Jess approves the dress and especially approves of the ankle-high black stiletto boots and the chunky black goth necklace—the Sia she knows with a splash of color. Exactly how I feel.

Ten minutes later, I’m in my underground parking garage, my heels echoing in the quiet space. Friends, fight, Ray. It’s gonna be a good night.

My skin prickles as I reach my Volvo. Heart racing, I spin around, just as a hand clamps on my arm.

“Sia?”

Relief floods through my system when I recognize Duncan’s client from the shop. “Yuri? I didn’t know you lived here.”

“I don’t.” He jabs a needle in my arm and the world goes black.

* * *

I don’t know what wakes me.

Maybe it is the rumble of a truck outside, or a sound in the room. Perhaps the rasp of a breath. My eyes open and adjust slowly to the semidarkness. Gradually, I make out a bland lacquer dresser; flat screen TV on the wall; small, ornate table; and Yuri, sitting in a chair reading a newspaper beside my bed.

I’m on a bed.

“Finally awake,” Yuri says, as he swings his legs off the small, wooden coffee table, his Russian accent now so thick I can barely understand him.

My heart thuds against my ribs. This is happening all over again. I didn’t listen to my instincts and now I’m going to die. Terror builds inside me, a living, hungry beast.

“What is this? Why am I here?” My words come out in a croak.

He shrugs. “Your man needs to learn a lesson. He got too close. Thought he was invincible. But there is more pain in heartbreak than death, and we’re all about pain in this business.”

“He’s not in the business anymore.” I scan the room for a way out and some kind of weapon, since he hasn’t tied my hands. “He’s out.”

Yuri laughs. “There is no out. There is only death. And that will come for him. But first, the pain.” He pulls a knife from a holster on his belt, and a sickening wave of terror wells up from my belly. I take a deep breath and then another. I steel myself. This time, I won’t panic. This time, I will save myself. Yuri is still talking, and if he’s talking, he’s not hurting me. So I need him to talk some more while I figure out a way to get free.

“What is the business you’re in?”

He snorts again. “Tragic you have to die without even knowing the reason, but duty means more to him than love. That is the way it is with CIA scum.”

My pulse roars in my ears. It was true after all. I wish Tag were here so I could tell him. I wish I could say good-bye. I wish I could tell Ray I love him, even though he’s a CIA spy.

Yuri doesn’t seem too concerned about my ability to move, so I pull up my knees and push myself to sitting, my back protected against the headboard. My purse is on the dresser, too far to reach, and Yuri is between the window and the door, my only possible exits. I glance over at the nightstand for a weapon, anything that would buy me enough time to get out the door, but my only option is a small digital clock, flashing ten p.m.

Ten p.m. The fight will be over. Will Ray have missed me? Will Tag think I ditched him again? What about Jess? Will anyone be looking for me?

“What are you going to do?” My voice wavers, despite my attempt to keep it steady. Already my body is shaking with the adrenaline rush, and my attempts to slow my breathing are in vain. But I’ve been here before. And I won’t make the same mistake I made with Luke. I will not panic; I will not freeze.

“What would hurt him most, do you think?” Yuri cocks his head and gives me a lascivious grin.

“I think you’ve already decided,” I say through gritted teeth. “Otherwise I would already be dead.”

“So entertaining.” Yuri reaches for his belt. “I enjoyed you in the tattoo parlor as well. Charming, pretty, and talented. Such a shame you have to die. But that was his choice. I’ll let him know you gave me a little something to remember you by.” He pats his arm where I tatted the rose, and I bite my lip to fight back a scream.

Yuri laughs as he undoes his belt. “Don’t fight it. Scream away. No one will hear you. This entire wing is empty. And I like the sound of a woman’s screams. I also like a little fight, which is why you’re not restrained.”

Not restrained. Hands free. Legs free. Mouth free. I hear the voice of the Discovery Channel narrator in my head: Biting, charging, kicking, and scratching are effective forms of defense that can chase potential predators away or force them to release their prey. I remember Tag’s self-defense moves, Doctor Death’s grapple techniques, and Ray lying on top of me, keeping me safe. And I remember the feel of my teeth piercing his skin.

I don’t want to be prey. I want to be the predator.

Yuri whips off his belt, and I form a quick plan. When he leans over and grabs my hands, holding them over my head against the scratchy bedspread, I lick my lips.

I am the predator.

He drops his head closer, and I rear up and bite his lip.

Yuri screams and pulls back. The acrid, metallic taste of blood on my tongue makes me gag. But still I hold on, driving my teeth into his flesh. Only when he slaps me across the face, do I let go. Holding his lip with one hand, he crawls on top of me. He smells of smoke and stale sweat, and my stomach lurches. When he reaches for my hands, I Tasmanian Devil him, wriggling, writhing, and shrimping on the bed. Yuri pushes himself up, dodging my blows, but before he can reassess the situation, I bring up my legs and smash them into his chest.

Yuri falls off the end of the bed. His eyes harden, and he pulls a gun from the holster at his side.