"Bound By The Wrong Brother"

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.