Page 11 of Betrayal and Vows

I make my way to the bar and order a vodka soda, heavy on the vodka.

I don’t sip.

I down it.

I want to get so drunk I forget my name. I want to be the woman I’m pretending to be.

I let the music grab me by the ribs and drag me into the dance floor.

Bodies pulse around me, but I keep to myself. I don’t flirt. I don’t smile. I don’t invite any attention. This isn’t about being seen.

It’s about beinggone.

My hips move to the rhythm. My arms rise into the air and my head sways. Sweat beads along my collarbone as I lose myself in the beat. Here, in the dark, in the anonymity, I’m not a bargaining chip. Not a trophy bride. Not a warning to others about what happens when your father makes enemies.

I’m just a girl dancing like the world isn’t ending in two weeks.

The lights strobe red, white, red again—like sirens flashing against my eyelids.

Someone brushes against me. A hand on my waist. I turn, elbow sharp, and the guy holds up his hands, backing off.

Good call.

The music rises. Drops again.

I keep dancing, ignoring the sweaty bodies and cloying perfume that seems to wrap me in a cloud.

I spin, arms raised, head thrown back, the ceiling spinning with me.

I feel free.

Chapter 3

Anton

The bass thumps through my chest.

My eardrums bounce to the rhythm.

The club is not my favorite place. I don’t know if I have a favorite place.

My eyes scan the club from my elevated spot.

The underground club is a maze of shadows and smoke. Red lights cut through the darkness, illuminating faces that blur together in the haze.

The ceiling is low, oppressive, making the whole place feel like a tomb. The walls are painted black. The red lights that strobe from the ceiling make it feel like we’re in hell.

And maybe we are.

I hate it here.

This place is a meat market. Half the crowd is here to be seen. The other half is here to forget. I’m neither.

I’m here to watch.

The club is technically under Orlov Bratva protection, but that’s a polite way of saying it belongs to us. It’s one of manymoney laundering operations. And it provides a nice cover for the business that feeds the bratva.

Vadim likes his properties clean, secure, and profitable. Which is why I’m standing in the VIP mezzanine, leaning against the glass with a vodka in one hand and a permanent scowl carved into my face.