"Oh-" the girl coughed, waving the lit joint around dangerously close to Lauren's face, "dozens through Eastern Europe, fifteen here in St. Petersburg. We make the rounds to show the peasants who is in charge." The wives around them laughed, and Lauren forced a smile. Zia was darker tonight, sharper and when she laughed it wasn't pleasant. Deftly intercepting another joint being passed to Arabella, she tried to engage the women in conversation about the city, their children, what they enjoyed. A couple of wives leaned closer to chat but most grouped up to giggle and sniff elaborately, letting her know there were other party favors floating around the VIP lounge.
Looking over to her right, Lauren stiffened. Thomas was in a circle with Romanof, Mogilevich and Number Three. As she watched a small mirror moved around to her husband, who bent and sniffed the white powder elegantly, tilting his head back with a chuckle. A cold fist felt like it was winding her stomach and intestines into a knot. She'd never seen Thomas do drugs, never seen him display the slightest interest. Why would he snort coke at a crucial time like this? When they needed to be sharp and clear-headed? Chuck was the only one allowed to bring her a cocktail, so she knew what she was drinking was safe. Williams's indifferent gaze swept over the wives for a moment in response to something one of the other men said, barely landing on her before moving on. Suddenly, Lauren was nearly sweating with the need to suck down her vodka and ask for another one. Clenching her hand around her glass, the girl moved back into the conversation again.
Something new blared out from the speakers and some of the younger wives shrieked with delight. "We are dancing!" Zia announced, yanking Lauren and a startled Clara out of their seats. This apparently only involved the other girls, none of the men made a move to join them and Lauren was suddenly pressed firmly between Romanoff's bride and another wife, writhing and gyrating enthusiastically against her. Looking around the dance floor for Clara, Lauren found Chuck hovering on the periphery of the lit platform with the look of a father who just found out that his daughter had stripped off her prom dress and was dancing in her underwear. His faintly appalled expression was suddenly hilarious, and she burst into a round of giggles as the other girls joined in. "You're so pretty," Zia purred, sliding her hands over Lauren's swaying hips, pulling her closer, "You and me? We should give our men something to see tonight. There are rooms here..."
All Lauren could think was,God-DAMNIT. I knew I was right! A sedate night out with the family my ass.
His head was buzzing a bit from the bump he'd snorted. Thomas rarely indulged in drugs and only in social situations that required it, such as here. To refuse a sample of Bratva's purest product was an insult, but it fueled his impatience. Looking over at his wife, he could see Lauren was attempting some kind of movement while trying to keep the girls with her from rubbing up against her. His eye twitched as that silly girl - whose wife was she? - attempted to cup his wife's breast. Karl Romanoff leaned in. "The girls are getting along," he rumbled, taking a drink and watching Thomas over the rim of his glass, "so pretty together, eh?"
Despite himself, Thomas found himself agreeing absently with Romanoff. Despite his wife's clear anxiety and her attempts to keep the other girl's hands within at least PG-13 rated territory, the three of them together were arousing. The lights flashed off Lauren's silver dress and her toned legs were shown off beautifully by the short skirt. He knew he would kill any man who ever touched his wife, but another girl? Kissing sweetly, hands running over Lauren's lovely body? With a start, Thomas realized that coke was stronger than he thought. Lauren would hate that. And this was not his pleasurably long and sordid past. This was his wife. And what they had was between them alone. It hit him then, illuminated him, went through him like a bolt of lightning. He loved Lauren. He loved his wife. More than his power. More than his money. More than The Corporation. And as Lauren neatly slid around one girl and looped her arm with Clara's to pull her out of her sandwich of undulating Russians, Thomas chuckled. She was magnificent. "Very pretty, Karl," he agreed. "Beautiful."
Clara's grip was a little tighter than was comfortable, but Lauren patted her back as they swayed together. "I went out on a double date with my friend who was dating a Navy guy in New York? So, they came into port after six months at sea and I thought the sailor they set me up with was going to try to get my dress off with his teeth before I slapped him. That guy was a complete gentleman compared to these girls." As she'd hoped, Clara burst into laughter.
"I'm beginning to think 'Bella knew what she was doing," the younger girl confided, "she's too stoned to sit up, much less dance." Clara's smile faded. "I feel like she's gone."
Impulsively, Lauren wrapped her arms around her for a hug, which merited a cheer from the watching men. "Keep dancing," she said, "we stick together. Everything will be all right."
Aleksei, the oldest of Mogilevich's sons and the most vicious, joined them, sniffing compulsively. "No shortage of beautiful women in London, I see," he was already tapping out another line on the curve of his thumb. Absently offering it to Thomas, who waved him off politely. Mogilevich Jr. hoovered the powder. "Ah," he groaned, throwing his head back. "So then, our three? We have a big, big bed, comfortable chairs and vodka just down the hall. You like my girl?"
"She's beautiful," Thomas said mechanically, watching another wife slide her arm around his bride's waist. He didn't know which girl the Bratva brat was talking about, only that his Lauren was briskly herding Clara in and out of the mix, still dancing to avoid insulting the other women without letting them actually feel her up. When did that crying, shaking girl in his office that night turn into this deft and courageous woman?
"So?" prompted Aleksei.
Thomas turned to him just as a flash of white light from the club's elaborate display illuminated his face, sharp features set in forbidding lines. Mogilevich Jr. saw for the first time the killer that lurked under the expensive suit and smooth manners. "I do not share," Thomas said. "With anyone."
Finally pleading exhaustion and heading for the bathroom after seating Clara safely with a dozing Arabella, Lauren headed for the VIP bathroom, feeling itchy and irritated from having so many hands on her. Leaning on the counter, she rubbed her eyes, trying to keep some of the mascara on her lashes. What the hell? The friendly wives from last night who talked about their kids and swapped stories about terrible labor and delivery stories turned into sharp-faced glittering harpies who were predatory in a way she was not prepared for. Hearing the females chattering outside the bathroom, she hastily moved into a stall locking the door and without thinking why, drew up her feet so they weren't visible. It was Eva and Zia.The Queen Bee and her... uh...she was just tipsy and tired enough to zone out for a moment, wondering what the next in line for Queen Bee would be called, Lauren almost missed hearing her own name.
"You bad girl, playing with Williams's pretty wife right there on the dance floor!" It was clear Eva was not scolding.
Zia giggled, "She's adorable. I want to keep her after..." The door open and they quickly greeted the newcomers. Lauren numbly crouched on the toilet seat until she was sure they were all gone. She'd had to keep one hand awkwardly twisted to cover the sensor on the tank to keep it from flushing and alerting the other women and her wrist was killing her. So when she finally limped out of the restroom, the girl groaned as an ankle twisted and she more or less fell on the man walking past her.
"Ah- are you all right?" The voice was British, and for a moment Lauren almost leaned on him in gratitude, just for hearing a voice from home before hastily righting herself.
"Oh, my god! Please excuse me. I wear spiked heels about as gracefully as combat boots, so sorry-" Looking up, she flushed to see a handsome man grinning down at her. He was shorter than Thomas, with warm brown eyes and a fuller mouth. He was also holding her elbow in a respectful way, helping her get her balance.
"Not at all. It's not every night I get a beautiful girl falling into me," he was laughing, but it was said in a kind, polite way, not meant to embarrass her. Once she was back on her feet, he held out one hand. "William, but my friends call me Mac, and here on business. And you?"
Shaking his hand, she answered, "Lauren Williams, also here on business. Well, my husband is."
Sweeping out his hand, Mac ushered her back to the lounge before pausing to briskly kiss her hand. "A pleasure, Lauren Williams, here on business. I hope to meet your husband as well."
Making her way back to the grouping of couches where the wives were chatting, Lauren smiled. A British gentleman. A nice thing after everything that's happened tonight.
Thomas was finally beginning to feel like he was getting his footing again, after the unpleasant revelations of the night before. After a day of reports from "his" people in The Corporation, and some skilled questioning tonight, he was sure he knew who authorized the drug shipments and he fully intended to put a bullet in the stupid bastard's skull. Kingston and Mogilevich joined his group, greeting Romanoff and Aleksei as the head of Bratva signaled for another round of shots. "Ah, you are here, boy. Come and toast with us to a new partnership." Thomas's back was to whoever Mogilevich was greeting, but as he accepted a vodka glass, he recognized the voice instantly.
"Oh, your friends from Jaguar Holdings, Semion?"
"Yes, take a glass and join us. Gentlemen, this is one of my most trusted associates in Europe-"
It took every ounce of Williams's self-control to not smash his fist into the grinning face of the man in front of him, winking at him as if they were sharing a private joke.
"Oh, I went to school with Williams. How do you do, gentlemen? I'm William MacGowen."
Chapter 36 – For Better or for Worse
In which Lauren Takes A Stand. And Thomas revisits belonging to the vilest family in England.
"How bad is this?"
