Allison's POV.

The loud bass thrummed in my chest as I squeezed through the crowd. The stench of sweat and spilled liquor hung thick in the air, mingling with the sweet, artificial scent of perfume from women dancing on poles and laughing in skimpy outfits. In my baggy hoodie, oversized glasses, and cap pulled low, I blended right in. Just a nerdy, awkward boy caught in the wrong place—exactly how I wanted to appear.

I kept my head down as I made my way to the edge of the VIP section, where the real action was. Viktor Romanov, surrounded by his usual thugs and a few cheap women clinging to...