Sienna’s POV The hotel suite looked like a war zone. Broken glass crunched under my boots as I stepped through the door, gun drawn but barrel pointed down. Shattered bottles, overturned furniture, and the sharp smell of spilled whiskey mixed with expensive cologne hit me like a slap. Two half-naked women scrambled to cover themselves with sheets while a shirtless guy with wild black hair stood in the middle of the chaos like he owned the destruction. Nova Kane. I’d seen his face on billboards and tabloids, but in person he looked even more dangerous. Tall, tattooed, lean muscle, messy hair falling into sharp green eyes. He held a half-empty bottle like a trophy, swaying slightly, a cocky grin plastered on his face. “Detective,” he drawled, voice low and raspy from years of screaming on stage. “You’re late to the party.” “Put your hands where I can see them,” I snapped, ignoring the heat in his stare. “Now.” He laughed, deep and rough, and slowly raised his hands. One of the
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