37. Addie
ADDIE
NIGHTCALL, NOCTURNE – LETHAL LULLABY (CLASSICAL VERSION)
Ten thousand in my pocket on top of the Academy payout? Fuck. Yes.
Knowing every dollar was a step closer to real freedom, I smiled, letting my mark think he’d won. And if his Cheshire cat grin was anything to go by, Henry Lewis definitely thought he was getting the better end of the deal tonight.
“Lead the way,” I murmured in that husky, seductive tone Marie made me practise a hundred fucking times this morning til I got it right.
Lewis pulled an expensive-looking black leather wallet out of his jacket pocket and tossed four crisp fifty-pound notes onto the bar without taking his eyes off me. He turned, extended his elbow, and waited until I threaded my hand through to rest coyly on his bicep before leading us away.
But not before returning to his table of equally psychotic buddies—Randall was back.
“Let’s go, boys.” Lewis snickered. “Spence, bring that bag I know you’ve got burning a hole in your pocket. We’ve got ourselves a whole damn party now.”
Fuck.
The same curse echoed through my comms, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out Beck was pissed at the change in plan.
“Do you have this, Addie? It’s now four-on-one if you can’t manage to get Lewis alone.”
Unable to work out a way to answer him without my mark knowing I had a Raven on my shoulder, I let the silence stretch—and Beck got snappy.
“Adelaide, give us a sign if you can’t handle it.”
“Use a codeword,” Van added, ever the brains of the operation.
“Right. Say something about birds if you need us,” Beck pressed.
Okay. Birds. That could work, even if it is woefully vague.
Our party exited the lounge through the main doorway. Just a straight shot to the elevator bank down the hall. The central cabin’s doors dinged open just as we reached it, so perfectly timed I wasn’t sure if it was fate or somebody with talented fingers at work.
My money was on Van, though.
Lewis entered first, with my body still firmly attached to his side. He jabbed the button for the Penthouse suite, shooting me a ravenous grin, but managed to hold off until the doors closed, sealing us all in, before turning into the monster I already knew he was.
There was a reason Henry Lewis was a dead man walking. It might not be the fact that he was willing to buy a woman to satiate all his dark desires, but that sure as shit wasn’t saving him tonight, either.
He twisted, bracing his arms on either side of my head, goaded on by his band of merry men, circling behind him like sharks. All polished smoothness vanished from his features and his eyes turned cold. They narrowed on my face after perusing my body at length.
I schooled my expression into neutrality—couldn’t afford to let him see an ounce of the disgust his lingering gaze was inflicting upon me. Only the role I was playing: the woman who routinely used her body to please men just like him to make ends meet.
“Is Katarina Ward your real name?” he asked, whisky breath furthering the tempo of the swirling, festering pit of nausea in my belly.
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” I purred, pouting for good measure.
His brows dipped lower, suspicious. Then he straightened as if a thought just occurred to him. Must be a strange feeling when you get so little of them.
“No matter. If Kat is what you want to go by, then cat is what we’re going to buy.”
Randall and co. sniggered behind him, evidently impressed by the wordplay.
I barely restrained an eye roll. Beck had no such luck—I could hear it in the scoff that came through the comms.
Lewis’ mask dropped a little lower. He grabbed my chin roughly in one hand and squeezed. “How many men have you slept with on nights just like this?”
“Yeah, what’s your number, whore?” Randall jeered.
“Does it matter?” I asked, staring Lewis down and ignoring the others.
He seemed to like that—being the centre of my attention. He squeezed harder for a moment, puckering my lips and making my teeth ache, then relinquished me with a sharp shove into the wall.
“I guess it doesn’t, no,” he answered, turning and straightening his jacket just as the cabin came to a halt and the doors dinged open once more.
Lewis exited first, swiftly followed by his pals, leaving me alone in the cabin.
I could so easily take this back down to the lobby and bail right now. He’d never catch me in time.
But the Academy would.
“You’ve got this, Deadly,” my t-shirt giver whispered into my ear, giving me the confidence to step out whether he knew it or not. “That’s my girl.”
Lewis—oblivious to my split-second indecision—opened the door to his suite with a gold-plated key card he kept in the same pocket as his wallet. He extended an arm, impatiently waiting for me to enter what he probably thought was my cage for the night.
Little did he know it was really a tomb.
“We’ve lost visuals, Addie,” Van warned.
My Louboutins didn’t falter once as I clacked my way into the art-deco-styled apartment, conjuring Gatsby in the best way. I didn’t stop until I reached the floor-to-ceiling window on the far side of the room.
Blackwing had nothing on this view.
The River Thames looked like nothing more than a winding, black silk ribbon from this height, at this time of night.
Its inky surface reflected every glimmering light it could reach, borrowing them from surrounding buildings and streetlights.
Every flicker danced like glitter to the beat of the current—like the heartbeat of a city that never slept.
Tower Bridge stretched across the ribbon far off in the distance. Lit like a beacon, it was impossible to ignore. And if I squinted past it, all the way to where darkness claimed the streets with outstretched fingers, I could almost make out my old apartment building—from before.
Glancing down at the strapless crimson gown adorning my frame, the black leather pumps cocooning my feet, and the dainty diamond bracelet encircling my wrist like a sparkly shackle, I couldn’t help but recognise just how far I’d come since then.
I was an entirely different person now—so different I wasn’t sure I’d fit back into my old home. And despite my new, unwanted role, I didn’t think I’d want to go back and claim that old life anyway.
A cigar-and-whisky-scented body pressed up behind me, shoving me against the cold glass in a move that could have been erotic if I’d had the right dance partner. Instead, all I had was the knowledge that Lewis was line dancing while I was doing ballet.
His erection strained against the fabric of his trousers and he wasted no time letting me know about it—no better than a teenage boy going through his dry-humping phase, thinking it was hot.
But I guess in Lewis’ world, you buy things to break them, not the other way around.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, tasting the shell of my ear. “The view… the woman.”
He slid a hand between my body and the pane of glass, wrapping it around my stomach to squeeze my left breast. Hard.
“And the whole city can watch as I fuck you. They can see what ten thousand gets a man like me on any given night. Something they’ll never be able to afford. Someone they’ll never have.”
Then he snapped me back from the window so quickly I had whiplash, spinning me directly into the arms of another man.
“Because once we’re done with you, little birdy, there’s not gonna be anything left to fuck,” Randall sneered.
“Did you—” Van began only to be silenced by Beck’s hard shh.
Surrounded by a quartet of merciless men, I relaxed into Randall’s hold knowing I was the most lethal person in the room—and the most underestimated.
With Randall pinning my arms behind my back so he could run his teeth up the side of my neck unchallenged, I had a clear view of Lewis unlatching his leather belt and Spencer with what’s-his-face in the background snorting lines of coke while they watched on eagerly.
Randall bit down and I hissed. That’d leave a bruise. His package twitched against my ass, telling me everything I needed to know about Lewis’ right hand man.
He folded his belt in half, snapping it so it cracked like a whip—the way little men did when they had too much to prove and too little hardware to do any kind of damage with. They needed to inflict damage in other ways.
Like with an expensive leather belt.
Spencer and what’s-his-face padded up on either side of me, each grasping the front of my gown with powdered fingers. Their intent was clear: they were going to tear it clean off.
Beck’s face flashed into my mind—the Beck that was with me in Stanley’s dressing room—and I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining this particular dress. If anyone was going to do it, I realised, I wanted it to be him.
“Wait!” I shouted, suddenly breathless. “Wait,” I said again as Lewis hesitated. “I have to use the restroom before we begin. All that alcohol went straight to my bladder.” I shrugged as much as I was able with Randall still holding my arms captive, and added a touch of plea to my tone.
Lewis scowled. “Hurry the fuck up then. I’d rather not get my Oxfords messy this early in the evening.” He jerked his head sharply. “Up the hall. First door on the right. Don’t take too long, kitty-cat.”
Randall begrudgingly relinquished my arms, albeit with an added shove, and I stumbled forward on my red-soles. Just as I reached the bathroom door, Lewis’ chilling voice crept down my spine once more.
“And you’d better come out of there unwrapped, Katarina. I’d hate to ruin that pretty red bow you’ve got on for me.”
My breath hitched as I locked the door behind me, leaning against the white wooden panelling, trying to stall my panic. I was in so fucking far over my head. But if I didn’t do this, then it was more than my future on the line. The boys were as much Varco’s pawns as I was.
I took two clacking steps to the basin and turned the faucet on—for what purpose, I didn’t know. I couldn’t splash my face. It would ruin Pyotr’s makeup.