Harper tried to speak, but her mouth had gone dry.
“Do you know this man?” he repeated, his voice rising.
She forced herself to look at the photograph again.
The man struck the chair beside her hard enough to make her jump.
“Answer me!”
“At the Iron Reapers' club,” she blurted. “I work there sometimes. He came into the VIP area, and I was assigned to help him.”
The four men exchanged glances.
One muttered something in Russian, his voice full of anger.
The man with the phone leaned closer.
“You were with him before he died?”
Harper's heart began hammering against her ribs.
“I was working. That's all.”
“You expect us to believe you were only working?”
“Yes, because it's the fuck.ing truth!”
Another slap landed across her face. Harper cried out and turned away, tears springing t
