I draw in one last frustrated breath, struggling with my necklace clasp again. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but right now, I’m not so sure about how I feel about the chains that bind us to our shiny, designer BFFs.

“Priceless,” I mutter sarcastically, throwing the chain down on my vanity and replacing it with a simpler white gold necklace with a diamond infinity loop pendant—and a much easier clasp.

At this rate, I’ll show up to the gala with one earring, one shoe, a disheveled up-do and cramped fingers, and I’ll still be late. I’m about ready to throw my hands up in supplication to the social gods when a loud, abrupt bang against my vanity wall interrupts my prayers. The necklace slips between my fingers and slithers to the floor from my surprised backward motion. Then my fingers hit a glass bottle of perfume. It tips over, leaking floral fumes all over my counter, but I freeze, eyes wide.

Another loud thump.

This time with a muttered swear and two angry voices talking over each other.

What in God’s name is going on next door?

More banging.

A harsh order.

The sound of something shattering.

With the sharp tang of the fragrance stifling my nose, I jerk back into action, leaning forward to grasp the bottle and stand it up again. My stomach twists in knots and my shaky hand fumbles and the bottle falls again. The sweet pool of slowly evaporating liquid is growing larger by the second. Soon it’ll be cascading over my sterling silver tray and onto the carpet. It’s the distracting thought that tingles across my scalp to help me avoid the fearful question of what’s going on in a room nearby. That distraction doesn’t really work, though. All it does is make a bigger mess of the spill. Panic causes the back of my mouth to taste sour now, and I struggle not to break out in nervous hives. I absently grab the towel that I just used after my shower, now on the floor from my shock, and swab up the perfumed mess.

Each second my fingers plunge into the damp towel, I hear a little more of the ruckus going on next door. I press my ear up against the wall, one hand balancing in the sweet-smelling mess.

“I had it on good authority I wouldn’t be dealing with anything fucked up and underhanded tonight. I must have been wrong—”

“Funny, I don’t remember anyone making that promise. The thing I do remember—”

“Watch yourself, fucker.”

“I’m working to make things crystal clear, and this is the best way I know how…”

There’s an extended block of muffled conversation, then I press my ear so hard against the wall I think my eardrum can pop from the suction. It works. I can hear almost every word.

“I merely need assurances that you will deliver.”

“I just gave you the location of the goods.”

“I need to see them…the same way you saw the cash in that briefcase. It’s insurance, so you don’t make off with my money. Surely you agree that’s reasonable?”

“Depends on how you define reasonable,” the other man choked out. “Can I have some breathing room before your goon goes down and never fucking wakes up again?”

I hear a sharp snap, and I flinch back from the wall. I don’t dare take a breath.

“Let me call my boys. I’ll have them swing by to check—”

My brow pinches as the voices fade too much to hear again. They probably moved from one room to the other. It’s maddening, only getting half of the conversation, but I mentally kick myself for making it my business in the first place. Whatever it is going down next door, I need to ignore it. This is the type of thing my law firm associates would advise clients to stay away from. It’s best not to be a witness. What matters to me tonight is getting myself ready for the gala and out the door.

But as usual, I’m curious, and remain glued to the spot on the wall. Something’s going on over there. There’s a chance I might hear something that comes in handy. It’s an opportunity I can’t ignore. Releasing the towel, I press my ear to the pale lavender wall of my bedroom again.

Nothing.

It goes quiet on the other side of that damn wall.

Goosebumps prickle all across my exposed arms and legs, and I realize I’m breathing deafening gasps in and out of my mouth. With a wince, I clap a hand over my red lipstick covered lips.

They start up again, to which I breathe a small sigh of relief.

“There. Look at the tiny screen. See the tiny people? Those are my guys at the warehouse. See the street sign? We weren’t lying about the location.”

“What the fuck—”

“You know, this really isn’t a great way to start off a new partnership.”

“Really? I see it as illuminating.”

There’s some more muttering I can’t make out.

“Satisfied?”

“If you want to call it that, we can. But you’ll be hearing from me if the weapons aren’t as exactly as you promised.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Another beat of silence.

The man has balls. He’s not intimidated at all. Then I hear someone open a door. I jump away from the wall and return to what I was doing before the bits and pieces of conversation made its way to me. Of course, now I can’t get it out of my head.

Money. Weapons. Warehouse.

I take a seat on the padded stool in front of my vanity. A weapons deal is going down on the other side of that wall. If I’ve learned anything from my family, I need to forget what I just heard. If I stay off their radar, I’ll be fine. I’m definitely not getting involved in this mess. There’s nothing to do, not even to reach out to my father. With a decided nod, I pick up the towel and throw it in the laundry hamper. Snatching up my other shoe, I slip my foot in, and find my clutch purse. I have other priorities and commitments to worry about. I pick up the fallen necklace, slide it into my clutch, and grab my wrap off the back of the chair.

The conversation is still on instant replay in the back of my mind, but I’m determined to act like it never happened. Deniability is the best policy when so much is already at stake. I’ve been dragged down by too much in my life. I won’t flick the next domino of another unwanted chain of events and screw up my life that much more. After I grab my car keys and shut the front door, I keep my eyes on the carpet as I lock up. It takes effort not to look around, almost as much as it takes to walk down the hallway and act normal while also maintaining a speed to get me the hell out of there.

Halfway down the corridor, my left heel catches on the carpet. I avoid a full stumble by bracing myself against the wallpapered wall. But my keys slip from my nervous fingers, hitting the plush floor with a reasonably quiet jangle. I scoop them up just seconds before a door creaks open in the hallway behind me. I don’t dare look back because I’m already in too deep with the man next door. Getting mixed up in any more of whatever shady dealings are going on, well it’s not a good idea.

“Shit.” I feel a random itch running down my leg from a spot at the back of my left hip. Instinctively, I start reaching down toward my backside without looking, then I think better of scratching it. My pantyhose must have just ripped, but I don’t have time to go back and change it. Especially with whatever’s going on back there.

After walking for what feels like an hour, I arrive at the elevator and repeatedly press the call button, my heart racing as I wait. Jesus, are those men coming closer? Fear and paranoia start to paralyze me. I don’t want to be trapped on an elevator with anyone, so I whirl around to take the stairs instead. Except, I end up colliding into a solid, broad, well-developed, muscular chest.

My pink manicured fingers spread across the dizzying expanse of the man’s black t-shirt and leather vest.

“Oh, Christ! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” I sputter, backing away.

He catches my arm and steadies me, and the world starts to swirl. Bright sparks of light flash ahead of my eyes. “It’s okay. Take it easy.”

His fingers burned into my forearm where he was holding me with a solid grip, but not too tightly, because I feel like my body swaying a few inches in one direction, then again in the other direction. I look up at the man, way up, past the expanse of black muscle shirt, and crane my neck to take in gorgeous cerulean blue eyes, a slight cupid-bow mouth, and thick eyebrows, which at the moment nearly reaches up to the hairline of his full head of black smoothed-back hair.

“Uh,” I utter under my breath, holding back all the different sounds I really want to make after seeing this sexy God of a man.

“Are you okay, miss?”

His concern seems genuine. I struggle to shake off whatever dizziness is clouding my vision from looking up too fast into the stunningly handsome stranger’s face.

Wait. Is he really that tall? So tall that I’m getting dizzy looking up at his face?

Or am I just plain dizzy?

My wobbly gaze trips back over him.

“Do you need a doctor, honey?”

I grit my teeth against the question. Maybe I don’t like the term ‘honey’ either. I summon the strength to pull away, ignoring every molecule in my body that’s itching to keep holding onto his chest. With a few shaky steps backward, I’m pressed up against the wall beside the elevator.

“I’m fine, thanks. Really,” I insist, and the elevator dings, thank God.

“Okay. If you say so.” The gorgeous man smirks and motions for me to step in the elevator. “After you.”

Suddenly the large elevator is a whole lot smaller with the two of us in it. The doors slide shut, and I think I manage to hit the button for the residents’ underground parking level, grasping the gold bar that circles all along the car at about waist height. What the hell is going on with my balance? It feels like I’m underwater. The world around me is ducking and weaving, bright colors shimmering and then becoming so clear it hurt my head.

“What floor?” he asks.

“Sorry?”

“Where are you headed tonight?”

“Huh?” I blink, making an effort to understand and process his words. “Oh, uh…”

Even with a bad case of dizziness, I hesitate. He shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other beside me, so close that his leather cut brushes my bare arm. Something about the leather he’s wearing sparks a memory, but it’s too far away for me to grasp.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

My eyes can’t focus long enough to look up at his face. God, I can hardly move my head as he turns toward me and places a hand on the small of my back.

“I’m…fine.”

“You don’t look it.”

There’s a reason he shouldn’t be touching me, some obscure fact that’s more than being a stranger. Alarm bells go off in my head. I glance down at the swimming carpet and behind me, vaguely noticing that there’s a goddamned dart sticking out from my hip.

Holy shit.

Did this guy just dart me?

“Please,” I whisper, unable fully form more words as my mouth goes dry. “I’m okay. Just leave me alone.”

The world around me is more and more hazy, merging together as I try not to buckle beneath this man’s steady, firm grip that helps to hold me upright. His touch feels equal parts hot and cold, and I can’t catch my breath because of it. Does he have something to do with me being attacked and darted? A jagged stab of fear makes my gut cramp. I push him away, but touching him is like trying to push through a solid wall, and he only holds on harder, speaking in low tones that warp in my ears.

Then I notice the skull-shaped insignia on one side his vest, and a ‘President’ patch stitched on the other.

Shit.

The head honcho of the Satan’s Saints Motorcycle Club, one of the most dangerous MCs around, has just wrapped me up in his arms.

“Lady?” his voice echoes, and his warm breath caresses the shell of my ear.

That’s the last thing I register in my haze.