Chapter 4 – EMMA
EMMA
It’s been two days since Kozlov took me from my apartment, and tonight, I see the future he has planned for me.
The midnight-blue silk dress Kozlov selected clings in all the right places, the exact opposite of what I want. Every appreciative glance that slides over me feels like a target being painted on my skin.
I’ve never felt more naked while fully clothed.
We walk through the exclusive nightclub into a separate section at the back that drips with wealth.
Crystal chandeliers cast a golden light over burgundy leather and polished mahogany.
Here, the atmosphere shifts, the polished glamour taking on a darker edge.
Sexual energy pulses beneath the surface like a heartbeat.
Exotically dressed women dance on stage and twirl around poles. Men and women are dressed in expensive, full glam, barely there lingerie, or bondage gear.
There doesn’t seem to be an in-between.
Kozlov steers me deeper into the dimly lit space toward a set of red velvet ropes at the rear. Every set of eyes that lands on me makes me feel vulnerable and violated, like they already know I’m not here of my own free will.
They can spot fresh meat a mile off.
Every instinct screams at me to run, to fight, to do something other than walk meekly into this den of predators, but dead girls don’t escape. So, I keep my face neutral, my mouth shut, and play the docile captive while I wait for my chance.
Jake still has time to pull something out of the bag and get the money. I just need to survive until then.
“Perfect,” Kozlov murmurs, his hand settling on my lower back. His palm is warm through the thin silk, and my skin crawls at the possessive weight of it.
I want to shrug him off. Tell him not to touch me, but I remember his warning in the car: cause a scene, and you die, so I keep walking.
“I thought I’d bring you to the private rooms,” Kozlov murmurs, his breath brushing my ear. “Introduce you. Let people see what I’ve acquired.”
His fingers tighten on my back. “But you’re worth more untouched.”
The way he says it makes my stomach roll. “I’m not wasting that.”
I try not to let my fear show as I closely observe the clientele in this room. This isn’t a club you stumble into. The glamour is a mask, and everyone here knows what’s underneath.
“Kozlov.” A dark-haired man with silvering sideburns approaches us, accent crisp and back ramrod straight. “This must be the new girl everyone’s buzzing about.”
Listening to his voice, you’d think he was a well-educated British socialite talking about the latest antiques on sale at Sotheby’s, not a person who’s soon to pay for sex.
“Beautiful, yes?” Kozlov answers. “I think there will be a lot of interest. I recommend booking your spot today, Henry.”
Henry nods, but his expression is grim. “Paying to take part seems a bit much. Another cash grab?”
Kozlov smiles back. “It ensures discretion. If I have your credit card details, plausible deniability is out the window.”
I take Henry in carefully, trying not to stare at him, and I’m surprised to find him quite handsome. Nothing about him screams perverted criminal or disgusting recluse that no woman would dare go near.
Though isn’t that what they always say about serial killers? He seemed so normal.
“I must ask, and forgive my bluntness, but what could justify such an astronomical reserve? Beautiful women are hardly rare in our circles.”
As his gaze settles on mine, I see it, a cruel glint that tells me his gentlemanly mask would slip the second we were alone. I suppress a shiver as his eyes narrow, and he runs his tongue along his bottom lip.
This guy definitely isn’t normal.
With a smug grin, Kozlov edges closer, curling a finger for him to come near, before whispering in his ear.
Henry’s eyes widen before sweeping over me with new interest. “A virgin?” he says, just loud enough for others nearby to hear despite the music. “How remarkably unusual for one so beautiful.”
More heads turn.
“I thought you might like her given your penchant for the more innocent look,” Kozlov says, looking away as Henry continues to leer.
“Oh, the things I could teach you,” he says. His sleazy tone makes me want to recoil, but Kozlov’s hand on my back warns me to stay where I am, to be polite.
Excited whispers ripple through the crowd. More cold eyes slide over my body like icy fingers.
“Indeed,” Kozlov says smoothly, barely able to contain his delight that this man now seems fascinated by me. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have another very interested party who wants to talk logistics. If you want more details, let’s set up a meeting.”
The Brit nods enthusiastically, his greedy eyes gleaming in delight.
“Dimitri?” Kozlov says.
Seemingly from nowhere, the man who appears to be his second-in-command materialises at his elbow. “Boss?”
“Excuse us.” Kozlov stares at the english man until he leaves before turning to Dimitri.
“Keep Miss Wilson company.”
Kozlov looks at me before gritting out through clenched teeth, “You are valuable to me, but do not get brave. Nobody here is as valuable as my reputation. If you act out or cause a scene in front of my clients, I will end your life, and your brother’s, without a second thought.”
Heartbroken, I nod. I don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. Which is why I’ve decided there will be no attempt at a daring escape tonight. If nobody can touch me for the next week, keeping quiet could be my best chance at staying alive.
Glancing over his shoulder once to get another look, he walks over to a high-top table where two women sit flanked by two guards while being hit on by two older men.
A server appears to take the men’s orders, like they’re at some kind of speed-dating event and not window shopping for a sex slave to rent out for the night.
Kozlov greets them warmly before disappearing into the crowd, networking with his sicko friends and gesturing in my direction every so often with a twisted smile.
Dimitri hands me a drink, a flute of champagne, as if I’ve got anything to celebrate, and then positions us beside the bar.
He leans close to a brunette bartender who keeps touching his arm and laughing while batting her eyelashes at him and flicking her hair.
When he looks away, her smile drops, but he laps it up anyway.
It’s obviously never occurred to him that maybe, just like me, flirting with him is her way of ensuring her safety.
If the rest of the room thinks they’re together, they won’t touch her. She’s clearly decided staying on his good side is in her best interests with patrons like this wandering around.
Uncomfortable listening to him telling her exactly what he’d like to do to her when her shift ends, and to her awkward giggles as she struggles to keep up her act, I step away to create a few feet of blessed distance.
I stand alone near a deep brown leather sofa, trying to look less scared than I feel and ignoring the appraising stares of each new man Kozlov chats to on his way through the swelling crowd of guests.
But as I look around, I realise the other women in the room aren’t watching Kozlov; they’re fixated on something else entirely.
“Have you seen the new one?” A dreamy sigh.
“He’s absolutely massive,” a girl’s voice drifts from behind a nearby pillar.
I pretend to glance around casually, spotting another two young hostesses, heads tipped together, their eyes also fixed on the door behind me.
One fans herself with a napkin. “Bodhi Lennox,” she whispers. “Sara heard he broke his father’s spine with his bare hands when he tried to double-cross him. That’s why he left. His own family hates him now.”
That’s not physically possible, but I keep my mouth shut, determined to keep a low profile and avoid making any enemies until the auction.
The girls make some half-hearted noises of concern. “I mean, obviously, I don’t condone paralysing your own father, but… I mean, come on. Nobody’s perfect. And maybe he deserved it.”
“I can fix him,” one confidently states, and the women dissolve into giggles, eyes darting once more to the entrance at my back, as they adjust their clothes and fluff their hair.
“Why would Kozlov hire someone like that? He sounds dangerous.”
Finishing her lipstick reapplication with a dramatic eye roll, the older of the two shakes her head. “Are you joking? That’s exactly the kind of violent man Kozlov wants to work for him… Nobody is going to fuck with that guy.”
“Well, I might. Hell, I’d even give him a freebie.” They collapse into fits of laughter once more.
Pretending I’m not curious but failing miserably, I lean against the bar and survey the room.
It’s ridiculous. A man who paralyzed his own father should terrify me, not intrigue me. And yet, something about the way these women describe him—dangerous, yes, but also different—makes me want to see for myself.
That’s when I notice him.
He’s standing at the velvet rope, arms crossed, surveying the room like it’s his territory. The largest man I’ve ever seen, six-foot-nine, at least, with shoulders that strain against his fitted black shirt, and hands that look capable of violence I can’t even imagine.
He should terrify me. Everything about him screams danger.
But his eyes find mine across the room, and my world tilts.
There’s a pull from deep in my chest, like a hook behind my ribs that’s tugging me toward him. My heart doesn’t race with panic; it pounds, heavy and urgent, in a way I’ve never felt before.
I should look away. He works for Kozlov. He’s part of this nightmare, but I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything except stare back at this stranger and feel, for one insane moment, like I’ve been waiting my whole life to find him.
The thought is so absurd, so completely irrational, that it snaps me out of whatever spell I’m under, and I force my gaze down, heart racing and cheeks flushing.
What the hell was that?
The urge to approach him is overwhelming and completely insane.