Chapter 3 - The King's Inspection
"Get up," Julian ordered.
Maya hesitated, her limbs frozen from the terror and the cramped space. Slowly, she crawled out from beneath the mahogany table, her hair tangled, her silver vest dusty from the floor. She kept her eyes on the carpet, unable to look at the powerful man who had just saved her life.
Julian stood up. He was taller than she had realized, his shoulders blocking out the faint light from the lounge. He stepped out of the booth, looking down at her with a pair of dark, unreadable eyes.
"Who was that?" he asked.
"My... my ex-boyfriend," Maya whispered, her voice barely audible. "His name is Derek. He’s... he’s been hunting me for six months."
"He called you his property," Julian noted, his gaze tracking a bruise on her wrist that was barely visible beneath her watch strap—an old mark from a night she tried to forget.
"He thinks I am," she said, finally looking up. Her blue eyes were wide, wet with tears, but behind the fear, there was a fierce, stubborn spark of survival that Julian hadn't expected to see. "I ran away from Boston. I changed my name. I thought if I came to New York, if I worked in a place with security like this..."
"You thought my club was a sanctuary," Julian said.
"I didn't know it was yours," she admitted. "I just knew it was safe. Until tonight."
Julian walked to the edge of the VIP platform, looking down at the main floor. The lounge was quiet again, the patrons unaware of the drama that had just unfolded in the shadows.
"Marcus," Julian called softly.
The shadow in the corner of the booth materialized into a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his chin and a quiet, lethal presence. "Yes, boss?"
"Find out who that man was," Julian said. "The one in the wet trench coat. Find out where he’s staying, who his father is, and why he thinks he can bring armed men into my establishment without an invitation."
"Right away, boss," Marcus said, disappearing through the velvet drapes.
Julian turned back to Maya. She was still standing there, looking small, fragile, and utterly terrified.
"Go to my office," Julian said. "The door at the end of the hall. Wait for me there. If you stay on the floor, he will find you when you leave."
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"Why are you helping me?" she asked, her voice shaking.
Julian looked at his glass, then back at her. "I dislike people who drip water on my rugs. And I particularly dislike men who think they own things they didn't pay for. Go."
