“Walk over and ask him if he wants a dance,” the friendly waitress said, coming to stand next to me. “Look at that guy in the corner. He’s just been sitting there for half an hour. I’m sure he’d buy a dance from you—he’s hardly even watching the stage, which means he’s here for something else. He’s a big tipper, too. Gotta love that in a man.”

She nodded toward a figure sitting in the shadows.

“Okay, I can do this,” I said, then started walking toward him. They really needed better lighting in here, I decided. Dim light might be a stripper’s friend, but this particular corner was like a black hole.

I glanced at the ceiling and realized the bulb was out—that’s why I couldn’t really see him until it was too late.

“Hi, would you like to buy a dance?” I asked. A hand shot out, catching my wrist. “Hey, you can’t do that . . .”

My words trailed off as he leaned forward. Oh fuck. Then he stood up and I decided I must’ve done something truly horrible in a past life. It was Painter. The same Painter who’d dragged an unwilling woman out of the clubhouse last night.

Worst. Luck. Ever.

“Let’s go to the champagne room,” he said in a low, menacing growl.

“Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I replied, trying to back away. He didn’t give an inch, something dark and predatory in his gaze. I’d seen that look before. On Puck. Painter was hunting. I needed to get the hell out of here. Immediately.

“I’ve made a mistake,” I babbled. “I’ll leave now. You can tell Puck I’m going home. He can talk to me there.”

“Too late,” he said. “Champagne room. Now. Get your ass in there.”

My chest tightened.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

“We got a problem?” a man asked. I looked up to see Crouse looming over us. Painter’s hand tightened, and I considered saying yes. Then he’d fight with Crouse and I’d have a chance to get away. There must be a thousand strip clubs between here and California—I’d go to one of those instead.

Yeah. Perfect solution.

I’d just opened my mouth when someone caught my eye. Behind the bouncer.

Demon.

Oh double fuck, I thought. Everything fell together in my head. The meet last night. Puck having “shit to do” all day. The clubs were up to something and if two of the brothers were in here right now, odds were good that I’d found myself right in the middle of it.

The Vegas Belles had opened up right down the street from The Line . . . This was bad. Real bad.

“Everything is okay,” I squeaked. “He’s an old friend—I was just startled to see him here. We’re going to the champagne room now.”

With that I grabbed his hand and started dragging Painter across the room toward the hallway housing the champagne rooms. Along the way I saw one, two . . . three other men from the clubhouse. None of them wearing their colors.

Definitely a major operation. Painter followed me, his face grim, as Crouse opened up the last door on the right for us.

“You need a waitress,” the big man told me.

“The other girls told me we’d be working without them today,” I replied. “Because so many didn’t show up to work.”

Jesus. They must’ve had an idea what’s going on . . . More pieces fell together. The bartender saying it was a bad day to start. Half the staff gone.

“I’ll be outside,” Crouse said, glaring at Painter. “She’s new and I like her. Don’t fuck her up or you’ll pay.”

Giving a high, nervous laugh I shut the door and turned on Painter.

“What the hell did I walk into?” I asked.

He stepped toward me, darkness written all over him.

“If you needed to know that, we would’ve told you. See how that works? Why the fuck are you here, Becca? Puck thinks you’re safe at school. I don’t like bitches who lie to my brothers.”

I swallowed, noticing how he stood between me and the door. For the first time I realized that maybe bringing him in here wasn’t such a great idea. No witnesses. Crouse might be outside, but there was a lot of music in the club, too. Would he be able to hear me if I called for help?

“They said some important people were coming into town today. Is that why you’re here?” I said, trying to distract him. The room was only about ten feet square. I felt my back hit the wall. Painter stepped into me, his body hard and unforgiving. Then he leaned down and spoke directly into my ear.

“Do you realize what I could do to you in here?” he asked. “How dangerous this is? I could rape you, Becca. Kill you. Blackmail you. Hell, I could even force you to spy on the Silver Bastards, now couldn’t I? Or has that happened already? Are you working for the Callaghans? Puck’s gonna want to know the details.”

He reached up and caught a lock of my hair, combing it out with his finger, then stroking my shoulder.

“I just needed some money,” I said, terrified. “This seemed like the best way to get some fast. One shift here, then I was leaving town. Puck never has to know.”

“Puck and I don’t lie to each other,” Painter snapped, stepping back. He ran a hand through his hair, glaring at me. “We did time together, do you know what that means? My life was in his hands every day—couldn’t lie to him if I tried.”

“Not even for his protection?” I whispered. Painter shook his head.