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I ce dances up my spine before I set eyes on him, and once I do, my insides freeze completely over.

Alexander Volkov stands in the doorway. His dark-brown eyes fix on me, pinning me to the floor with his cold glare. The same look he had in in the antechamber, only darker now that it’s settled completely on me.

I swallow back the little cry trying to escape and roll my shoulders back.

Alexander Volkov owns Obsidian, a not-so-secret secret club that caters to pretty much anything and everyone who lives outside the lines of the law. He and his brothers also own a small handful of other clubs in the city. Those are the legal businesses that give him creditability with high society.

He and his family show up at high-profile events, making their way into the society papers. His picture has made its way into the newsreels more than once over speculations of his unsavory business dealings.

He has the sort of face that makes you stop scrolling when you see it. Strong jaw, neatly trimmed beard, but it’s the eyes. The deep-set dark gaze that traps you even through a photograph.

But now his cold eyes are focused on me—in person—and my nerves are back on edge.

Okay. I can get out of this.

So what that no one knows I’m here.

I haven’t told anyone what I’m up to.

And the one person who would notice right away that I’ve gone missing is already missing in action.

That’s okay. I can still figure this out. I just need a second.

I’m sure I’ll be able to just walk right out of this place without any further issues. I just need to explain why I’m here.

“I’m sorry.” My voice holds firm. Good. Good start, Megan. “I was looking for the bathroom…” I try to throw on a flirtatious smile, but his eyebrow peaking into a sharp arch over his left eye suggests I missed the mark.

“She had this.” My captor hands the box with the name Dexter Thompson etched into the side over to Alexander.

He looks at the name, runs his thick fingers over it, then brings his eyes up to me again. His jaw tightens.

“Go.” He jerks his head to the door and the man who found me hurries from the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Look, I know?—”

“Who are you?” he cuts me off.

“Me? I’m no one.” Again, I try to laugh off the danger I’m in. “Just lost is all. If you’ll just point me in the direction to the exit, I’ll be on my way.”

His stoic expression gives me pause. Do I just walk out of here, or should I wait for him to say something?

I decide to start moving toward the door. He doesn’t stop me, so I take it as a good sign, hurrying my steps to the exit.

“Your name,” he orders when I get one step from the door. “You’re wearing one of our uniforms, but there’s no name tag. What’s your name?”

My hand is on the handle. A name tag. Damn. I’ve made a complete mess of this whole thing.

“It doesn’t matter. But thanks for… well, thanks.” I push the wrought iron rolled handle down, expecting the door to open for me. It doesn’t.

“It’s locked,” he says casually from behind me. My heart leaps into a run and I pull again and again, each time pushing the handle down harder and yanking harder.

His sigh could part the sea.

I give up and flip around, pushing my back against the thick wooden door. I’m trapped in this room. In this secret room in the secret part of this secret building with a man who has no reputation for mercy or kindness.

His eyebrows lift. “Your name.”

I swallow hard around the bundle of nerves taking my voice box hostage.

“Megan,” I finally push out.

“Megan what?” he presses.

“Why do you need my full name?” I question, my throat constricting around my words as they work their way out.

His stare makes my skin heat, and it’s getting worse the longer he keeps it on me. I have a sense that he’s not going to explain himself. He’s going to just outwait me.

“Reed. Megan Reed.” No sense in lying at this point. I’m stuck here and I’m sure there’s a whole room in this place dedicated to getting people to spill their secrets.

The Volkov family isn’t exactly in the business of showing mercy to its enemies. He may look all businesslike walking around in that insanely expensive-looking suit and posing for the cameras at influential events, but it’s not a huge secret what the Volkov family really is.

Mafia.

“What are you doing here in my office, Megan Reed?” He flips the lid on the box in his hands. “What would you want with this?”

I really should have had a more thorough plan before I decided to put my life on the line for this little adventure.

“With the box?” Stalling might get me a few more moments, but eventually I have to answer. The truth is out. No way I’m giving him that. Not if I want this little adventure to be a success.

And I want—no, desperately need—this to go my way.

“Yes, Megan Reed. What do you want with this box? Why are you in this office?”

“Like I said, I got lost. I was just looking for another bathroom.” It could happen, I suppose.

It’s plausible.

“You got lost?”

“Yes.” I nod to emphasize my answer. “I was just looking for the women’s room. That’s… that’s all.” I swallow, saying a silent prayer that he’ll believe me.

“The bathroom.” He shakes his head. “You should try telling the truth, Megan Reed. The waitstaff used on the upper floor of the club aren’t allowed past the antechamber. You’re not wearing a name tag or the right uniform that would suggest you’re working on the lower level tonight. And there are at least three restrooms available to staff before entering this part of the building. So, Megan Reed. I’ll give you another shot. Why are you in my office?”

My brain races. I’m never good when put on the spot like this. Even when I had the answer, if a teacher called on me in class, I would freeze. I’m not one for the spotlight.

“It’s uh… just a prank.” I wince internally. Who would be stupid enough to pull a prank on this place? The Volkov family may host charity events and pretend to be just any other elitist family, but there’s enough rumors about what happens to people who go against them for me to understand being here is dangerous.

And yet I’m here.

“A prank?” He snaps the lid shut.

“Yes.” I shove off the door. “Hazing.”

Okay, yeah, this could work. The school year just started.

“For Greek Week.” Is that what they call it? The junior college I went to didn’t exactly have sororities.

“Hazing for what?” He continues his questions. I can’t tell if he believes me or not. His thoughts are well guarded behind his cold exterior. Even his jaw has sharp edges.

“Uh… Delta… Omega… Phi?” I clear my throat, hoping to hide the little question at the end of the name. It sounds legit, but I have no idea if the university actually has such a sorority.

“Delta Omega Phi.” He arches a brow. “And what did they want you to do? Steal this box? Why this one?” He twists slightly and drops the box on the desk behind him.

“Look.” I try to loosen my stance. “I have no idea. This is a prank that’s gone terribly wrong. So, if you’ll just let me go, I’ll get back.”

“Who runs the Delta Omega Phi?” he asks casually.

I laugh. It’s forced and fake and even I know I’m blowing this, but still, I forge on.

“I can’t tell you that. It’s part of the whole hazing thing.” I’m horrible at this. I never should have thought I’d get away with it.

I should have stuck with the bathroom story.

“How did you know where this room was? How did you get into this part of the building?” His questions shoot off in rapid fire with each step he takes toward me.

“Um, I don’t know.” I lower my chin, trying to glare at him. “They just told me.”

“Who is they?” He’s in front of me now. The tips of his polished, too expensive shoes nearly touching me.

“I can’t say.” I have to lean my head back to look at him.

“Won’t say, because you can.” He pauses only a beat.

“What?” I flick my gaze to the windows.

Maybe I can get one open and get outside before he grabs me. But even if I do, can I get across the vast lawn and out the front gate before his men tackle me to the ground? Or worse, put a bullet in me. Mira might find out I was dead and come running back straight into the hands of a bigger monster.

No. I have to get out of here free and clear.

His eyes harden when I keep silent. In half a breath, he’s on me, one heavy hand around my throat.

“When I ask you something, it’s best to answer the first time.” His fingers tighten around my throat while he surveys my face. Using both hands, I yank on his wrists, but he’s not budging.

“Let me go,” I say, still trying to get out of his grasp.

“Megan.” He says my name softly, like he’s playing with it.

“Yeah. I already said that.” I slap his wrists. “Let go.”

He presses his body against mine. Hard and unyielding, the man is made of the same stone the rest of the place is.

His eyes wander over my hair. With his free hand, he picks up a lock of it and rubs it between his fingers.

“I’ve seen highlights before, but this is… pure white.” He tilts his head to look at the rest of my hair, at the other streaks of white.

It’s not a dye job, but I’m more concerned with getting his hand off my throat than explaining it to him.

“Let go,” I urge again.

He drops my hair and brings his dark eyes back to mine.

“How did you get this uniform?” He flicks the lapel of the black vest.

“From the storage room. I came in with the other staff.”

His eyes narrow. “Identification is checked at the staff entrance.”

I nod. “Yeah, there was a guy there, but he got a phone call and just waved us in.” I had thanked the stars and the moon for that bit of luck, but it seems my luck has run out.

He drops his hand from my throat and pulls a phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. With his eyes locked on me, he presses the phone to his ear.

“Send Igor to me,” he orders, then hangs up.

“This was obviously a huge mistake and I’m sorry if I messed up your night. It sounds like you have a lot going on. You can just let me go.” I grab the handle and shove it downward, but it’s still locked.

He moves to the desk and leans back against it, folding his arms over his chest. Moments tick by, and I continue to rack my brain for a way out of this room and this building. The entire time he watches me, as though he’s trying to figure me out.

Well, good luck to him, because I haven’t recognized myself in months.

There’s a knock on the door behind me, breaking the silence of the room. Alexander steps up to me, waiting for me to stand aside before reaching for the door. He slides the plate of the handle to the left before turning it downward. It opens up.

“Come inside.” He pulls the door open enough for Igor to step in and shuts it before I can move a single muscle toward it.

“You needed something?” Igor’s a rough-looking man.

A jagged scar runs across his neck, like someone tried slitting his throat once. His hair is shaved short, showing two more scars on his scalp.

“You were in charge of security at the employee entrance tonight,” Alexander states as a matter of fact.

Igor glances my way, his jaw tightening. Word must have spread already about my appearance in the office.

“I was.” He rolls his shoulders back, bracing himself.

“You checked every badge?” Alexander’s face is emotionless.

Igor’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “I got a call. I missed a few.”

The conversation switches to Russian. Alexander’s tone never wavers. Igor’s jaw tightens even more and by the end of the conversation, he gives a hard nod and agrees to whatever Alexander is saying.

“Make your offer,” Alexander states.

Igor lifts his left arm, offering his hand to Alexander. My mouth dries when I realize his pinky finger is missing the tip. What the hell is happening here?

“What are you doing?” I try to get my feet to move, but I’m glued to the floor by my own fear.

Alexander ignores my question as he grasps Igor’s hand, bending it at the wrist until his fingers are all pointed upward. Holding the hand with one hand, he grasps Igor’s pinky just above the second knuckle with his other. Muttering something in Russian, Alexander twists the finger while shoving it backward away from the joint at the same time.

A snap crackles the air just before Igor lets out a tortured groan. His finger is bent in the wrong direction at the second knuckle.

My stomach rolls.

Alexander snaps an order, and Igor covers his broken finger with his other hand and nods. Without another word, he opens the door and exits, his face pale as he cradles his broken finger against his chest.

“Why did you do that?” I shout. “You didn’t have to do that!”

Alexander shuts the door, sliding the lock back in place before standing toe to toe with me again.

“You are going to tell me exactly why you came to this room and you’re going to do it now.”

My skin electrifies with him so close. It intensifies tenfold when he wraps his huge hand around my throat again.

“And if I don’t? Are you going to break my finger too?” With one squeeze, he can snuff me out.

But if I tell him what he wants to know, I might not be able to pull this off again, and I still need to get to the rest of the things in that box.

He lowers his mouth to my ear, nipping my earlobe.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll rip off those pants, bend you over that desk, and make you wish you had.”