Chapter Sixteen
Waking the following morning was not a pleasant experience. Every muscle in her body either ached or throbbed as Verity sat up and gingerly swung her feet out of bed. Then the memories returned and she almost reversed the move, wanting to hide beneath the duvet and block out the world, not yet ready to face reality.
It took several calming breaths to get her to her feet but when she realised she was still wearing the t-shirt Cross had provided, her hands began to shake. Ripping it over her head she wadded it into a ball and hurled it across the flat.
She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t go through that again. Next time she might not be so lucky.
Lucky!
She laughed out loud at that thought, wincing in pain as her raw throat protested the sound. But she had been lucky, she’d been able to walk away and at least one of the other girls present might not be saying the same.
She could still walk and, right now, that was the only thought on her mind. Walk away. Fuck that, run! Run far, far away. Somewhere that Cross and homicidal friends would never find her.
Decision made, she dragged on a pair of jeans and several layers of t-shirts and sweaters and began jamming everything that was important to her into a bag.
There wasn’t much and it didn’t take long.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she slammed through the communal front door and then ground to an immediate halt. A limousine idled by the curb and she backed up against the brickwork as the door opened and Cross uncoiled from the back seat.
“Good, you’re up. I didn’t want to wake you, but I’m going to need you early today.”
Verity stared up at him, unable to form words.
Ignoring her silence he continued, “Something has come up that requires your assistance, so I’m afraid your laundry run will be delayed.”
Understanding the individual words but not their sense in this context, she blinked at him in confusion. Her first attempt at speaking didn’t make it past her bruised throat and she had to swallow twice before she was able to croak, “What?”
He nodded to the bag on her shoulder. “I apologise for interrupting your chores, but this cannot wait.”
Her fingers tightened on the strap of the duffle. He knew damn well she wasn’t carrying dirty washing, but for some reason was choosing to give her a graceful way to avoid explanations and excuses. A heavy sigh lifted her shoulders.
“Can I have a minute to put this back?” She indicated to the bag.
“Of course.”
The journey back to her flat seemed to take twice as long, each flight of stairs sapping her strength further. There was no escape. He was the devil and she was the damned.
Dropping the bag of what passed for treasured possessions in the corner of the room, she ran her eyes over the dingy flat. Any lingering sense of sanctuary that it had once offered was long gone. Nowhere to run, no place to hide.
With the defeated air of a death row prisoner walking that final mile, she retraced her steps. Cross held the door open for her and without a murmur she climbed into the back of the car.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to expect cheery conversation and the short trip was concluded in complete silence as he read his paper and she watched the buildings slouch past, their darkened windows avoiding her gaze.
His phone rang as they were climbing the steps to the club and she caught a flash of annoyance flicker across his face. Letting it ring he nodded to the main doors.
“You’ll find a new uniform hanging in the locker room. When you’ve changed, I’ll meet you in the upper lounge.” Not waiting for her to acknowledge the request he flipped open his phone.
“Darling, what a lovely surprise…. You’re here? I had no idea. Wait right there, I will be up momentarily. I confess I was not expecting–”
Verity couldn’t hear the other half of the exchange, but saw his face tighten in response to whatever was said. Aware that he was unlikely to say anything worth hearing in her presence she pushed open the heavy door and headed for the staff changing room.
Despite taking as long as humanly possible to change and make herself vaguely presentable, eventually Verity was forced to admit that she’d exhausted all delaying tactics and reluctantly headed for the stairs, the toxic mix of fear and revulsion churning through her gut.
The upper lounge was very different, out of hours. It was hard to believe it was the same place where the horrors of last night had played out. Without the violent clientele baying for blood it was silent, anonymous; its rich decor restored to its usual pristine condition, but standing idle like the set for a play that had yet to open. All the secrets mopped up and swept away by the cleaning crew, leaving nothing behind but the scent of fresh polish.
Verity shivered. It would take a lot more than a quick scrub to remove the lingering memories for her.
A sharp screech coming from behind her spun her round in alarm. Cross exited his office as the heavily accented words, “You owe me, Thomas!” ripped through the tranquillity. Not bothering to reply he swiftly closed the door behind him to cut off any further argument, and his features assumed their usual composure as he moved towards Verity.
Verity’s natural defence mechanism of black humour briefly flared back into life, almost prompting her to ask exactly how many whores was he currently paying to service him, but his expression told her he wasn’t in the mood for levity and, to be honest, neither was she. Plus, there was something familiar about that voice that she couldn’t immediately place, but which ran down her spine like nails down a chalkboard.
Without thinking she started towards the closed door, needing to see who had spoken, but Cross grabbed her arm as she passed and turned her round.
For a moment she struggled in his grip before acknowledging the futility of the gesture.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, her question encompassing more than simply her presence there that morning.
“One of our members has asked for you.”
“Who?” She twisted her neck to glance back over her shoulder towards the office. Was it a request from the woman inside? Was she being offered up as payment for some accrued debt?
Cross tutted and gave her a light shake to attract her attention. “The request is from Mathieu. You remember? You met last week. He was very taken with you and would like your company for a few hours.”
“Company?” Verity found herself almost choking over the word. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Since when did you become so coy?”
Cross shook his head. “No euphemism intended. Mathieu is very family oriented and has been happily married for several decades. He has no interest in you in that way.”
“Oh?” She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. “So what then?”
“You seem to like playing games. I thought perhaps we could put that to good use.”
Before she could ask what he meant, a warm smile spread across his face and he raised a hand towards the now familiar figure ascending the stairs and making his way towards them.
Unable to summon her usual performance, Verity felt her whole body go rigid as the charming frenchman laid his hands on her shoulders and pressed a gentle kiss to each cheek. Either unaware or choosing to ignore her response, he stepped away and repeated the gesture with Cross.
Released from his hold, Verity swayed, the blood draining from her face and leaving her light headed. For one horrible moment she thought she was about to pass out. Clenching and releasing her fingers, she fought down the wave of panic and concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and even.
Once the moment had passed, she raised her head. Aware of Cross watching her intently, she forced a smile. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?”
Cross nodded. “Three espressos.”
Gathering her scattered, nervous thoughts, Verity moved to the bar. Sadly, the rest of the staff weren’t in yet, which meant she’d have to wrangle the obstinate coffee machine herself. Waiting for the over-specced, chrome-embellished monstrosity to reach temperature she kept her back turned and used the time to scrape together some semblance of composure.
The urge to run was almost overwhelming, but she knew that Cross was watching and was waiting for her to give into the panic. She wouldn’t make it down the stairs, let alone out the door. She needed to be patient.
A hiss told her the contraption was ready and, despite her twitching, shaking fingers, she managed to tamp down the ground coffee and press the right sequence of buttons to start the brewing process.
She just had to get through today and then, when he eventually allowed her to leave, she could head straight for the train station. Watching the dark, viscous liquid drip into the tiny cups she mentally calculated how far she could get on the money in her bank account. Far enough , she decided. She didn’t have her passport with her, but she could get out of the city and across the country. That was a start at least.
Decision made, she felt marginally calmer as she arranged the tray and made her way to their table. That act lasted right up to the moment they sensed her approach and, in unison, both faces swung in her direction. Verity felt a tremor run through her hands under their intent, silent gaze, and coffee sloshed up the sides of the cups. Releasing a slow breath, she set down the tray before her panic became too obvious.
One day. She just had to make it through one day. She could do that.
Placing the three small cups in front of them, she stepped back, assuming the mystery woman, currently lurking in the office, was about to join them. But Cross pushed the third cup towards her and indicated to the vacant chair.
“Sit. I was just leaving. I have other matters to attend to and Mathieu was desiring your company today, not mine.”
Verity edged into the empty chair and tried not to flinch as he got to his feet and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze of farewell.
Unsure how to fill the silence that developed following his departure, she reached for the sugar. The teaspoon rattled against the china as her hand shook and she set it down quickly.
Mathieu studied her over the rim of his cup. “You don’t seem like yourself today, little one.”
Verity jerked her thoughts back to the present and made a conscious effort to brighten her expression. She couldn’t afford yet another black mark on her report card; she needed Cross to believe she had learned her lesson and fallen in line. “I’m sorry, still waking up. I don’t normally start this early.”
He nodded. “Thomas said you’d had a bad night.”
Despite her best intentions Verity was unable to summon the words to either confirm or deny that comment. Lifting her cup to her lips, she concentrated on not spilling the scalding liquid.
Mathieu continued, almost to himself, “or perhaps Thomas was the bad night.”
Dropping her espresso cup back onto the table with a loud clatter, Verity rushed to head off any suspicion or blame, “N-no… it was nothing like that…. please don’t think….. he… I…”
He waived away her pleas. “I have known Thomas for a decade, I know how he can get. You challenge him. I imagine he does not appreciate that.” He paused, staring into the last dregs of his coffee before adding, “Though perhaps he should.” Expression thoughtful, he asked, “You play chess?”
Wrong-footed, Verity sank further back in her chair as he opened a plain, wooden box and began arranging the checkerboard.
He raised his face and looked at her, a question creasing his brow.
Verity realised he was still waiting for her answer and nodded quickly. “Yes. Not for a while, but I used to.”
“Excellent.”
Like a magic trick, his closed fists appeared in front of her and Verity jerked back from the sudden move.
Mathieu didn’t move his hands but he did incline his head slightly. “You pick?”
Understanding dawning, she shifted in her seat and leaned forward to tap his right hand. Mathieu uncurled his fingers and revealed the chosen chess piece.
“A shame,” he murmured, “I was hoping, perhaps, I would be your white knight in shining armour.” He opened his other hand to reveal the black bishop. “But it is appropriate that I should wear the black hat, n’est pas?”
For the first time that morning Verity felt some of her tension drain away beneath his warm smile but the brief flash of a grin she gave in response, faded when she dropped her gaze to the chess piece in her hand. She’d stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. There was no white knight coming to rescue her. If she wanted to survive, she’d need to save her damned self.
Despite the advantage of the first move Verity lost the first match with embarrassing speed. Mathieu might be kind, but he was no pushover. In the second game, she fared better. She still lost but at least he had to work for it.
Half-way through the third bout Verity became aware that the lounge was still unnaturally quiet. Normally by this time on a Saturday the place would be starting to fill up. Twisting her neck she scanned the empty floor. “You’re here on your own? Where are you men?”
“They are otherwise occupied today. Which is why I find myself in need of distraction.”
Verity gave a wide-eyed look of exaggerated shock, her hand fluttering to her throat. “Am I to be your alibi, Monsieur?”
He gave a broad, gallic shrug, “The cameras here should provide everything I need, but I appreciate the company of a beautiful woman while I wait.”
“Are you flirting with me, sir?” She tutted in mock disapproval.
“I’m french, it’s our national sport.”
“And here was me believing you were the perfect husband.”
Mathieu grinned at her, the cheeky expression stripping years from his face. “My wife does not mind me flirting with pretty girls as long as I come home and tell her all about it.” He winked at her and whispered, “Sometimes I have to embellish, just a little, so she does not think I am, how you say, under her finger.”
Verity chuckled and then caught herself. She’d almost forgotten where she was. This charming man might seem friendly, but he wasn’t her friend. She cast a look over her shoulder to the closed door behind them.
“And I suppose you’ll be reporting back to Mr Cross also?”
Mathieu shrugged. “He asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“What will you tell him?”
Moving his queen to checkmate her king he smiled. “That your chess game needs work.”
Attention focussed on a pivotal moment of the next game, one she might actually be winning for a change, Verity almost missed the soft creak of the door opening behind her. But as the storm front of perfume reached her, it sent a shiver of remembrance through her nervous system and she froze, the forgotten chess piece tumbling from her fingers. A few seconds later a thin, dark haired woman, in an impeccably tailored dress swept across the lounge. Dismissing Verity with a brief, sidelong glance, she descended on the Frenchman, enveloping him in a fragrant embrace and delivering two kisses to each cheek.
“Mathieu! Tu, furbo mascalzone.”
“Valentina! What a surprise! I was not expecting to find you here.”
As the previous, light, flirtatious conversation that had patterned the morning was hijacked into a rapid, theatrical exchange Verity couldn’t understand and did not include her, she got to her feet and began clearing the empty coffee cups onto a tray, studying the woman out of the corner of her eye.
The heavy make-up and meticulous dye job made her difficult to age. She could be anywhere between an ill-used forty and a well-preserved sixty. Noting the subtle signs of expensive work around her hairline, Verity pushed her estimate towards the upper end of that scale.
Acknowledging her presence for the first time the older woman snapped her fingers and ordered a glass of chianti. Expression tight as she was reminded of her place and role, Verity gave Mathieu an apologetic shrug and headed for the bar.
Chris paused in his set up as she approached, his smile of greeting fading to a look of concern. Verity saw his eyes flicker from her tense face to the figure behind them and then widen as realisation hit. Behind them, Valentina unleashed a peel of laughter that made Verity’s whole body go rigid.
Doing a good job of hiding his shock, Chris took the tray from her and asked, “Is that her?”
Eyes fixed on the polished wood of the bar, she gave a stiff nod.
“What does this mean?”
Verity sighed and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to dispel some of the nervous tension building in her muscles. “I guess it means running isn’t an option any more.”
Forgetting himself for a moment, the tray still in his hand he paused and turned back to her. “Why not?”
She raised her pleading eyes to his. “Because we can still finish this.”
He set down the tray with a shake of his head. “And how are we supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.” Remembering the drinks order, she gestured to the corked bottle on the side. “But for now, one glass of Chianti, please.”
“The play doesn’t work with both of us up here!” Chris muttered under his breath as he poured the wine and placed it in front of her.
“Then we’ll have to improvise.”
Her hands shook as she transferred the glass onto a fresh tray, red wine spilling over the rim and staining the white napkin beneath.
Chris reached out to steady her. “Are you okay? After last night I didn’t expect to see you here again.”
Keeping her eyes averted, she grabbed a cloth to mop up the mess and nodded firmly. “I’m fine. I can do this.”
Not moving his hand from hers he searched her expression. “Really?”
“Really.” She nodded firmly, as much to convince herself as him. “I made a promise, Chris. I have to try. You get that, don’t you?”
He sighed and gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Weebles wobble…”
This time she met his gaze and managed a smile. The moment was interrupted by the door to the office swinging open once again and Verity flinched round. Cross stared at them from across the room and his eyes narrowed.
“Shit,” she muttered, snatching her hand away.