Garik got out first and went to speak to the bouncer manning the door. Every staff member spoke Russian, something Anya insisted on. Everyone from the bartenders to the waitstaff were all in the US on work visas. She helped them get their citizenship and even set up sponsorships for them for the first few months if they needed a place to live.

He was gone less than a minute, and then he was opening the door and offering me his hand. “Roza is expecting us,” he said in Russian, winking down at me.

Swallowing my nervousness, I put my hand in his and let him usher me quickly into the warm club, keeping my head down on the chance that someone who might actually recognize me wouldn’t.

Once we were in the VIP section and a crowd moved in around us, blocking me from possibly curious eyes, I started to relax. Laura excused herself to go to the bathroom, but when I asked if she wanted me to come with her, she waved me off, blowing me a kiss.

Sighing, I kicked off the heels Garik had given me and tucked my aching feet up under me just as a champagne flute was pressed into my hands. Roza, the manager of Iron Hand and Garik’s “old friend,” who also just happened to be his distant cousin, was standing over us like the goddess she was, joking with Garik and watching Park Min Gi like she was starving for a taste.

Laura dropped down beside me, making me bounce on the couch we were spread out on. I squealed, my boobs jiggling from the action. It wasn’t lost on me that Garik’s eyes zoomed in on the fact that I’d nearly flashed him and the rest of the club because the dress he’d bought me didn’t allow for a bra.

Laughing, I wagged my finger at him just as a prickle of awareness skated over my entire body. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The music drowned out my moan as I slowly turned my head, my eyes searching for and finding him as he stormed through the VIP crowd.

Prowling toward me like the lion he was, he was dressed in his custom suit and long, two-thousand-dollar coat. Every person in the vicinity turned to watch, most of them knowing exactly who he was—the king of the pride. Some of them were envious of the power that exuded from his every pore, and others half in love with him at first glance.

All of them scared shitless of the destruction he could and would wreak with just a flick of his wrist.

I gulped at the rage I saw in his eyes and quickly jumped to my feet, hoping to distract him. I could practically taste the danger in the air. Not for myself, but for every other person in the club, not just Garik. Oh lord, Garik. Emmie would definitely be unhappy if I got one of her rockers killed. Lyric might understand, though.