Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Roman
The second the door clicked shut behind her, she shrank back like a rabbit tossed into a wolf pack, pressing herself into the farthest corner from me.
Her hands flew to her chest, words tumbling out in a broken mess.
"Sir, I think there's been some mistake, but they told me... just one dance. That's all."
I took my time looking over the prey Dmitri had so carefully selected.
Beautiful. Even under that cheap, heavy makeup, the body was first-rate.
Had to hand it to Dmitri—the bastard always had an eye for quality.
She kept babbling, faster and more frantic, those light brown eyes drowning in forced innocence and terror.
Too bad for her, Roman Volkov never played the gentleman for any woman.
Especially one Dmitri sent.
This club was Dmitri's nest. He'd been my father's second-in-command, bowing and scraping for years while secretly wishing me dead.
Especially after what happened.
So tonight, when Dmitri suddenly turned gracious, inviting me to this private room with a woman waiting.
Something stank.
She stared as I moved toward her, step by step. She tried to melt into the wall until her back hit cold concrete and there was nowhere left to go. Finally she looked up at me, desperate.
"Can I... can I leave? I won't dance, I—"
Her voice barely held together. Her eyes kept darting to the door behind me.
Leave?
The question almost made me laugh.
She actually thought Dmitri gift-wrapped her just to let me send her home untouched?
Dream on.
I didn't answer, just smiled—cold and silent.
I caught her jaw in one hand, pinning her to the wall. My other hand moved to my jacket pocket.
Where my loaded gun pressed against her waist.
One lie. One wrong move.
This pretty little thing would be dancing in hell tonight.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Le-Leah." My grip distorted her voice. "Leah Carter. Sir, I really am just—"
"Age. Address. Occupation." I cut her off, jamming the barrel harder into her side. "One word at a time. Slow. Lie to me, and you won't get a chance to regret it."
"Tw-twenty-five. I live in Queens, in a rental. I work at a coffee shop—I'm a barista—" She'd figured out what was pressed against her ribs. Pure panic flooded her face. "Sir, please, I'm nobody—I don't know anything, I swear I was just told to dance—"
"Who sent you here?"
"My ex-boyfriend! Trent, Trent Mercer—that bastard took out a loan here in my name and forced me to dance to pay it off! I swear I didn't know anything, I thought—"
"Dmitri Sokolov." I locked onto her eyes, watching for any flicker, any tiny tell. "Ever heard that name?"
"Who?" Her face went blank with genuine confusion. "I-I don't know any Sokolov. I don't know anything!"
Not bad.
I studied her another moment, then slid the gun back into my holster and released her jaw, stepping back.
Dmitri sending me a stripper for fun?
I didn't buy that old fox doing anything that simple.
I returned to the couch and dropped down hard, lifting my whiskey glass and jerking my chin at her.
"Dance."
"Wh-what?"
"You said you came here to dance, didn't you?" I swirled the amber liquid. "So dance for me. Do it right, Miss Carter, and maybe I'll let you walk out of here tonight."
Leah froze, color draining from her face then flooding back.
Her gaze drifted unwillingly to the pole in the center of the room. Every VIP room here came equipped.
Finally, like a prisoner mounting the gallows, she shuffled to the pole and gripped it. She closed her eyes and tried to move with the bass bleeding through the walls.
I had to admit—it was the worst pole dance I'd ever witnessed.
Stiff. Clumsy. Arms and legs flailing with no idea where to go. She barely touched the pole, terrified to commit her weight, always half a beat behind.
She wouldn't even look at me. Her face burned red, teeth digging into her lower lip, those flimsy ribbons fluttering with every awkward sway.
A real dancer would never move like this.
But that clumsy, almost innocent struggle did something for me.
That thin silk slip kept sliding, exposing a strip of pale waist, a bare shoulder. Every movement dragged my eyes lower.
Maybe she finally felt my stare burning into her skin. Leah's eyes snapped up and crashed into mine.
The instant our gazes met, she went rigid. Her rhythm completely shattered, even worse than before.
Finally, unable to stand the humiliation any longer, her movements slowed, shrank, stopped.
She yanked at her sliding dress, chest heaving, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"I-I can't do this." Her voice shook apart. She took a tiny step toward the door. "I can't... can I go now?"
She actually thought she could just walk out.
I set down my glass and crossed the room in three strides, catching her wrist before she could bolt and hauling her back.
"You really think," I looked down at her, "you came here to dance?"
She gaped at me, mouth opening but no sound coming out.
"Strippers get trained. They get scheduled.
No club throws a girl who can't dance on stage her first night.
" I crowded closer, leaning down to her ear, delivering the verdict word by word.
"Dmitri dressed you up cheap and slutty and sent you into this room for one reason—for me to use. And you don't get to say no."
I ripped away the veil. In this underground world, a woman drowning in debt had zero leverage.
I hooked my finger under that pathetic scrap of silk covering her chest.
The fragile fabric tore open, exposing full, pale breasts that heaved with her ragged breathing in the dim light.
"No..." Leah shook her head frantically, crossing her arms over her exposed chest, making one last desperate stand. "Sir, I can do something else! Wash cars, clean, run errands—I'll do anything! I'll pay back the money, just not this. I can make it up to you another way—"
I looked down at her, eyes dragging over her naked breasts without shame.
No one had ever rejected me this hard. It actually made me laugh.
"Make it up?" I didn't hide my contempt. "Do I look like I need a maid or a janitor? The only thing you've got worth anything is that body. Don't flatter yourself, Miss Carter."
Let's see how she handles this—whether she's really a saint or just a good actress.
"I'm not a whore!"
Leah's reaction caught me off guard. She lunged at me, grabbing my jacket with both hands.
"Let me go! Please!" She shook me with no technique at all. "Trent's insane; he lied to me! Please—"
I stood there unmoved, letting her claw at me.
What killed me was how her soft, half-naked body kept rubbing against my chest through that thin dress as she struggled.
Heat I hadn't expected exploded low in my gut like wildfire.
I was hard. Just from a few clumsy touches.
I looked down at the cleavage deepening as she pressed against me, my throat working.
To hell with Dmitri. I didn't give a damn whether she was poison or bait. She was already served up to me. I'd take a bite first and deal with whatever came after.
"Face reality." I caught her flailing hands, pinning them easily above her head against the wall. My other hand clamped on her waist, pulling her flush against me.
"You think you have another choice?"
Leah glared at me, lips trembling uncontrollably.
I traced up her rigid waistline. Finally, my palm covered her soft, full breasts completely.
The shocking heat and silky texture made my breath catch.
I closed my fingers, squeezing that soft flesh roughly, deliberately brushing my thumb over the hardening peak.
"Mm..." Leah trembled under my hand. For a few seconds she seemed to give up, enduring my groping stiffly, even letting out a weak gasp under my fingers.
I leaned down to claim her mouth.
But the instant my lips nearly touched hers, she turned her head away stubbornly, eyes brimming with tears. One tear slid over the bridge of her nose.
My arousal went cold instantly, replaced by irritation at being defied.
Roman Volkov didn't need to force women into bed.
I swallowed my annoyance and stepped back, creating distance.
"I don't touch unwilling women." The truth—my rule. "You want to leave? Right now, this second, you can turn that handle and walk out that door. No one's stopping you. If you stay, everything you were promised, I guarantee you'll get. Your choice, girl."
I turned away, striding back to the couch and picking up my whiskey.
The cold liquid slid down my throat but didn't touch the fury simmering inside me.
Time crawled by. I waited to see which door my little prey would choose.
Leah stood frozen. One hand still clutched desperately at her torn dress, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths, the only sound her faint gasping.
I was always confident. Never bet on losing odds. I sipped my whiskey slowly, but my peripheral vision stayed glued to my prey. I could almost hear her heartbeat.
Finally, she moved.
Leah closed her eyes like she'd made a huge decision. I watched with dark amusement—this just got more interesting.
She drew a deep breath, then walked toward me.
I half-reclined on the couch, legs spread lazily, glancing down with obvious meaning, watching her coldly.
"Kneel."
Leah bit her lip hard, eyes full of humiliated tears, but she sank trembling to her knees in front of me.
Without being told, her hands clumsily unzipped my pants and freed my thick, vein-bulging cock.
I'd been holding back too long. The moment it was released, my rock-hard shaft sprang out, nearly slapping her face.
Leah flinched at the sudden appearance of the thick length.
But I had no time or patience to let her prepare mentally.
"Take it in." I gripped the back of her head, pressing the burning tip to her lips, commanding coldly. "Good girl. Do what you're supposed to do. Service me with that mouth."
Leah exhaled shakily and opened her wet lips, clumsily taking my head inside.
Her technique was awful. Her tongue licked randomly with no rhythm, barely taking the tip, teeth scraping the sensitive ridge several times.