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I feast my gaze on her, but I don’t move closer. Not yet. “Did Bryan tell you why you’re here?” When she shakes her head, I can’t stop the yell of rage that tears from my throat, even as it makes her jump out of her seat. That man will be lucky to make it out of here alive tonight. Very lucky. “Where is he?” she asks, slowly backing away from the chair. Her voice is soft with unease, as though she’s worried her question might provoke more anger from me. “He just told me to wait here.” I close the door, the sound echoing through my office, and stalk towards her. Every step I advance, she backs up two. She wanted my full attention at the club, and now she has it, but there are no bouncers here, no throng of people between us this time. The bookcase stops her retreat, her eyes darting to the side as if looking for an escape. I’m drawn to her, unable to stop until I’ve barricaded her against the shelves, the wood creaking under my grip. I can’t help running my nose over her soft cheeks, inhaling her. She tries to squirm away, and I grab her jaw, my large, strong fingers pressing harshly into her cheeks and throat, making her cry out. She looks at me, her breath caught in her chest, her eyes terrified, confirming my instincts. I hate Bryan right now. “I knew that man didn’t have any balls,” I murmur, soaking in every detail of her face, moving my eyes slowly down to her trembling lips, wanting to do more than look. Her hair is swept back into a knot, each strand neatly in place, and I want to run my hands through it, to make it look as wild as it did on stage. As wild as her nervous energy makes me feel. I meet her eyes again, reading the deep confusion there. “He didn’t even tell you that he owes us a lot of money, did he?” She shakes her head no, the movement so slight it’s almost imperceptible. “I… I didn’t know,” she says with a frantic tone to her voice, as though she’s worried I’ll extract a pound of flesh for every dollar he owes. Well, she’s not wrong there. Someone is going to pay, but whether it’s her or Bryan remains to be seen. “He made a deal to pay off his debt,” I tell her, and the pulse in her neck pounds harder under my fingertips. “That’s why he’s here tonight. A trade.” Her eyebrows come together in a silent question, the quiver of her shoulders steadying as she holds her breath, wondering what her role is in all of this. I don’t keep her waiting. I suspect she’s already guessed, anyway. “He traded you.”