Chapter 18 #2
Rowan throws her arm around Alyona and smiles. “My super independent sister-in-law, if you only knew what you were missing. Marriage is not all work … there’s lots of play as well.” Rowan flashes a devious smile, her red hair spilling around her shoulders like the vixen I suspect she is.
“Oh my god, enough talk of marriage.” Georgia stands, flipping her nearly black waves behind her shoulder.
“Tonight is about us, not them. And I think it’s time we broke a sweat.
Down there.” She points to the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor below.
It’s like a snake pit when compared to the sparse and orderly dance floor in the VIP room.
But it certainly looks more fun … not that I’m here to have fun.
All eyes land on Georgia.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Alyona looks doubtful. “Might Andrei have something to say about that?”
“He might.” Georgia’s Cheshire grin suggests she doesn’t care. “But he’s not here. Besides, it’s his club, only someone on a suicide mission would try anything here. And don’t forget our ever-present shadows.” She gestures to the half dozen guards surreptitiously surrounding us.
“I like it!” Rowan pipes up. I can practically see the devil horns sprouting from the side of her head. These women are trying to goad their husbands on purpose, and not only do I like their style, but it gives me an idea.
Running my hands down the length of my miniature sequined dress, I announce to the group that I’ll be back in a moment, and head towards the luxuriously appointed ladies’ room, all smoky mirrors, gold accents and dark velvet wallpaper.
There is a full-length mirror on one side of the restroom, and I take a moment to pose, finding the perfect position that shows off my assets.
My legs aren’t in fact long, but this itty-bitty dress and sky-high heels give the appearance of length, and of course, Daniil never got to see the plunging neckline on this sparkly number.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be quite as revealing on someone else, but with my curvy figure, the dress looks sexy as hell.
Something Daniil will not appreciate judging by our earlier exchange.
Having found just the right pose in the mirror, I snap a selfie, and text it to Daniil.
No words needed. He wanted to know what I was wearing tonight, here’s his answer.
I smile to myself. Let him try to ignore that!
I might be a few drinks in—especially if I count the champagne we had in the limo—but it’s not liquid courage fueling me right now.
I’m sending him a message that he can’t freeze me out.
Arriving back at the table, Georgia greets me with a sweep of her hand. “You’re just in time,” she announces, gesturing to the fresh round of shots on the table. “It’s called the Big O.”
“That’s certainly how I hope my night’s going to end,” Alyona quips. As the only other single woman in our group, Kira throws her arm around her friend’s shoulder, agreeing in not-so-subtle terms.
I hesitate for a moment. What’s one more measly shot? This one seems more like dessert anyhow. It’s creamy and a little pepperminty, and it goes down so damn smooth, I can’t say no when Georgia thrusts the next shot in my hand.
We stake a claim on the dance floor right under the DJ booth—I swear I can feel each drop of the bass shoot up my spine.
I’ve been to state dinners and refined cocktail parties with my uncle, but this is something else entirely.
This club is full of people letting loose, relinquishing their inhibitions, allowing the music to wash away their Monday-to-Friday worries.
When I look around at our group, everyone’s cheeks are flushed, arms up in the air, eyes closed with big smiles on their faces.
And so I join them—enjoying this moment to the fullest. I don’t think about what comes next, or my endgame, or how I need to ply them with more drinks and pump them for information.
Stretching my arms up to the ceiling, I completely let go, screaming into the wall of sound, jumping up and down with Kira’s arm around my shoulders, her laughter in my ear.
We’re swept up in the same euphoria, and it feels better than I could ever have imagined.
I missed out on years of this living with my uncle, so I will make up for it right now. Fuck it.
With the music a deafening roar, my hair plastered to my forehead, surrounded by hundreds of people, it all sinks in, in one perfectly clear moment.
I’m having fun.
Real fun.
The kind of fun that girls my age should have with their friends.
This is what life is. This is what my life could be, but it’s not. And never will be.
An hour later, I’m dying for a cold drink of water and my feet feel like they’re encased in cement.
The rest of the group is still going strong, so I catch Georgia’s eye and gesture to let her know that I’m going to cool off upstairs in the VIP section.
She gives me a thumbs-up, still lost in the beat.
My eyes travel toward the wall closest to us.
I wave at Mikhail to let him know I'm ready for a break. Through the dry-ice fog and strobe lights, I’m not sure if he nodded in response or not.
I try again, but this time I lose him as the crowd shifts against me.
The buzz from the shots has worn off, and now I’m tired and ready for a break.
I give one last glance over my shoulder at my new friends on the dance floor before setting off in the direction where I last saw Mikhail. And crash smack into a wall of muscle, or maybe he crashes into me, I’m not sure. All I know is giant hands come up and grab me around the waist.
“Sorry, beautiful,” a strange man smirks down at me. He doesn’t look sorry at all. “I guess I need to pay more attention to where I’m going.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I snap, removing his hands from my waist. There is something oddly familiar about this guy, but who knows, maybe all creeps are cut from the same cloth. “If you’ll excuse me—” He grabs my wrist and pulls me against him.
“Where are you running off to?” He presses himself firmly against my body. “What? You too good to dance with an average Joe like me?”
Unease presses down on my chest. Something feels off about this exchange.
I don’t bother to respond. Lifting my foot, I bring the pointy end of my heel down hard on his leather-clad foot.
“What the fuck.” He howls in pain. Twisting out of his grasp, I push the crowd aside, and fight my way towards the VIP section.
With the crush of bodies, it’s not surprising Mikhail lost track of me. I don’t want to get him in trouble, but I also know I need to get the fuck off this dance floor now.
A bouncer nods in greeting as I jog up the stairs to the VIP section, sore feet be damned, and beeline straight to our booth.
I’m grateful for the jug of ice water I find at the table, and gulp down two glasses.
My creepy interaction with that man is still fresh, and my skin crawls just thinking about it.
Women have been putting up with unwanted attention from assholes for millennia, but when a guy’s aggressive like that, it can leave you a little shaken up.
I remove my heels and knead my foot, trying to soothe my aching soles, but the man’s face keeps flashing in my mind. Was he actually familiar, or was he a carbon copy of some other dude that couldn’t take a hint? Something about this feels different, more palpable.
Panting, I stand and hurry towards the washroom, hating the heavy feeling that’s settled over me and the way the room spins slightly.
I push open the door to the ladies’ room and head to the sink.
Splashing water on my face, I hope to calm my overheated flesh.
With my eyes closed, I take deep, centering breaths, calming my nervous system.
When my nerves settle, I push off the sink, preparing to go back out to the lounge.
But I can’t move. A wall of heat locks me in, while a dark heavy material comes to rest over my eyes, obscuring my sight.
“No, please don’t!” I scream, terror jolting through me.
My attacker ignores my pleas, reaches under my dress to jerk my thong down my thighs, and pushes my dress up to my hips.
My heart thrashes in my chest. Who would do something like this? The man from earlier? I try to fight, but my arms are locked in vice grips, and the cruel presence delivers a brutal smack to my ass. I choke out a sob, but I can barely get any words out. I feel like I’m going to suffocate.
“Please,” I beg. “Please don’t hurt—”
My words are silenced by another hard spank, this one on the other cheek.
I cry out for help, but in one fluid motion the blindfold is ripped away. For some reason, I still keep my eyes pressed shut, not wanting to gaze into the eyes of a monster. That is until I hear a deep, angry voice in my ear.
“Hello, wife.”