Page 46 of Her Filthy Reverse Harem Romance Collection

Drake curses softly, exchanging a look with his buddy overtop my head like the other said too much.

Mobsters with morals? I recognized the face of the man who grabbed my ass and billionaires tended to get what they wanted, not the flat-broke waitress with a dangerous attraction to her three bosses.

Both Drake and Grey usher me through a door into a darkened room. I blink several times to adjust my eyes and even then, I still can’t make out anything other than the glaring monitors showing various angles of all the club floors. Even the Attic.

My brows shoot up. “Oh my.”

Surveillance. So that’s how they arrived so quickly on the main floor. Not one section of the club goes unwatched from the looks of it.

“Step into the light,” a deep voice sounds off to my right.

I glance around for the source but only see various shades of darkness.

I turn my face up to Grey and Drake who only silently return my stare.

Great. No help there. Not sure what I expect from them, but one thing is for damn sure. I am so getting fired over this.

Katriona

Their intoxicating scents warp the voice of reason screaming at me that I should be ten levels of afraid instead of turned on right now.

Focus, Kat.

Monitors in uniformed lines cover the spacious walls. Nearly every inch is covered with live video from one room or another.

I shake a finger at the moving wall. “Like a little TV, do we? Do these people know you’re recording them?” When I get nervous my mouth tends to run a little more than it should. Glad to know my bad habits follow me into the devil’s lair. “Do you save it, go home and kick back and watch them like porn reruns?”

I hear something like a soft chuckle come from one of the guys behind me.

“Do you always insult your employers?” Comes the voice again and I’m getting closer to pinpointing its exact location.

I shake my head, my lower lips sliding between my teeth a moment before my mouth decides to run with the first thought that pops into my head. “Um, no. Not really. Only when I’m led to dark rooms with mysterious voices talking down at me like some wizard behind a curtain.” I continue to scan the room.

Then he appears.

My eyes draw to his when a slash of light from overhead clicks on.

Green. Magnetic. I can’t look away. Intense just like the man.

He wears his hair short similar to Grey and Drake and has a hard set to his jaw. Where they have their suit jackets neatly buttoned, no doubt hiding guns, I find this one’s discarded, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal flourishes of ink marking both arms completely to the wrists.

I inhale sharply. Sylan Ward.

As mysterious as he is powerful. I shiver as he steps from the far corner of the room to stand in front of me. I force my limbs to break free from the momentary paralysis and take a half step back. Which puts me in Drake and Grey’s arms. Or at least pressed up against their chests. A wave of intoxicating power engulfs me.

My gaze rises to Sylan’s mouth first, then dips to his chin. Both smooth and strong. Over and over again I find myself attracted to the way the right side pulls a little higher than the left. My attention drifts to his hands and my mind fills with ideas of his mouth on mine. Tasting the whiskey I smell on his breath when our tongues stroke together.

To my complete shock he smiles down at me as if he can read my thoughts and then he touches me. He gently grasps my arm right below the forming bruises Muscles left on me earlier. Sylan turns it this way and that so he can examine the full extent of the goon’s fingerprints on my arm.

My head drops and I cast my gaze to the floor.Please don’t let him ask, please don’t let him ask.

“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to head off the questions I know are coming.

Chills erupt over my exposed skin and believe me when I say there are not many inches of my body covered in clothes. These uniforms leave nothing to the imagination.

“Look at me, Katriona.” I raise my eyes to meet his. Banked fury rages behind thick lashes. Instinct drives me to pull my arm free and flee, but there’s a wall of muscle behind me keeping me in place.

“Shh,” he soothes, stroking the pad of his thumb over the bruises. We stand like that—him touching me and me caught in his hypnotic gaze—until my heart settles again.

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