The bass from the club still thudded in my chest as Jaxon led me through the press of dancers. His hand was firm at my back, a silent promise of protection, but all I could think about was the scrap of paper tucked against my skin.

It felt heavier than it should have been like Damien had slipped me not just words, but a loaded gun.

We pushed out into the night air. The alley behind the club smelled of rain and gasoline. Jaxon scanned the shadows, his body coiled and ready for a fight that ...