Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Laurel
The bass thumps through my chest like a second heartbeat, vibrating up my spine as Tasha and I move together in the crush of bodies on the dance floor. Tasha leans in close, mouth right against my ear so I can hear her over the music.
“I like the new Laurel!” she screams, grinning wide, eyes sparkling under the neon.
I laugh, loud, free, the sound swallowed by the drop of the next track, and throw my head back, letting my hips roll with the rhythm. My arms lift, hair swinging, body loose in a way it hasn’t been in years.
No early alarm tomorrow. With my schedule suddenly wide open, I can actually do this: go clubbing on a random Wednesday night.
Tasha’s off work today, so we made a day of it: hours spent shopping using the card Leonid gave me, arms full of bags we didn’t need, long lunch with bottomless mimosas, laughter that made my stomach ache.
Now we’re here, drunk on music and freedom, winding our bodies low and slow, then popping back up, matching the DJ’s tempo like we’re the only two people in the room.
I still miss my kids though. God, I miss them. But I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been wound until now. I’m giving myself a little more time to breathe, to feel this lightness, before I start sending out applications again.
Tasha’s breathing hard now, chest rising and falling fast. She grabs my wrist, tugging me toward the bar. “Drinks! I’m thirsty!”
We weave through the crowd, elbows, hips, apologies shouted over shoulders, until we reach the sticky edge of the bar.
It’s chaos: people waving cash, shouting orders, the poor bartender looking like he’s drowning.
Tasha tries flagging him down, leaning halfway over the counter, but no luck.
She turns back to me, fanning herself with one hand.
“Okay, while we wait, how are things with Leonid?”
I lean my elbows on the bar, still catching my breath. “Great actually.” A warm smile spreads across my face.
“I’m at his place most nights now. Since we don’t have to hide anymore…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I can finally breathe. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath all this time. Now it’s just… us. Out in the open.”
Tasha grins. “And the internet?”
I groan, tipping my head back. “Still weird. People are dissecting every picture I post. Two days ago some blog did a whole thread analyzing the carats in that necklace I wore to dinner. I had no idea how many carats it even was! I just liked how it looked.”
She laughs. “Yeah, they’ll move on soon. They always do. Though you’ll get dragged back into the spotlight every now and then, I'm positive you can handle it.”
“I hope so,” I say softly.
Tasha reaches over, squeezes my hand. “I’m happy for you, Laurel. You’re so… joyous these days. Like you’re finally letting yourself shine. Best decision you ever made was giving that man a chance.”
I smile. “Yeah. Me too.”
The bartender finally appears, wiping sweat from his brow. Tasha orders two vodka sodas with lime, extra ice. I lean against her shoulder while we wait, the music pulsing around us, through us.
A minute later, two tall glasses slide across the sticky wood toward us. We each grab one, clink the rims together, and take long, grateful pulls.
Tasha exhales dramatically. “Good thing we didn’t drive here. Neither of us is in any state to operate a vehicle right now.”
I giggle into my glass. “You’re right. We’d be a hazard.”
She takes another sip, eyes sparkling. “Are you drunk?”
I swallow, feel the vodka warm my throat, and try to answer seriously. “N-nope.” The word comes out with a tiny stutter at the end.
“Are you?”
Tasha tries to look serious as she gives a shake of her head, eyes wide. “N…no.”
We both crack up, heads thrown back, drawing a couple of amused glances from nearby people. My sides hurt from laughing so hard.
Then two guys materialize at our elbows, close enough that I can smell cheap cologne and beer breath.
One has a receding hairline that’s losing the fight fast; the other is completely bald, shiny head reflecting the strobe lights like a disco ball.
Receding Hairline’s eyes drop straight to my chest and stay there, tongue darting out to wet his lips in the grossest leer I’ve ever seen.
“How you ladies doing?” Bald Guy asks, voice oily. “Can we buy you a drink?”
Tasha turns slowly, sizes them up like they’re expired milk, and deadpans, “Dumb and Dumber. Beat it.”
Bald Guy snorts. “You two aren’t worth it anyway.”
Tasha smiles sweetly. “Yeah, neither are you. I’d saw off my left arm before I let either of you near me.”
Receding Hairline ignores her completely. His gaze is still glued to my breasts. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says to me, stepping closer. “Don’t let your friend be a cock-blocker.”
I feel my skin crawl. “You heard her. Beat it.”
He doesn’t. Instead he takes another step, too close now, and reaches out. His hand taps my breast.
I gasp, fury exploding hot in my chest. But before I can swing or Tasha can lunge, the guy is yanked backward hard. Two men in dark jackets materialize from the crowd like they were always there, one gripping Receding Hairline’s collar, the other twisting his arm behind his back.
A fist connects with the guy’s jaw, and he crumples. Bald Guy bolts, shoving through bodies like a panicked rat.
I recognize the men instantly. Leonid’s guys. Dmitri and Sergei. Since I started spending time at his house, I've come to know more of his men.
Dmitri is already steering me and Tasha away from the growing chaos, people shouting. “This way,” he says.
We’re hustled toward the side exit, through a narrow hallway that smells like spilled beer and bleach, then out into the cool night air. A black SUV idles at the curb, rear door open.
“How did you get here so fast?” I ask Dmitri, heart still slamming against my ribs.
He doesn’t answer. Just guides me toward the car. “You okay?”
Tasha’s right behind me, breathing hard but grinning. “What does it matter? They saved us from those creepy assholes.”
Sergei appears from the side door, wiping a smear of blood off his knuckles with a handkerchief. “Ms. Harper, I’ll take your friend home in the other car. Dmitri will take you home in this,” he explains to me.
Tasha turns to me, pulls me into a quick, fierce hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Love you.”
“Love you too,” I manage, still dazed.
She slides into the second SUV. The door closes. They pull away.
And then Leonid steps out of the shadows by the main entrance, black pea coat open over a dark shirt, expression thunderous. The streetlights carve sharp lines across his face.
Tasha leans out the window of her departing car. “Hi, Leonid!”
He lifts a hand in acknowledgment. “Tasha.”
She blows me a kiss, then they’re gone.
Leonid closes the distance in three long strides, eyes scanning me head to toe like he’s checking for damage. His hand cups my cheek, gentle, but I feel the tension in his fingers.
“You alright?” he asks, voice low.
I nod. “Yeah. Just… shaken.”
He exhales through his nose, pulls me against his chest for a brief, hard hug, then opens the back door to the SUV.
“Get in.”
I do, and as the car starts moving, I turn to Leonid. My heart’s still racing from the club, adrenaline mixing with the vodka.
“You had me followed, didn’t you? That's why your men were able to get there when they did.”
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes scan me. “Are you sure you're okay? Did that bastard hurt you?”
“No, Dmitri and Sergei arrived right on time." I cross my arms. “Did you have your men following me? Even after I asked you not to?”
He reaches for me, pulls me into his arms before I can pull away. His hold is tight, almost desperate. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he murmurs against my hair, voice rough.
I want to argue, but my head is suddenly so heavy, the world tilting like the floor’s dropped out from under me.
“This conversation isn’t over,” I mumble into his chest.
Then everything goes dark.
I wake up to a pounding headache, like someone’s driving nails into my temples. Sunlight filters through heavy curtains, and I’m in Leonid’s bed, his black sheets cool against my skin, wearing one of his soft T-shirts that smells like him.
There’s a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand. I sit up slowly, swallow the pills, and chug the water in one go.
I shuffle to the bathroom, empty my bladder, brush my teeth with the spare toothbrush that’s permanently here now, and tie my hair into a messy bun.
Staring at my reflection, eyes a little bloodshot, the events of last night slam back in: the club, the creeps, Leonid’s men appearing out of nowhere, the way that guy touched me…
I shiver at the thought of what could have happened if Leonid's men hadn't arrived when they did. Even though I'm pissed at him for going against his promise and still having me followed, I'm grateful they were there.
I head back to the bedroom and grab my phone from the charger. No texts from Leonid. That’s weird, he always leaves one if he’s gone before I wake. I dial Tasha.
She picks up on the third ring, groaning. “Hello?”
“Did I wake you?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is gravelly. “My head is banging. Yours?”
“Same.” I sink onto the edge of the bed. “Just checking on you. We’ll talk later?”
“Alright.”
I hang up, and head downstairs in search of him.
The house is quiet. I check Alexei’s room first; there's no sign of him or the nanny. I head to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot; it’s still hot, so it was made recently. I take a sip, the taste grounding me a little, and call Leonid. Straight to voicemail.
I sip my coffee as I wander, past the living room, the study, the gym he showed me once. The house is huge; even after the tour, I still get turned around sometimes.
I’m halfway down a hallway I don’t remember when I spot a staircase leading down, narrow, almost hidden behind a heavy door that’s slightly ajar. I don’t recall this part at all.
Low grunts echo up from below, pained, guttural.
I freeze, coffee cup halfway to my lips. What the hell?
I take the steps slowly, heart starting to race again. The air grows cooler, damper. The grunts get louder, mixed with the wet sound of fists on flesh.
I reach the bottom, and stop dead.
The room is concrete, dimly lit by a single hanging bulb. The guy from last night, the one with the receding hairline who touched me, is on his knees in the center, shirt torn, face unrecognizable under blood and swelling.
Two of Leonid’s men stand on either side, arms crossed, faces blank.
Leonid stands in front of him, gun in hand.
Before I can process what's going on, the gunshot cracks through the air, deafening in the enclosed space.
The man drops. Blood pools fast from the hole in his forehead, spreading dark across the concrete.
The coffee mug slips from my fingers and shatters. A scream rips out of me.
Leonid whips around, eyes locking on mine. “Fuck.”
I spin and bolt back up the stairs.