“My brother-in-law knew him. He told Alan about me. Quentin always called me the whiz kid. He told me to wear really baggy sweats and work during the day, to never go to the club at night. So that’s how I started wearing these clothes to work.”

She gave him a tentative smile. She was telling him the truth. Quentin, her brother-in-law, had gotten her the job, and he had been the one to insist she wear baggy sweats.

“This club owner trusted a kid to fix his books when he was being audited?” There was disbelief mixed with incredulousness, as if Andrii wanted to believe her, but the idea was so absurd, he just couldn’t.

Her smile widened. “It wasn’t like he had anyone else. He didn’t have time to find someone professional. Alan had less than forty-eight hours. I was taking classes at the college, and Quentin wouldn’t let me go. I worked nearly the full forty-eight hours straight.”

“I take it you were able to fix the mistakes his accountant had made?”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “The point was to keep him out of prison. I managed to do that. Alan’s accountant had a big grudge against him. He had an interest in the clubs. There are actually two clubs, and they make a lot of money. With his partner out of the way, he might have managed a takeover.”

“Was the accountant a full partner?”

Azelie shook her head. “He had been embezzling. That was blatant. Alan trusted him. He didn’t pay much attention to the books. He does now.”

“Do you ever work at night?”

“I work whenever I need to, meaning if I’m behind or the boss calls me in for something, I’ll go in at night. I don’t like to. The clubs are very popular, and both are always packed. The clubs are mostly empty during the day, so it’s easier to work when no one’s around but the security guards. They know to leave me alone. Even Alan sleeps in late. I can have the place to myself.”

“What club is it you work for?” He reached out and ran one finger down the back of the hand curled around her to-go mug, as if the temptation of touching her was too hard to resist.

“The Pleasure Train.” She rolled her eyes. “The name is so ridiculous, I laughed the first time Quentin told me about it. I can’t believe how many people go there.”

“I’ve gone there a few times with friends of mine,” he admitted.

“You have? The upstairs, the Pleasure Train, is a dance club. The floor beneath it is the Adventure Club for the much more adventurous.” She already knew which floor he’d visited with his friends.

The pad of his finger slowly stroked back and forth along the back of her hand. “Most of those men claiming to be Doms are playing roles, Zelie. They’re acting out parts, playacting. Nothing more. It isn’t a lifestyle for them or their partner.”

She nodded. “I’ve been around them enough to have learned they’re only there to have fun.”

“You haven’t ever participated at the club, have you?”

Was there an edge to that soft voice? A hint of steel? A dark thrill crept down her spine. She suddenly had the premonition that he could be very dangerous. “I’ve walked through every room many times and never once felt the slightest inclination to join in the fun,” she admitted. It was true. She wasn’t into games. She didn’t play.

“I think it would be a good idea to keep it that way.”

She wasn’t certain what he meant by that. He held a fascination for her no other man had ever managed to do. It was disconcerting and a little frightening. As a rule, she wasn’t the least intimidated by anyone. She could not care less what they thought of her.

“Full disclosure, I have met your boss, Alan Billows, on more than one occasion. However, I don’t know your brother-in-law.”

“Quentin is dead,” she said. Azelie pressed a tight fist against her stomach, where that knot of anger was, holding it in. Keeping it there. Knowing it was bright and hot and fresh as the day the murders had occurred.

“Zelie,” Andrii murmured, his tone that stroke of velvet. “I’m so sorry.”

“He murdered my sister, my nephew and my niece and then killed himself. My sister and I tried to shield the children, but he shot me three times.” She pressed her hand to her chest. She could still feel the pain and horror of those last moments with her family.

She didn’t know why she’d told him. But then she didn’t know why she’d admitted to fixing Alan’s books for him so he wouldn’t go to prison. She’d never told anyone, and she knew Alan would beat her within an inch of her life if he found out. The fact that Andrii had met him and had mutual friends with him didn’t bode well for her, yet she just kept blurting out intensely private and very personal details of her life to him. She never did that. Not even to the merry widows, and she liked them. She couldn’t say she was great friends with them because she was reserved around everyone…yet not so much around Mr. Gorgeous and Powerful.

Andrii was silent, his eyes going slate, then completely silver. He cupped the side of her face with one palm, his thumb sliding very gently along her jaw. “What a terrible tragedy, Zelie. Have you talked about this with anyone?”

She gave a short shake of her head because she hadn’t. She couldn’t lift her lashes to look at him. They were wet. She didn’t allow herself to cry over her family. The rage was there, and it kept her going. Kept her alert to every pitfall.

“Talk to me. I’m a good listener.”

His voice was so dangerous. Low and imperious. Gentle and almost tender. Hell. What did it matter if he knew the entire story? It wasn’t as if it were a secret.

“My sister, Janine, was ten years older than me. She married Quentin, and they seemed happy enough in the beginning, at least I thought they were. I lived with them after our mother died. I don’t remember my father. My mother drank a lot. And she was pretty violent when she drank. She seemed to forget she had children, or she just didn’t care. In any case, Janine mostly took care of me until she moved out.”

Azelie pushed the to-go mug away from her and stared steadily out the window. “Apparently, Quentin liked to play at the club, and he played without Janine. She worked; he didn’t. He ran around on her a lot. Suffice it to say, she was sick of it.”

Bile rose unexpectedly. She hadn’t expected to be so affected by relating that terrible tragedy in her past when her life had changed forever—even though the memory was always so raw and ugly when she allowed herself to think about it.

“The night before it happened, I was studying in my room. I had a huge final the next day in one of my classes. I also had to put a couple of extra hours in on the books at work. Alan said he’d gone over them and added in income from one of the vendors he’d forgotten, but he’d done it incorrectly and messed everything up. In any case, I knew I had to get up around four in the morning. I had already set my alarm and was in my pajamas but was up studying. Janine came into my room and I could tell she was really upset.”

A huge ball of acid threatened to choke her. For a terrible moment she couldn’t breathe. Andrii transferred one hand to the nape of her neck, his fingers strong as they massaged her there.

“Take a deep breath. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you can’t, Zelie.” He indicated the bottle of water on the table. “You need to drink that. A slow sip. You’re here with me. Safe. You’re not anywhere near that man or what he did to you or the ones you love.”

Azelie was grateful he didn’t use the past tense when he referred to her loving her deceased family. She did still love them. She would always love them. She took the bottle of water he pushed into her hand and drank from it. The cool water did help ease the blockage in her throat. The fingers massaging her neck never stopped moving.

She’d felt alone for a very long time. Nobody had touched her since her sister had died. She didn’t want anyone to get close to her. She moistened her lips. “She came into my room that night.” Her voice was husky with pain. “She came in and lay down on the bed right next to me. I had my books strewn all over the bed, and Janine kind of pushed them onto the floor, and we both started laughing. And then she started crying. That’s when she told me she had to leave Quentin before her self-esteem was completely gone and she could never look her children or me in the face or at herself in the mirror again.”

Quentin had been gone again that evening, as he had so many other nights when Janine had told her she’d had enough. She had everything in place for all of them to leave. She was taking the children and she wanted Azelie to go with them. They would move out of the house to a smaller place Janine could afford on her own. She hated that Azelie had had to contribute or they couldn’t afford the rent in the neighborhood where Quentin insisted on living. Azelie had told her of course she would go.

“By that time, I didn’t like Quentin or his sense of entitlement. I despised the fact that he cheated on my sister and didn’t work or contribute financially.”

Janine was very much like Azelie—she had a personality that needed to nurture others. She enjoyed taking care of her man. She didn’t mind that she was the one earning the money or that she cooked the meals and cleaned the house. Even after the children came along, it had been Janine who took care of them. Quentin, more and more, spent time with Alan at the club. He came home drunk, reminding Azelie of her mother when she would show up belligerent and stinking of alcohol.

“He must have realized Janine was taking the children and leaving him. I don’t know if he saw the suitcases or what tipped him off.”

She pressed her fingertips to her mouth, shocked that she kept talking to him when she was so careful not to talk to anyone. It didn’t help that he knew her boss. She had a distant relationship with Alan, but she was afraid of him. After doing his books for so many years, she knew he was a criminal. Not just a common petty criminal, but he was involved in things she didn’t want any part of. She didn’t want to know about them. No one generated the kind of money he had, especially the way the payoffs came in, without being super dirty. The kind of dirty she feared could get her killed.

She never should have told a virtual stranger that she’d fixed Alan’s books. What kind of power did this man have that she was blurting out intimate details of her life to him? She wanted to run from the coffee shop and hide in her tiny studio apartment.

“Zelie.” He said her name softly, in that velvet voice that seemed to turn her inside out. “You’ve been through a lot for one your age. I can’t change the past, but I can do my best to make your future as safe and as happy as possible.”

Azelie had no idea how to respond. She didn’t believe anyone could keep her safe. If a man could kill the woman and children he was supposed to love and cherish, how could she ever believe in anyone? Her father had abandoned her. Her mother had done the same, just slower, choosing to drink herself to death. Azelie had lived with Quentin from a very young age, yet he had attempted to kill her along with her sister, niece and nephew. There were no feelings there. None. She didn’t—couldn’t—allow herself to believe in anyone. That way led to disaster. She was barely keeping her head above water emotionally as it was. Keeping to herself was the most intelligent strategy she could have.

“I’ve got work to do this afternoon and promised a friend of mine I’d go to a club with him tonight. Tomorrow, around five-thirty, will you meet me here?”

She didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. How could she agree when she wasn’t certain she could resist him?

“Let me have your phone number, and I’ll give you mine.” He already had his cell out and was looking at her expectantly.

Azelie had no idea why she complied, but she found herself exchanging information with him.

“I’d like to take you to one of the nicer restaurants. Wear a dress for me. Something short and clingy to show off your beautiful figure.” He tipped his head to one side, his eyes going silver. “With your coloring, you could pull off red. Or deep purple. Vibrant. Your hair is gorgeous. Wear it down. Smoky eyes. Silver would look beautiful on you. Surprise me.”