I pulled it off. The light stung, made me blink against the sudden brightness. Damian knelt beside me, his expression haunted. Lori sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping a silk robe around herself with tired movements.
“I'm sorry,” Damian said quietly. “I didn't know he was bringing someone else.”
“It's fine.”
“It's not. He does this. Uses people. Makes promises he won't keep.” His eyes were red, his voice thick. “You should leave before he comes back. Before he decides you're interesting enough to keep.”
I sat up slowly, my body protesting. “What promises did he make you?”
“Doesn't matter. They're lies anyway.” Damian moved to untie my ankles. “He said he'd make my assault charges disappear. That he'd fix the evidence. That I'd walk away clean if I gave him what he wanted.”
“And you believed him.”
“I was desperate. Still am.” He finished with the restraints, stepped back. “But I'm starting to think desperation is what he feeds on. That he doesn't fix problems. He just makes them worse and calls it help.”
Lori laughed bitterly from her corner. “Smart boy. Took you long enough to figure it out.” She lit a cigarette, blew smoke toward the ceiling.
I wanted to tell him that he was right. Wanted to offer proof that Harrow was exactly as corrupt as they suspected. Wantedto recruit them as witnesses who could testify about bribery and coercion and the systematic abuse of legal authority.
But witnesses against Harrow had a habit of recanting or disappearing. And both Damian and Lori looked fragile enough that Harrow could break them with one well-placed threat.
“Get dressed,” I said instead. “Both of you. Find someone who actually helps instead of exploits. And stop believing men like him can fix anything without making you pay for it twice over.”
I dressed quickly, checked Harrow's jacket while Damian and Lori pulled their clothes on with shaking hands. The wallet was too obvious. But his membership card sat in the inside pocket, plastic with a magnetic strip that probably granted access to rooms and records.
I palmed the card, slipped it into my trouser pocket. In the inner breast pocket, I found something better: a business card. I memorised both before pocketing them alongside the membership card.
“I should go,” I said, buttoning my shirt. “Thank you both.”
Damian nodded. Lori just watched me with tired eyes that had seen too many men like Harrow and not enough who'd walked away.
I left the room, moved down the corridor toward the main floor. My body still hummed with adrenaline and the aftermath of what I'd just done. The mask felt tight against my face, suffocating now that the scene was over and reality was reasserting itself.
The bar was busier than when I'd arrived. Members were in various states of dress and undress, some still wearing masks, others having shed them. I headed for the exit, calculating the fastest route out.
Then I saw him.
He stood near the bar, talking to someone in a burgundy dress, but his posture was wrong for casual conversation. Too alert. Too focused on the room.
Then he turned. His gaze swept the space and landed on me.
Recognition flared in his pale eyes. He knew the mask. He'd seen it at the wedding.
Our eyes locked across the room. I saw the exact moment he placed me, saw his body language shift from alert to predatory, saw him take one step toward me.
I kept walking. Steady pace. Not running. Just another member leaving after a scene.
But I felt his gaze tracking me. Felt the weight of his attention like a hand at my back.
I made it past the first cluster of members. Past the second. The entrance was twenty feet away, the receptionist behind her desk—she'd seen me when I came in, knew exactly who I was.
Then I heard his footsteps. Quick. Purposeful. Getting closer.
I moved faster, not quite running, weaving between the bodies. Someone called out in protest as I bumped past. The entrance was right there, ten feet, five?—
A hand grabbed my shoulder, spun me around.
Him. Up close, even bigger than I remembered. Pale eyes locked on mine through both our masks.
