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A djusting the catering vest I’d swiped from the supply cart, I balance a tray of champagne and try to pretend my entire life doesn’t depend on making it through the next door unnoticed.

Men in expensive tailored suits filling the air with thick cigar smoke crowd the cavernous antechamber. Dim sconces cast pools of amber light, their electric flames barely strong enough to reach the vaulted ceiling, giving the space an even more ominous feel. Heavy wooden doors, reinforced with iron, loom at the far end—just behind them is my prize.

The reason for this insane visit.

A single figure stands at the entrance, half-hidden in shadow, watching the room. He lifts his glass to his lips and a bit of light hits his knuckle where a heavy ring sits. My throat tightens when I recognize the shape. It’s a skull.

Gliding my gaze up from the glass, his gaze locks with mine. It’s only a moment. A fleeting second, but my breath catches. As quickly as he noticed me, his attention flickers away, his jaw tightening as though whatever he’s seeing is annoying him.

I slide behind three men huddled together, muttering to each other in a foreign language before he finds me again. Just as I turn to head back toward the front entrance of the room, a member of the waitstaff—an actual member, not someone posing like myself—breezes by with an ashtray.

I freeze and turn to the left. My heart is hammering so hard against my ribs, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to breathe comfortably again after tonight.

“Ah, I’ll take one of those.” A hand appears out of another huddled group and one of the three glasses on my tray disappears.

“Gentlemen. The auction is set to begin shortly. Please make your way down to the lounge and ready your wallets,” a deep voice carries over the room.

The heavy wooden doors creak as they open, and the men in the room file out, headed toward whatever debauchery this place offers.

Once the room is cleared, I leave my tray on a table and slip through the doors. My nerves settle a fraction now that I’m inside. The information I’d been given could have been complete bullshit. This whole thing could be a setup.

Taking a calming breath and reminding myself of how much I need to get through this, I put my focus on the task at hand.

Like the antechamber, the corridor before me is dimly lit with electric sconces on the thick brick walls. My rubber-soled flats make no sound against the cement flooring as I make my way toward what I hope is the office I’m looking for at the end of the hall.

A light flickers at the end and voices echo against the stone. Flattening myself against the chilled brick, I freeze. There’s nowhere to hide in this corridor.

Dammit. Shoes click, and the voices get a little louder. If I hurry, I might be able to get back into the antechamber before I’m seen. Fear paralyzes me, and I stay flattened against the brick when someone laughs.

“We’re going to be late, and the girl I want is up soon.” Another laugh fades as the footsteps move away from my spot.

They’re headed somewhere else. My lungs start working again.

His words give me pause. The girl he wants is up soon? What does that mean exactly? I glance around my surroundings, knowing I’m in unauthorized territory belonging to the Volkov family. This hallway should lead me to their offices, but there’s something more sinister about this place than just offices.

And what did that man mean by what he said?

Don’t get caught up in the details. Get what you came for and get the hell out.

I need to hurry. The sooner I get this done, the faster I can finally sleep through the night without a panic attack.

I would give almost anything for things to go back to how they were months ago. When I could curl up on the couch with my best friend for a night of bad movies, cheap wine, and takeout instead of lurking around secret mafia clubs, trying to save our lives.

Rushing to the end of the corridor, I find a foyer of sorts that splits off into two more hallways, all lit with the dim light of the sconces, no real markings as to what lies in either direction.

I grit my teeth.

What if my intel is wrong? What if I’m running right into a trap that’s going to make my life even more messed up than it was when I woke up this morning.

Panic kicks my heartbeat into a gallop.

Calm down.

Taking several more calming breaths, I try to remember what the strange man on the phone said. The hall to the… left? Right? Dammit!

Ugh! The right. He said right. Completely unsure of my decision, I turn down the hallway to my right.

The doorknob of the first door I come to is unlocked, so I softly push the arched wooden door until I can slip inside and shut it. It’s dark, but I find the switch for the lights easily on the wall.

Whoa.

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful before. The chandelier dangling in the center of the room is wrought iron with twelve electric candles planted around the circumference. It’s suspended by a thick black link chain. The room is much the same sophisticated, elegant style. Thick dark wood shelves are lined with aged leather books.

A desk with rolled edges and thick legs that look painstakingly elegant with carvings to make them look like pillars sits in the middle of the room. Nothing other than a leather desk blotter, the top of the desk is clear.

As beautiful as the room is, I don’t see any file cabinets. What I’m looking for would be in a file folder.

I think.

My neck becomes slick with sweat as I try to remember every detail I was given. This is the room. At least it matches the description right down to the brown leather couches in the corner of the room.

Books. He said something about what I needed to find would be behind books. Or in a book? It would have been great if I’d been able to keep the notes I scribbled down, but the voice had been adamant not to bring anything that would make it harder to explain if I was caught.

Because if I’m caught, I’m on my own. There’s no one to throw under the bus who can help me. Revealing anything would trigger unsurmountable danger.

Checking out the bookcase, I realize there’s something odd about the books lined up. Other than there’s a worrisome number of books on war, they are all perfectly in line. Not a single book is any larger than the one beside it, but they aren’t a collection that would explain the uniformity.

My hand trembles when I reach up to run my fingers over the bindings of the books. One book has a different feel to the leather. It’s softer. More supple.

It moves easily when I wiggle it from its place. There’s a metallic snap from behind the book and then it’s stuck. It won’t come any farther out. The other books, all fold down still in a perfect line.

They aren’t books at all. It’s a panel disguising a cabinet behind it. My chest can barely contain my heart, it’s pounding so hard.

This has to be it.

There doesn’t seem to be any locks or combinations on the cabinet door. It opens right away when I pull the black metal handle.

Clear plastic containers are lined up, double stacked. Each labeled with a name. My eyes flick from one to the next, looking for the name I need. Luckily, they’re in alphabetical order.

At least the criminals are organized.

Most of these names are easily recognizable. Jasper Cunnings, I saw his name flash across the news headlines as I was scrolling my phone yesterday. He’s some politician. Most of these little boxes have political figures’ names on them.

Finally, my eyes land on the one I’m looking for.

Dexter Thompson.

I grab hold of the box and pry open the lid. Inside are photographs, a flash drive, and a set of small keys that look like they’re for a safe deposit box.

Curious, I pick up one of the photographs and turn it over. Dexter Thompson, I assume—I’ve never seen him before—sits with his legs spread in a chair. He’s naked. And so is the woman kneeling between his knees. She’s bound, with her hands behind her back and her ankles zip-tied together.

Tears stain her cheeks as she looks up at him. Her mascara’s run with her tears.

There’s a wedding band on Dexter’s finger, but I’m assuming this isn’t his wife in the photograph.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” a voice booms behind me.

Shit!

In my surprise, I spin around. The box slips from my hand in my hurry and hits the ground, spilling the contents everywhere.

“I… uh…” I look down at the box. “It was an accident. I was…Um, I wasn’t…”

The man, dressed in a black suit with a narrow black tie over his white button-down shirt and an earpiece tucked into his left ear, stomps over to me.

We both reach for the box at the same time, but he snaps it up before me. The drive is by my foot. I cover it with the toe of my shoe and drag it closer to me. When he turns to the bookcase to grab the lid for the box, I quickly snatch up the drive and shove it into my bra.

He pushes the lid back on the box, not noticing my movements.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“I’m sorry. I think I’m in the wrong spot. I should go.” I point toward the door and move in that direction, but he cuts me off and traps me at the bookcase again.

“I don’t think so. What are you doing here?” he questions.

“I’m… I was just lost, and the door was open.” I should have thought of a good cover story in case this situation occurred.

“This part of the building is off-limits to the auction girls. You’re supposed to be downstairs already. How did you get back here?” He continues with his questions.

“Auction girls?” I glance down at my attire. Black slacks and a long-sleeved black blouse don’t exactly scream sexy, but the way he’s talking, that’s what he’s looking for.

He looks at the box in his hands, turning it one way, then the other. Probably to see if I’ve broken it when I dropped it.

“Look. I was just looking around. No big deal. Just let me go.” I make like I’m going to move past him. He blocks me again.

“You’ll need to wait here.”

“Wait? For what?” I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait. I want to get out of here. Too much is at risk if I stay here.

“Me. You’re waiting for me.” a dark voice thunders from the doorway.