I moved towards the stairway against the left wall. It was VIP upstairs and it was where I’d find members of the pack who ran this place. I scanned the crowd below as I went up higher, the music still blasting loud with its electronic vibrations of thrill. My eyes skated over something then snapped back like an elastic band. Smiling golden eyes peered up at me. I kept walking up and he kept watching, a drink resting on his mouth, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Viktor. I narrowed my eyes as he pulled the glass away from his face. His tongue ran across his bottom lip, collecting any flavor left over from the drink. He winked. A person walked in front of him and he was gone.

I wormed my way to the pack’s lounge, a big raised area in the VIP with its own bar. A brawler of a guy stood sentinel at the entrance. I looked behind me, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Viktor slowly walked past the bottom of the stairs, shooting me a mischievous look.

What? How could he move that fast? I felt like prey being circled, undoubtedly his intention. Before I could do anything, he turned around the far side of the stairway, where I couldn’t see him. Great, he was into mind games. At least that would add a bit of interest to things.

I took a deep breath and gave my attention to the bouncer who was eyeing me up and down. There was no knowing who knew me or didn’t. In some crowds, I was a bit infamous.

I liked being a showboat and I liked getting out around town—my thumb in every pie I could pluck a plum from. I also enjoyed throwing the occasional party in my penthouse. People loved my infinity pool that jutted out from the building, over our city. The floor was clear in my pool, so you could look down and see the hundreds of feet below you, giving yourself vertigo while making an everlasting memory of walking above the ultimate city of sin. The parties were famous, even if not frequent.

The security man looked over his shoulder at whoever was in charge. I recognized the guy. It was Roman Fenrir, the Alpha’s son and next in line to lead this powerful pack. He was spread out on a red leather couch, a couple of his friends nursing drinks beside him. His dark eyes smiled at me, knowing exactly why I would show my face. Security shuffled to the side and I moved up the couple steps into the pack lounge.

“Lacey Flanagan,” Roman said, his eyes scanning me over. It wasn’t a lecherous look—he was taking in the ensemble of vibrancy and wealth, my gold flashing in the lights. “Let me guess, you want in on tonight’s race.” The man was tall and muscled, with dark eyes, olive skin, and long hair pulled into a tight bun on the back of his head.