"Bound By The Wrong Brother"

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!"