Page 87 of Shark’s Edge

“Good afternoon, sir.” The guy greeted us like a soldier at his post.

“Hi there”—Sebastian lowered his eyes to the guard’s name badge—“Hank. What can I do for you?”

Hank nodded and folded his hands over his belt buckle. “The door radioed back to me at your request. They said you were interested in talking to Cinnamon?”

Sebastian subtly swept out a hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. “And would make it worth your while to facilitate the meeting. Yes.”

Hank flicked a suspicious glance between the money and Sebastian’s face. “Can I interest you in another one of our girls?” he finally said. “Cin doesn’t enjoy being a third. She’s into guys, period.”

“Yes.” Sebastian dragged up a smile. “I’m aware.” As soon as the man scowled, he added, “We really just want to talk to her.”

Hank stared as if Sebastian had suddenly dropped trou. “And you’re paying that for it?”

“It’s important.”

His gaze bugged. “No shit.”

I swallowed hard, reining in my gasp of relief as the guard snatched the money from Sebastian. Hank lifted a finger, indicating we should wait for his return.

“She’s here.” I hugged the crap out of Sebastian’s bicep. “Holy shit, Sebastian. We did it. She’s here and she’s alive!”

“Thanks to you and that persistence that drives me crazy.”

He tilted his face lower as he murmured it. There was an impending kiss in his eyes, but he didn’t act on it. The tension in his form told me it killed him as thoroughly as it did me.

I hoped he could see the same need in my gaze before I whispered, “Crazy good or crazy bad?”

“Both. Which drives me even crazier.”

“Hey. Summer Lovin’.” Hank called us over with a brief head jerk. As we got closer, the guy said, “Cinnamon is on a short break. She can squeeze you in now. You ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Sebastian said. It was the last comment of the exchange until we were about halfway down a cinder block–lined hallway smelling like a locker room badly in need of a hose-down. With fifty gallons of bleach.

I seriously prayed this intervention didn’t take very long.

Just as I started the silent beseeching in earnest, Hank hitched a look at me over his shoulder. Okay, not quite at me. His examination was more about the . . . assets . . . he saw in me. “You here to get some dancing tips, sugarplum?” he drawled.

“She’s not interested,” Sebastian cut in.

“Because Cin is one of the best. She could show you some moves. Then make sure to audition for George, our owner. He really likes redh—”

“I said she’s not interested.”

So much for picking up my prayers where I’d left off.

Inside a heartbeat, I was back to questioning the stability of my reality as I watched Sebastian transform from casually dressed billionaire into badass barroom brawler, as he grabbed Hank by the neck, slammed him to the wall, and lifted him several inches off the floor. As the bouncer fought the hold, his eyes bulged and his teeth clenched. Both were weird shades of yellow—an observation I couldn’t believe I fixated on until realizing I was watching a human male pissing match that was going too far.

“Sebastian!”

I grabbed the back of his shirt. He shirked me off like the rabid wolf he was channeling.

“Sebastian!”

A woman appeared from one of the closed doorways along the hall. She strutted out of a room in stars-and-stripes stilettos, a red glitter G-string, a flowy blue silk robe, and nothing else. A shit ton of stage makeup highlighted the best parts of her perfect bone structure, and her stunning red hair was curled in a forties-style hairdo.

“Boys?” she crooned, though she directed her gaze my way. She doled out a commiserating eye roll, as if she’d just witnessed my futility at breaking this crap up. When it was clear they weren’t listening, she strolled over and leaned down.

And then grabbed Sebastian from behind.