Chapter 20 Luka
Luka
The heavy thump of bass pulses through me, rattling my teeth and making it hard to think. Although my jumbled thought processes could have more to do with the piles of empty shot glasses and the weed I smoked.
I realized way too late Vasily had laced it with ket. Fucking asshole. Thankfully, not too high a dose, or I’d be a sitting duck by now. As it is, I’m dissociated rather than zombified.
A woman in a short leather skirt drops onto the velvet banquet next to me. She thrusts a joint in my face, but I shake my head.
It’s been a long time since I did anything other than weed. Before Chiara.
Everything in my life is now before and after Chiara.
Before Chiara, it sucked. All I did was perform for the cameras, go to parties full of people I didn’t know, and play video games. My existence was shallow and pointless.
It wasn’t until she showed up that I cut back on the drinking and recreational drugs. Not because she’s anti all that. I chuckle to myself. Chiara is happy to share my weed and have a few drinks.
No, it’s more that I don’t feel the need to numb myself when she’s there.
Tonight was supposed to be a quick drink before I headed back to Angelo’s, but one drink turned into ten, and now I’m no longer in control.
“Dude, you ready?”
“Paarrrttyyy!” The woman next to me shrieks so loud I swear my eardrum just burst. She tries to stand but ends up falling into my lap.
Glazed hazel eyes stare up at me. Her smeared lipstick is gross.
She looks a bit like Harley Quinn from the Joker movies, only way less sexy.
Crimson bleeds into the small lines around her mouth.
Smoker’s lines. Do I have them?
I rack my brain trying to recall who she is as she cackles.
“Party?”
Vasily rolls his eyes.
“Fuck, dude, how wasted are you? Party at Vik’s place. Remember?”
No, I don’t remember. I can’t even recall how long we’ve been in this bar. It feels like hours, but it can’t be that long, surely?
I remember leaving the casting director’s office on a high, feeling like I could walk on water, and then I randomly bumped into Vasily and Marie.
My plan had been to call Chiara and then head back to my apartment for a shower. Only Vasily said he had a potential business opportunity he wanted to talk about, so I reluctantly agreed to hit a bar with him so we could chat.
I recall him ordering drinks, but after that, everything is a blur.
“I like Vik,” the woman slurs. Her fingers dance across my chest, dropping dangerously close to my belt. The discomfort of her touch burns away some of the fog in my brain. “I like you, Luka.” Hazel eyes struggle to focus on me before she giggles again.
“Oy, Marie, you can’t fuck the whale.” Vasily slaps her hand away. Marie giggles louder.
“Whale?” Who the fuck are they talking about?
I scrub my eyes and force my brain to concentrate. Nothing about this basement bar is fun anymore. I don’t want to be here.
Where’s my phone? I need to call Chiara. She’ll help me.
My head throbs as the swell of music grows louder. People stumble around us, drunk. The DJ turns up the volume and more bodies crush onto the small dance floor. A drink splashes over the table in front of me. Marie lies across my lap. She’s nodded off. Or passed out.
Time passes, and then I realize Vasily’s vanished, only to be replaced by two women. One is tall with dark hair cut in a sleek bob, and the other is a petite redhead. Both wear jeans and crop tops. Both are attractive.
I don’t recognize either of them.
Did I zone out?
“Hey, beautiful, come with us.” The taller of the two curls her finger at me and smiles. She’s older. Mid-thirties at a guess. Nice figure, but I’m not interested. “Vasily’s waiting.”
Something about her voice jars. Maybe it’s her thick Slavic accent. Or the fact she’s stone cold sober in a bar full of wasted people. The vaulted ceiling above my head blurs, and when I focus on the woman, I see three of her.
My body doesn’t respond as I try to stand. I can barely string two thoughts together.
Marie slides off my lap and hits the floor with a thump. She’s lying in a puddle of alcohol. At least I think it’s alcohol.
I’m not especially fond of Marie, but a nagging voice in my head says I can’t leave her like this. Only I’m not in control.
A pair of hands grabs my left arm and tugs me up. My lips try to shape some words, but nothing comes out.
“Hurry before the security spots us,” the brunette says.
An image of Chiara pops into my brain. From the night of the gala, when she went full psycho on the women who assaulted me under the not-so-caring eye of my then-manager. If Chiara were here, she’d have thrown a glass at these women. Possibly punched them.
My girl’s a real spitfire when she gets going.
A smile quirks my lips upward. My girl.
“Jesus, he’s out of it. If we don’t move him now, he’ll pass out, and I’m not fucking carrying the heavy bastard,” the redhead mutters.
“Let’s go,” the brunette croons as she leans in. I catch a whiff of a heavy, musky perfume. It makes my stomach curdle, and I swallow. “Mama will look after you.”
“I don’t have a mother,” I try to say, but pure nonsense spills from my lips.
The women pull me to my feet between them. They casually step over Marie’s prone body as if she doesn’t exist. A good guy would be worried about Marie, but from her snores, it’s clear she’s asleep, not dead.
And besides, I have bigger problems right now.
Like how to stop these two women from taking me away from the bar…or is it a club? Something tells me their intentions are not honorable, and I’m on the verge of passing out any minute now.
We push through the crowd. A few women paw me, rubbing their bodies against me as I’m dragged away. It’s like they see me as nothing more than a pretty meat suit.
I’m not a person. I’m a doll.
My face and body are valuable commodities people will pay good money for.
A fact the brunette confirms when we finally step outside into a dark alleyway. The music and laughter abruptly ceases as the thick metal door slams shut in our wake.
“Conrad’s on his way. He’s been paid good money for this job.” The redhead chuckles.
“I wanna take him for a test ride,” she laughs. “I bet he has a big dick.” Her fingers grope my junk, and my stomach revolts. I vomit all over her, my stomach expelling all the drinks I’ve consumed.
She lashes out in fury, the silver rings on her fingers cutting my cheek. Her friend snarls in annoyance.
“Fuck, Katya, don’t damage him! It’ll look suspicious!”
“The bastard’s ruined my dress and shoes!”
“Like I give a fuck. With what Conrad’s paying, you can afford to replace them,” the brunette huffs crossly and shoves me against a dumpster. I stumble, but already my mind is clearing.
I have to get away from these women before this Conrad arrives. I’m too out of it to stand a chance against some beefy guy, one who’s likely armed.
If I had my phone, I’d call for help, but fuck knows where it is. I trawl back through my memories while the women bicker. A vague recollection of dropping my phone on the table and leaving it there pings into my brain.
I need Chiara.
The women aren’t watching me. They’re too busy staring at a phone and muttering about Conrad taking his sweet time.
My brain has cleared, and I feel marginally more alert, so I step sideways, intending to head for the metal door. If I can make my way back into the club, it will be easier to lose these bitches.
But my foot kicks an empty bottle, and it alerts the women. They jump toward me and grab my arms.
“No, baby, you’re sticking with us.”
“Let go!” I hiss. I would never normally hit a woman, but I’m over this shit. The redhead yelps as I shove her back. I might be wasted, but I’m still a lot bigger than her.
Her friend curses and pulls a gun on me.
“Back off, Romeo.” Her hand is steady. She’s clearly no amateur. “I can’t afford to lose you, so suck it up, buttercup.”
What would my brother do in this situation? He wouldn’t be in this situation, is my best guess, but if he were?
My brain kicks into gear. If I’m so valuable, then this woman isn’t going to risk shooting me. And besides, we’re too close to the road. A gunshot would attract attention.
I lunge at her, and she squeals in surprise, not expecting me to fight back.
I grab her wrist and twist, not enjoying the sharp snap followed by a high-pitched scream.
The redhead yells and punches me in the side.
Her small fist doesn’t do a lot of damage, but the roundhouse kick she aims at my balls brings me to my knees.
My reactions suck. Kane would laugh his ass off if he could see me now.
I lie curled in a fetal position, questioning my life choices up to this point as pain slices my balls. My chances of fathering kids just dropped by one hundred percent.
The crash of the metal door slamming against a wall barely registers. If these two women have friends, I’m so fucked.
A male voice utters something in a language I don’t recognize. The redhead yelps back in the same language. I’ve no clue what they’re saying, but I recognize my brother’s name in the exchange.
When I dare to look up, the brunette kicks me in the head, and it’s lights out.
When I come to, I’m lying on a bed. Is this my apartment? If so, how did I get here?
My head throbs, and my tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. I’d kill for a drink of water right now, but that would require moving, and I think I might vomit if I try.
A stocky figure walks in from another room. I try to focus on their face, but it’s too dark to make out who they are. Strong hands pull me upright, and then a glass of liquid presses against my lips. I swallow automatically, grimacing at the taste of vodka.
“Water,” I try to say, but nothing comes out.
The shadowy figure tips back my head and holds my nose, and I’m forced to drink every last drop. My head spins as I fall back onto the covers.
Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I roll onto my side. I hear a thud when the glass drops onto the carpet, and then the person leaves.
Silence stretches out as the drugs and alcohol in my system take effect. The last thing I see is Chiara’s face.
Tears run down her cheeks as she calls my name repeatedly, but when I try to answer, she doesn’t hear me.