“The way I see it is,” I say as I close the distance between us, so close I can smell the sweetness of the bourbon on her breath. “You either have a gun in your mouth by the end of tonight or my cock. I don’t want to see your pretty little face blown off. But I do want to see those lips around my dick. So, choose wisely.”

Most women would be shocked by my words.

Most women would want to slap my face.

Most women would be offended, pissed off, and snap back.

Most women would be scared at the honesty and the reality I painted of their mortality.

But Lyriope shows me she is not most women.

“I’ll choose the gun,” she purrs as she darts out her tongue and licks my lips in one long and sensual swipe.

She then turns and walks toward the window to look out.

Chapter Three

Lyriope

Fear is toxic.

Fear will destroy.

I will not let it control me.

I chant the words over and over in my head, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as I struggle to breathe. I need air. I need to run, scream, rage. But I also need to not show the chaos swirling inside of me. I don’t need this man to know just how terrified I am.

I’m aware I pissed off the powerful Sidorov family known for their ruthlessness. My stepfather spoke of all these deals he was waiting on to pay out. And even if they fell through, I thought I’d figure out a way to pay them back myself. I thought I could meet their deadline and their terms. And I know that hiding from them only made it worse.

So yeah, I’m fucked.

I don’t have the money to pay them off.

I’ve missed the deadline.

And I was foolish in believing my stepfather had a way to get the money in time.

Did I know there was a hit on me?

Did I know I was a walking dead woman when I entered this party?

No. Not exactly. I think I’m in denial, or at least I was. It’s all clear now that even Nick Hudson knows who I am and my situation.

It makes sense.

I stare out the window, knowing it’s not going to be the escape I need. I’m sure the house is surrounded by now. I need a moment to figure out what I’m going to do. Being able to take deep breaths without feeling like my heart is going to be strangled will be a good start.

I stare at my reflection in the glass, the flames of the fire lighting up feature and shadowing others. On the outside, I’m still put together. My makeup and hair are still on point, and there is no outer sign of the hurricane of emotions rushing through me.