The man finally raised his eyes to meet hers—pitch black, bottomless, and entirely devoid of human warmth.

Harper felt all the oxygen leave her lungs, as if a predator had just locked its jaws around her throat. Her stomach plummeted.

Forcing her trembling legs forward, she took a half-step.

Instantly, a heavy-set guard stepped into her path, a solid wall of muscle completely blocking her view of the boss.

"Back off, lady," the massive guard growled, his voice a low, vibrating threat that rattled in her chest.

Harper refused to look at him, her eyes pinned on the man sitting behind him. "We need to talk," she said, her voice tight but loud enough to carry.

The boss didn't blink. Not a single muscle in his face moved. He slowly lifted his cheap ceramic mug and took a sip of black coffee.

He was treating her like she didn't exist.

The absolute, chilling dismissal burned Harper's skin like acid. A hot flush of humiliation and rage shot up her neck.

She shoved her hand against the guard's solid chest in a futile attempt to push past him.

The guard's eyes darkened. He whipped his hand out, clamping his thick fingers around Harper's slender wrist.

He squeezed.

A sharp, blinding pain shot up Harper's arm. She gasped, her bones grinding together under his crushing grip.

Just as she thought her wrist would snap, the boss lazily raised his left index finger.

The guard instantly released her, stepping back as if burned.

Harper cradled her throbbing wrist against her chest, her skin already turning red. She glared at the man in the booth.

"I am Harper Bright," she spat, throwing her family name like a weapon.

The man's face remained carved from stone.

He slowly raised his left arm, staring at his custom silver watch for three agonizing seconds.

Then, he tilted his head slightly toward his men.

It was a silent command.

The guards moved in unison, the heavy fabric of their suits rustling ominously.

Harper planted her feet, refusing to move.

The boss stood up. He was massive, easily six-foot-four, his broad shoulders blocking out the diner lights. Harper was instantly swallowed by his shadow. She smelled the dark, heavy scent of expensive tobacco mixed with a cold, sterile scent like ozone after a lightning strike, utterly devoid of warmth.

He didn't look at her. He turned his body sideways and stepped smoothly past, his arm brushing the air inches from her face.

Panic seized Harper's chest. If he walked out that door, she lost her only lead. She spun around and lunged, but a wall of heavy-set guards instantly closed the gap, their broad shoulders an impenetrable barrier. She couldn't reach him. She planted her feet, hissing through her teeth, her voice cutting through the diner.

"I know about your meeting with Howard Bright in Manhattan!"

The muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his sleeve turned to solid iron.

He stopped walking, slowly and deliberately turning his head to look over his shoulder. His dead eyes dropped to her pale face, glaring at him from behind the wall of his men.

Around them, the guards instantly reached inside their jackets, the metallic click of gun holsters unlatching cutting through the silent diner.

The man raised a single, slow hand.

The guards froze.

He turned his body fully toward Harper, his dark eyes scanning her face like a machine evaluating a target.

His lips parted. "If you know who I am," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in her bones, "then what exactly do you want?"

Harper swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry. "I want the name and location of Howard's bastard son."

A short, dark sound rumbled in the man's chest—a laugh, entirely devoid of humor.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "Information like that costs more than you can afford to bleed, sweetheart."

Harper's Manhattan arrogance flared, burning away her terror. She stood her ground, refusing to back down.

Ignoring the tensing guards, she shoved her hand into her bag, pulled out her leather wallet, and produced a shiny, silver quarter.

She pinched the coin between her thumb and index finger, holding it up to his face.

"Heads, you answer one question," Harper challenged, her voice ringing clear. "Tails, you walk out that door, and I never bother you again."

The man stared at the quarter. A dark, predatory amusement flickered in the depths of his black eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched, curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.

He took a heavy step forward, completely invading her personal space. The heat radiating off his massive body made Harper's skin prickle.

He lowered his head until his mouth was hovering right next to her ear. "Vegas isn't a place for little girls to play games," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

Harper bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper. She refused to step back.

"Are you afraid of losing a coin toss?" she mocked.

His eyes darkened to pitch black.

He stepped back, leaning his heavy frame against the edge of the sticky diner counter. He crossed his massive arms over his chest, projecting absolute, terrifying control, and gave her one slow, deliberate nod.

Harper sucked in a breath.

Her thumb flicked hard against the metal. The quarter shot into the air, spinning rapidly under the flickering fluorescent lights.

It hit the counter with a sharp ping.

Harper slammed her palm down flat over the coin, trapping it.

Harper's heart hammered a frantic, painful rhythm against her ribs. Her palms were slick with cold sweat. She had no sleight of hand, only raw, desperate luck. Taking a deep breath, she pasted a look of absolute confidence on her face.

Slowly, dramatically, she peeled her hand away.

The silver eagle stared up at the ceiling.

Tails.

A cold weight dropped in Harper's stomach. She had lost. But she refused to let the panic show.

A proud, arrogant smile stretched across her face regardless. She lifted her chin, staring directly into his dark eyes, her mind racing.

"Best two out of three," she lied smoothly, her voice not shaking once.

The man didn't flinch. He lowered his gaze, his eyes sweeping over the silver coin. His expression remained completely blank, as if he had known the outcome before the coin even left her hand.

He slowly lifted his eyes back to her face, the dark amusement in them morphing into a chilling, bone-deep mockery.

He reached out with his massive right hand. As his fingers moved to pick up the coin, his rough, calloused thumb deliberately dragged across Harper's sensitive knuckles.

An electric shock of pure heat shot up her arm. She yanked her hand back instantly, her breath hitching.

He picked up the quarter, rolling it effortlessly across his knuckles.

Harper's stomach plummeted. A heavy, suffocating sense of dread washed over her.

He tossed the coin, snatched it from the air with lightning speed, and leaned in close, his broad chest almost brushing hers.

"Nice try at a bluff, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice a dark caress against her ear.

Harper's lungs seized. Her eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror.

He had seen it. He had seen straight through her desperate bravado like she was made of glass.

He didn't announce it to his men. He simply slid her quarter into the pocket of his dark trousers.

He stood up to his full height, the oppressive, lethal aura returning in full force. He looked down at her, his eyes cold and dead again.

"In my city, the house always wins," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion.

He leaned in one last time, the cold scent of ozone wrapping around her. "But you're lucky. Today, I'm just curious what Howard Bright's daughter is doing so far from home."

He turned his back on her and pushed open the heavy glass door. The guards swarmed around him, following him out into the blinding heat.

Harper stood frozen by the counter, her face burning with a humiliating, fiery shame.

Chloe ran over from the booth, looking wildly between Harper and the door. "What the hell just happened?" she demanded.

Harper stared out the window. The black SUVs tore out of the parking lot, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.

She clenched her trembling hands into tight fists, her nails digging into her palms. She had vastly underestimated him, but she wasn't done yet.