The first time Kayla is ordered to give a lap dance to a VIP client, it’s in a private booth with a camera in the corner and her captors watching. She trembles, trying to remember how to breathe.
Fury sits like carved stone, hands flat on his thighs, jaw locked. He has to play his part. If he refuses, he’ll blow his cover and they’ll pass her to someone else.
“Eyes on me,” he rasps, just loud enough for her to hear. Her lashes lift. Her gaze meets his. “I got you,” he promises. Fury must decide—the girl or the MC. It’s not a choice, really.
His priority is her safety. Ironic, since he’s the most dangerous man in any room.
