I didn’t have time to consider the music selection before my chaperone opened the door, forcing me inside.
It was hard for me to swallow, to breathe. Something Benedetta had said to me while Giovi had me captured sprung up in a dry well:You would be turning tricks at a cheap circus to Sheena Easton tunes, left to his company.
WasAurélien still alive?
No, no, I forced the words over the brick wall starting to build in my mind. This was a happenstance.
Keeping moving, Scarlett.
A black stage made a circle in the center of the room, lights glittering enthusiastically along its rim, and a long silver pole touched the ceiling. The metallic scent of it touched my tongue.
Men hovered around, chatting in a cacophonous mixture of French and Italian. Booze was the underlying scent in this room, along with perspiration a week past its expiration date. Faces were harder to determine. The lights were out, the windows blackened.
Slow, sensual music replaced the upbeat tune, and on cue, I let the robe fall from my shoulders. As soon as my foot touched the stage, a bright, hot light hit me square in the chest. In a matter of seconds, I’d be full of running sweat. The men became quiet, absorbing every move I made. For the first five minutes, I lost myself to the music. But my heart thundered in my chest violently, refusing to let me ignore the call. The connection between Brando and me crackled with electricity.
I opened my eyes, took a quick scan around the room, and pointed to a man in the crowd.
If I find someone I like, Colette had said with a shrug,I invite him in for a quick tryst in the other room. Other men are allowed in, or at the least, to listen. Then I dance again.
I left it to fate and cocked my finger back in acome and get it gesture. A middle-aged man came forward, arms full of gorilla hair. The Italians glanced at one another, not sure where this was going next.
A room was connected to the “dance room”’ and I led him by the hand into the small compartment. The bed was made up with red silk and smelled spicy. He said something in gruff French, his great gorilla arms coming to slam my behind into his front.
I managed an “Ugh!” before Lev cracked him over the head, the man falling to the bed with a bounce and deep groan.
“The biggest man you could find?” Lev lifted his brow at me and then hit the man once more. The man made a noise that sounded pleasurable.
The men outside cheered.
“Where did you go?” I hissed, as he took me into another room that connected to another. He did the sneaky back-to-the-wall maneuver, watching for guards.
When all was clear, he shoved me toward a door. “Charm them,” he said. “You have five minutes. Then the ship will be overtaken and your husband rushed to safety. Attempt to warn him. I will be back for you.”
Then he was gone.
I found two men sitting in the room, laughing and talking to one another. Brando sat on the floor, his wrists cuffed tightly in front of him, his legs shackled in chains, head tilted forward. He was in the same clothes he had surrendered in—a thin white t-shirt and jeans. The boots were missing from his feet. He was saturated in his own sweat and other liquids I wasn’t too sure about. Blood. Insane amounts of blood. I wasn’t sure if it was all his.
Both of his eyes were close to swelled shut. His mouth reminded me of shredded meat. Cigarette holes had been burned into his shirt. His left shoulder hung limp, almost pulling him to one side. Sweat poured from his skin like a sieve.
Colette’s French perfume seemed to sweep into the room with me, mingling with the rancid smells coming from elsewhere. Brando’s head rose up at this, eyes puffy, and then it fell once again.
“What are you doing in here?” one of the guards asked in French.
The other spoke Sicilian.
“I was told I was to, ah, torture the prisoner…” I nodded toward Brando. I addressed the Frenchman, not able to communicate with the Italian. “I was instructed to bring him to the, ah, brink of passion and then…stop.”
The two men looked at each other, both smiling in a way that was more of a leer.
“Try it, bunny, and he will take your ear off,”the French warned.
The other man touched himself, a gesture that clearly stated the attention wouldn’t go unnoticed by him. Lifting my chin higher, squaring my shoulders, I took petite steps toward Brando. He gave off a dangerous vibe that I wasn’t used to. He seemed to vibrate with it.
The two men stood, looking at each other again. Each one took a side next to him, pointing a gun at each ear.
The Sicilian kicked him hard in the ribs, and then told him something sharp. Brando lifted his head at this and smiled, showing teeth stained with blood.
I swallowed the sob threatening to erupt from a pressure almost too great for me to contain. It was a mixture of pain and fury. Not waiting for their permission, I stood over him, came down slowly, and then sat on his lap. When all of my weight had been distributed, he let out a growl that almost sent me tipping backwards.
