Chapter 4
Kelly
It took us an hour to get ready, and by the time we made it to the club, it was already close to ten. We’re somewhere in the middle of a long line outside a recently opened place called Ozero.
It’s supposed to be wildly popular right now, and it shows. The line stretches forever. I almost regret my choices and consider walking home and going to sleep already.
It’s cold as hell outside. I feel very overdressed in the clothes Camilla picked out for me. Gray chinos, black shoes, and a cream-colored linen shirt with the sleeves pushed up to my elbows.
It’s been so long since I went out, I don’t even know what people wear to clubs anymore. Camilla said I looked hot though, so I’m trying to believe her.
Someone in a fancy suit steps out of the entrance and walks down the line. He stops right in front of us, like he’s been looking for us.
“You two. Come with me.”
We glance at each other and then around us.
“Us?” I ask, pointing at my chest like an idiot.
“Yes. Follow me.”
Camilla shrugs, and we follow. Groans ripple through the line behind us. We were only out there ten minutes, and some of these people look like they’ve been waiting forever. I feel like a complete asshole.
Inside, I stop short. This place is nothing like I expected.
The club is massive. Dark wood panels line the walls, glowing warmly under LED strips tucked along the floor.
The whole space pulses with soft light and bass, packed wall to wall with bodies and movement. Music shakes the air like a second heartbeat. Toward the back, the dance floor dips into a sunken pit, lights flashing in sync with the DJ standing above it on a raised stage.
The bar stretches long and polished, backlit shelves stacked high with every bottle imaginable. At least four bartenders move nonstop, sliding drinks across to people shouting orders over the noise.
To the right, a staircase leads up to a VIP level. A man in a black suit stands at its base, arms crossed, scanning the crowd.
This is way fancier than anywhere I’ve been, and I already feel out of place.
“Wow,” I manage.
The man checks his watch, then looks at us like we’re wasting his time. “Drinks are on the house. The bartenders know.”
He turns to leave, but Camilla grabs his arm. “Wait, why?” Her voice sharpens. “Why are we being let in early? And getting free drinks?”
He sighs. “Boss’s orders.”
Then he’s gone.
“That’s weird, right?” I ask.
Camilla squeezes my hand. “Probably. But hey, free drinks, hot crowd, you finally left your apartment. We’re not questioning the universe tonight.”
She tugs me toward the bar before I can overthink it. I lean close to be heard. “How do they even know who we are? How do they know we’re the ones getting free drinks?”
“Let’s just enjoy it. Lord knows we need it.” She smiles and rests her hand on my arm. “I’ll order. You stay here.”
She’s gone before I can answer. I glance around, overwhelmed by the lights and people, but she returns quickly with a tray of two colorful cocktails and a mess of shots.
I raise my eyebrows. “If you expect me to drink all that, I won’t last long. Do you know how long it’s been since I had more than one glass of anything?”
She scoffs. “Lightweight.”
We set the tray down and start slow, sipping the cocktails and knocking back a couple shots. The music rattles in my ribs. My head starts buzzing pleasantly.
As we head onto the dance floor, the DJ fades into “Alive” by Kx5, and the crowd explodes. Hands in the air. Bodies pressing closer.
I move my hips and take slow sips of my drink, letting the sound get under my skin. Camilla dances beside me, and a tall, muscular guy with tattoos and a buzz cut slips in behind her.
She glances back, shrugs, and keeps dancing. He is insanely hot. I’m happy for her.
Someone bumps my shoulder. I spill a little and turn around, already annoyed. A guy smiles down at me, and something about him makes my skin crawl.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he says, grinning like it’s charming. “Let me buy you another drink.”
“No thanks,” I mutter, turning away.
He grabs my shoulder and spins me around. The rancid stench of alcohol hits my face, and I nearly gag. It triggers something sharp and awful in the back of my brain, and I shake my head, trying to shut it down.
My hands shake, and I take a step back.
But he grabs my shoulders again and pulls me closer. “Come on, don’t be like that. I already got you a replacement.” He nods toward the bar. “Exact same thing you were having. Saw the bartender make it.”
“I just … I’m not interested.”
“What’s the problem? You’re here to have fun, right?” he says, too close now, his breath hot against my ear. “Just one drink with me. That’s all I’m asking. Then we’ll see where the night goes.”
Something about the way he keeps pushing the drink makes my skin crawl, the way he’s standing too close, blocking my path, the way he keeps touching me even when I pull away.
“I said no.” I try to turn away again.
His grip tightens—then suddenly he lets go, eyes wide.
I’m shoved aside, and a man steps in front of me and punches him so hard he hits the floor.
I take a few steps back, heart hammering. Someone must have seen us, decided two guys talking was wrong, and now they’re making an example out of us.
Blood pours from his nose. The man doesn’t stop.
He bends down, grabs the guy by the shirt again, and drives his fist into his face.
Once. Twice. The third punch makes a wet cracking sound, loud enough that I hear it over the music.
The guy’s head snaps back against the floor, blood spattering everywhere.
Fear floods through me, the same kind I felt in high school—cold stares in hallways, whispered slurs behind my back, that look some people get when they’ve decided you’re everything that’s wrong with the world.
That split second of terror when you realize someone’s decided you don’t belong, that your existence is somehow offensive enough to warrant whatever comes next.
The guy screams when his wrist twists the wrong way, then goes limp.
People are looking now, staring, but then I notice something else. How fast everyone looks away like they didn’t see anything. No one’s calling security, no one’s moving.
They should be stopping this, right?
The man finally turns around.
Leather boots. Tight black shirt. Blood smeared on his knuckles, tattoos snaking up both arms.
Brown eyes locked on mine. The tattoo under his eye.
It’s him.
Fuck. No, no, no. This can’t—
I’m going to die.
He’s going to finish the job he didn’t at the clinic. He probably couldn’t pull it off then because he was injured, and now he’s here to make sure I don’t talk.
I take a few steps back, then take off running.
A hand grabs my shoulder and yanks me back so hard I slam into a solid chest.
“Don’t fucking run from me,” he breathes against my ear in a thick accent. “Now do as I say and follow me.”
I try to search for Camilla, but I don’t see her. His hand wraps gently around my wrists. He tugs me forward and starts walking, glancing back to make sure I’m following.
I feel like I’m floating as I trail after him. I keep trying to spot security, someone who might step in, but there’s no one.
He leads me to an elevator and pulls out a black card. Scans it. The doors slide open, and he lets go of my wrists, pushes me inside, then follows and hits a button. The elevator starts moving up.
My palms are so slick with sweat that even wiping them on my pants doesn’t help.
The dizziness hits next, chest squeezing tight from fear. What is he going to do with me? Is this how I die? In some fancy elevator, murdered by the man whose life I saved?
I’d laugh if I wasn’t so terrified. Save a bleeding stranger, get murdered by said stranger in some fancy elevator or in a soundproof room.
It’s like the world’s worst karma boomerang. I hope I’m wrong about him. When he was at the clinic, I saw the fear in his eyes, no matter how much he tried to hide it. He was scared of dying, and that alone proves he has some humanity. But that doesn’t mean he won’t kill me.
The elevator ride feels endless, and it’s only making my thoughts spiral even more.
What if no one will ever find my body? Camilla doesn’t even know where I went. She’ll think I just disappeared, maybe that I finally snapped and ran away from everything.
No one will ever know what actually happened to me.
The elevator dings, and he steps out. His cologne lingers, and damn, it smells good. I chew on my lip and follow, hating myself for even noticing.
The city skyline spreads out in the background with floors of black marble, polished so smooth I can see the lights bouncing off them. The walls are dark wood with soft golden lights glowing along the edges.
The hallway stretches ahead in a T-shape. He takes the left, and I trail after him.
A woman approaches us, says something to him in Russian. He nods once and keeps moving. When he reaches a door, he holds it open for me. I freeze for half a second, swallow hard, then step inside.
It’s a big office with glass windows on one side, a wall of bookshelves behind a dark wooden desk, and two black chairs in front of it. He brushes past me and lowers himself into the chair behind the desk, then lifts his hand and gestures for me to sit.
“Please don’t kill me, I did everything you said.”
His face gives away nothing. “I am not going to kill you, Kelly.”
My name in his mouth makes my stomach drop. He grabbed my ID card that night, looked at it, then basically told me he’d kill me if I didn’t do what he said.
He’s known my name this whole time. Probably knows where I live too.
Which means—he didn’t just randomly show up here tonight. He came looking for me specifically. Christ, I’m so screwed.