiced grin, one that she no doubt issued to every man she was forced to entertain. Mir looked nervous, not to mention reluctant to find herself once again in the same room with the shifters.

If Phair could have been granted anything in that moment, he would have asked for a genuine smile from her. One that revealed even the tiniest hint of happiness inside the woman who excited him so much.

Instead, he sensed nothing but sadness and stress.

“Evening,” he replied.

Mir slipped towards the centre of the room, but didn’t move to take off her dress, a short cowl-necked red number that showed off her long legs. On her feet she wore a pair of black stiletto heels that irritated Phair beyond words. As much as they succeeded in making her legs look eighteen feet long, they also looked like twisted torture devices. Forced on her by Barton, no doubt.

“I’m not quite sure where I’m supposed to be,” she said, turning to face them. “I don’t suppose you two are interested in my naked body?”

“That’s a rather loaded question,” said Phair. “I think you know perfectly well that we’re both very interested in your naked body.”

Mir smiled, and the scent of arousal flitted immediately through the air. The Béorn shifter’s cock twitched in his black trousers, their constricting material annoying him even more than usual. Why the hell couldn’t tuxedos be made of stretchy cotton, for shite’s sake?

“Tell me what you’d like,” Mir replied. Her tone was a little too seductive. No doubt she was trying to distract the men from the real reason they’d come. That was her game, no doubt—keep them entertained, but don’t let them get too close. Don’t let them in.

Phair shot a quick glance towards Cad, who was waiting silently to see what would happen next.

“Take off your shoes,” the Béorn shifter commanded, turning back to Mir.

Obediently, she slipped over to the bed and sat on its edge. She reached down and unbuckled one shoe slowly, which gave Phair all too stimulating a view down the top of her dress. Oh, man. Just like last night, she wasn’t wearing a bra. He could see the fullness of her breasts, her succulent, biteable curves on full display.

Cad seated himself silently on the other side of the room. Good. Don’t screw this up for me, thought Phair. For us.

When Mir had removed both shoes, she pulled her head up, eyeing each man seductively before drawing herself backwards onto the bed. She crossed her ankles and her arms, leaning against the pillows on the right side of the headboard. “So, what can I do for you gentlemen?” she asked.

Okay, so she was going to play it cold and make things difficult again. No doubt she was expecting an interrogation session.

Well, she was going to get it.

Phair walked over to the bed and stood hulking over her, suddenly very, very aware of his size. He hoped she didn’t feel threatened, though making her just a little uncomfortable might be useful.

“You know what we want,” he said. “It’s the same thing we wanted last night.”

“I don’t know why you asked for me again, then,” she replied, a hard edge in her voice. “I already told you I can’t give you anything.”

Phair looked over at Cad, drawing his curious gaze, then back at Mir. “Maybe there’s something we can give you, then.”

“Oh? I’m listening.”

“We have some information—there’s, well, there’s something you should know about your boss,” he said. “We have reason to believe that Barton has been abducting young women and forcing them into a life of servitude.”

With that, Mir turned ghostly pale. Now they were getting somewhere. “Why…why would you think that?” she asked in a choked tone.

So, he’d hit the truth on the first try, and she’d given herself away immediately. Of course, it wasn’t surprising. Anyone could see that she knew how awful her boss was. Hell, she was probably one of his victims.

Now he just had to get her to admit it.

He spoke quietly. “A young woman—a friend’s daughter—she disappeared recently. We heard through the grapevine that Barton’s people might have taken her. That they’ve been taking women for a long time, keeping them here.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Mir said, gathering herself, her voice gaining a little confidence. She thrust her chin upwards, a stubborn act that only served to make her all the more appealing. She was trying so hard to be strong, to be brave.

“So,” said Phair, “you’re telling us you can walk out of this place anytime. That you’re not a prisoner of Barton’s.”

“Of course I can walk out. I told you last night, it’s not as though he owns me.”

Phair stood up, strode over to the door and flung it open. “Then go,” he said. “Leave. You asked what we wanted? I’d love a box of chocolates. Do me a favour. Pop out to the nearest shop and buy one for me.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, extracted a ten-pound note and held it up. “Well?” he said when she cowered on the bed, unwilling—or unable—to move.

When he smelled her fear on the air he knew he was headed in the right direction, though he felt like a right arse for doing this to her.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, a low growl rattling up in his throat. “I thought you weren’t a prisoner.”

She was all but frozen now, her lower lip trembling.

“Shut the door,” she said quietly. “Please. You have to shut it.”

“I’ll tell you what—I’ll shut it when you promise to talk,” Phair replied. “Otherwise I’ll have to call your boss and get him to clear this whole thing up for us.”

It killed him to hurt her like this. To draw out her fear, her torment, her vulnerability. But it was the only way that he could help her.

“I can’t talk,” she said. “Don’t you see?”

“Very well, then.” He stepped into the hall and opened his mouth to shout. He could only hope she didn’t know he was bluffing.

“Wait!” she yelled, leaping off the bed. She raced over and took his hand. He let her yank him back inside the room before slamming the door shut. She let go of him, pressed her hands to his chest, and stared up into his eyes, a pleading look on her face. “Please,” she said. “Please don’t get me into trouble. You don’t know what he’ll do…” A tear streamed down each cheek. Tears that crushed the shifter, who wanted nothing more than to wipe them away. To kiss her, to tell her everything would be fine. That he and Cad would never let anyone hurt her again.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Gently, he put his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell us. What hold does that bastard really have over you?”

Mir collapsed against him, her body drooping limp towards the floor. If he hadn’t grabbed hold of her, she would have crashed down in a heap, but instead he wrapped his arms around her and let his body fall with hers, shielding her from pain. He held onto her, protective, strong, possessive.

“Tell us the truth,” he said quietly. “Mir, you don’t understand how much we want to help you, how much it pains us to see that you’re hiding the only truth that could save you.”

“I understand,” she said, her voice quivering. “Perfectly. What you don’t understand is how many people I’ll hurt if I let you in.”