CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE #2
Julia didn’t like how Billy squeezed her elbow as he led her out of the dressing room. Just before they left, he glanced back at Angela.
“You stay here until her dance is done. You’ll just make her all nervous, hovering around like a mother hen. Ain’t that right, Julia?”
Julia turned. Angela looked stricken—her face the color of chalk. “Relax, Angela,” said Julia. “I’ll see you in fifteen.”
* * *
Angela watched Julia walk out. She picked up the contract from the floor, put the stack of cash Julia had given her on the table, and sat in front of her mirror.
She opened the contract from James. Her new job as an executive secretary was official.
Her heart pounded, and she couldn’t catch her breath.
She looked at the curtain Julia had just walked through.
Then she was on her feet. Stuffing her purse full of their money. Taking off her heels. Yanking on her jeans and a shirt.
She put her heels back on and started to walk after Julia, stopped, walked back, and grabbed the contract. She tore it in two and threw it in the trash. Then she walked toward the curtain that led into the club, running straight into a guy walking into the dressing room.
He was big. Solid. He knocked the breath out of her. Then he clamped his hands on her, lifted her like a rag doll, gave her a look that was none too friendly, and said, “Is Julia Terranova in there?”
* * *
Julia could barely keep up with Billy. “Could you slow down?” she asked, her stilettos clicking as she did her best to keep pace. He tightened his grip on her elbow and yanked her into the private lap dance room. She glanced around at the shadowy bodies dancing over men sitting on couches.
“The room’s full,” she said to Billy.
Billy pulled a key out of his pocket. “You get a special room,” he said, pulling her toward the common bar against the back wall.
“What special room?” she said. “Where are we going?”
“VIP section,” said Billy, pushing her behind the bar. He pulled back a white curtain on the wall, revealing a door. His gold tooth flashed. “This here’s for high rollers,” he said, sliding a key into the door.
His grip on her tightened painfully.
Pulling the door open, he shoved her inside and closed the door. The lock clicked. Julia turned around, taking in her surroundings.
The room was the size of a small bedroom.
The floor was white tile. A black iron bed with four posters and an ornamental headboard of scrolled metalwork dominated the middle of the room.
Chains hung from the ceiling over the bed, running through eyelets welded on the top of each of the four posters.
On the end of each chain was a padded handcuff.
Mirrors covered the ceiling. Every wall was covered in plush white carpet.
The wall straight across from her was filled with sex toys and bondage gear.
James Stockton sat in a chair in front of the sex gear. He held a long black nightstick.
She reached for the doorknob, trying to turn it. It was locked.
James Stockton raised out of the chair.
Then the lights went out. She couldn’t see a thing, but she heard the click of the nightstick tapping the floor. Then she heard James.
“You can’t see me, but that’s okay. I’ve been in this room a hundred times. I know every inch of it. And for what I have planned, that’s all that counts.”
She heard him walking toward her.
“But do you know what the best part is?” he said. “It’s that your new boyfriend isn’t here. We’re all alone. And I have something you’re really going to like.” He smacked the floor with the nightstick. “You’re not going to walk straight for a long time after this.”
Julia recalled the layout of the room. If she could get to the bed and keep it between her and James, maybe she could keep him off her long enough for her eyes to adjust to the dark.
She put her hands out and stepped forward.
James quickened his steps. She did the same, moving forward blindly.
Her ankle turned, but she caught herself.
Damn stilettos. She pulled one off and threw it toward the sound of James moving her way.
She slipped off the other stiletto. A hand grabbed her arm and a handcuff snapped over her wrist. James’ hot breath was in her ear.
“Got you now,” he said.
She couldn’t see a thing, but she could hear perfectly fine.
She swung the stiletto, aiming for his voice.
The heel stabbed into something. Hot blood spurted over her hand.
She almost lost her grip on the stiletto when James gasped and pulled away, but she held on, pulling it free from his flesh.
A fist, an open hand, or maybe the nightstick, clipped the side of her head.
She fell onto the bed and then rolled off, landing on her feet holding the stiletto tight.
“You want me? You’re gonna have to earn it,” she yelled.
Then she shut her mouth and held her breath.
She needed to keep quiet. It was her only chance to hear where he was—and if he was coming closer.
The bed let out a tiny squeak from James bumping it. She gripped the stiletto, pointing it in the direction of his stifled breathing, coming closer.
And closer.
And closer.