Page 32 of Her Darkest Possession

"Mr. O'Shea will see you now," he gestures towards the door.

I press the rest of the roll of cash into his open hand. He immediately slips it into his pocket, gives me a curt nod, and opens the door to let us in.

I give him a curt nod back.

I am, after all, a man of my word.

Heavy bass poundsagainst my ears the moment we enter.

Even in the middle of the day, the strip club is filled with people, everything from businessmen "on lunch" to tourists nursingdrinks at the bar. Dancers move and grind on the platforms and poles, and the smell of body lotion and liquor is thick enough to cut with a knife.

My eyes cut straight through the dim lighting to the VIP section, where Killian O'Shea sits surrounded by his men. The Irish bastard is lounging like a king holding court, a whiskey in hand and a smile playing on his lips.

And then I see Amara.

Grisha Volkov has her on a fucking leash. An actual leather leash, like she's an animal. Her legs wobble on as she tries to balance on a pair of ten-inch stiletto heels that she's clearly unaccustomed to wearing. Instead of her usual reserved style, she's been forced into a set of neon-colored lingerie that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her face is plastered with so much makeup it's hard to recognize the bright-eyed girl who loves her sister so fiercely.

When she spots me, her eyes widen with recognition and silent pleading.

Save me!

I move toward the VIP section, my vision narrowing until all I see is Grisha's smug face and Amara's terrified eyes. Every instinct screams at me to pull out my gun and put a bullet between Grisha's eyes right now.

Two men step forward to block our path.

"Hold up," one says. "You're not getting close to the boss until we pat you down."

I clench my jaw but nod, raising my arms to the sides. The shorter one runs his hands over my body, finding my Glock andshoulder holster. He pulls it out, checking the chamber before pocketing it. The other finds my backup piece at my ankle and the knife in my pant leg.

They do the same to Roma and Vassily, and strip all three of us bare of our weapons.

"They're clean," the taller one announces and steps aside.

Killian watches me approach with cold curiosity, swirling amber liquid in his glass before taking another sip.

Amara shifts nervously as I get closer, the movement causing Grisha to tug on her leash. She stumbles, and I have to physically restrain myself from lunging at him.

I take my seat across from Killian and he leans forward, his weathered face creasing into a frown.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Baryshev?"

"I'm here for the girl."

Killian tilts his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "Which girl? In case you hadn't noticed, Baryshev, I've got plenty of girls." He gestures around the club with his whiskey glass. "That's kind of my business."

"This one." I point directly at Amara, who shifts uncomfortably under my gaze. "Hand her over, and we all walk out of here without this becoming something you'll regret."

Grisha interrupts with a harsh laugh that grates against my nerves. "The girl is a personal gift for Killian," he says, giving the leash another tug. Amara stumbles forward a step, her eyes flashing with humiliation. "It would be out of the question for him hand her over to you for nothing."

I can't help but notice how Killian's expression tightens at Grisha's interruption. There's something there. An irritation at not being the one doing the negotiating on his own territory.

Well isn't that fucking interesting?

"My terms are clear," I say directly to Killian, ignoring Grisha completely.

"And if I don't agree to them, Baryshev." Killian leans back, and takes another sip of his whiskey. "Then what?"

"I didn't come here to make threats against you, Killian." I lean forward, keeping my voice even. "I came as a businessman to negotiate for something I want."