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“I don’t care,” she spat.

“That’s becoming obvious,” Grimm said.

“If you lock me in a basement, I’ll find a way out,” she insisted.

Coal gave a humorless laugh. “You’re surrounded by armed men, sweetheart. Where exactly do you plan to go?”

Grace hated being called sweetheart. She hated his skepticism even more. “Anywhere they can’t find me.” Another gunshot sounded, followed by the unmistakable roar of motorcycles. Grimm stepped closer. His size forced her to tilt her head back to look at him.

“You stay in this room,” he ordered. “The walls are reinforced, and nobody gets through that door without one of my brothers allowing it.”

“You don’t understand,” she insisted.

“No, you don’t understand. Men are shooting at my clubhouse because of you. Until I know exactly what the fuck is happening, you go where I put you.”

Anger flared through the fear twisting her stomach. “Do you think I asked for this?”

“I think you know more than you’re telling me,” he said. Grace opened her mouth, but he caught her chin in his hand. The touch wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t painful, either. It was a warning.

“Stay here,” he said. “If that door opens for anyone besides me or Coal, get beneath the table and stay there.” Her pulse pounded against his fingers. He must have felt it, but his hard expression didn’t change.

“What if you don’t come back?” she asked.

Something dark flashed in his eyes. “I always come back.” He released her and opened the door. Noise flooded the room. Men shouted orders over screaming partygoers. The music had stopped, but the alarm blaring somewhere inside the clubhouse was even louder. Grimm and Coal stepped into the hall. Grace moved after them, and Grimm stopped and turned so quickly she nearly crashed into his chest.

“What did I just tell you?” he asked.

“I need to see who’s out there,” she said, ignoring his question.

“No,” Grimm said.

“I might recognize them,” she offered.

“That doesn’t make you bulletproof,” he said.

“I can help,” she insisted.

“You’ve done enough.” The words struck harder than they should have.

Grace crossed her arms over the blood drying on her dress. “Fine.” Grimm stared at her for another second before shutting the door in her face. The lock clicked. “Unbelievable,” she whispered.

Three hours earlier, she had been inside a mansion drinking champagne beneath a chandelier that probably cost more than her house. Now, she was locked inside the private meeting room of an outlaw motorcycle club while armed men gathered outside to drag her back to the party she had escaped. Her mother had always told her she had terrible judgment. For once, Grace couldn’t argue.

She backed away from the door and wrapped her arms around herself. Her skin was cold, her dress was damp, and one bare foot throbbed from cuts she had picked up running along the side of the highway. She could still smell the blood. No matter how much rain had soaked her, the coppery scent clung to her skin and hair. It took her back to that dark hallway at Blackwood Manor, and to the room she should never have entered and to the man dying on the floor.

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, but the memory came anyway. She had been looking for Travis.

He had disappeared less than an hour after they arrived at the masquerade, leaving her alone with strangers who seemed to know one another far better than their masks suggested. She had texted him twice and called once, but there was no answer.

The party had stretched through most of the first floor, but a velvet rope blocked the wide staircase leading to the private rooms upstairs. Two security guards had stood at the bottom, watching everyone. Grace hadn’t planned to sneak past them. She had only wanted to find a bathroom away from the crowd. A catering employee had opened a side door, and Grace had slipped through it before it closed. She found herself in a narrow service hallway that ran behind the ballroom. At the end was a staircase leading to the second floor. She should have gone back, but instead, she had climbed it.

Voices drew her toward a partially open door. One of them belonged to Travis; she was sure of it. Grace had reached for the handle when something crashed inside. A man staggered through the doorway, clutching his throat. Blood poured between his fingers. He had grabbed Grace’s arm. His eyes had been wide and desperate behind a plain black mask.

“Take it,” he had choked. He shoved the flash drive into her hand before collapsing at her feet.

Grace had knelt beside him, but there was too much blood. She pressed both hands against his throat, trying to stop it, knowing even as she did that she couldn’t. The man had struggled to speak, and she bent closer.

“They’ll kill them all,” he breathed. Those were his final words. Footsteps approached from inside the room. Grace hadn’t waited to see who they belonged to, so she ran.