I jumped when I heard the music, and I looked over to see him setting his phone down on the table next to him. Music played from it.
No drinks, I noticed.
God. Even worse. Staying sober to methodically chop me up, I guessed. I’d noticed that all the Russian hatchet jobs that came through never did any drugs or drank any vodka.
Fuck. Had I heard too much, or seen something?
The song was R&B. He looked at me as if to say, ‘problem solved.’
Maybe hedidsay that.
But it was pretty clear: there would be no leaving, the door would stay locked, and I was going to have to dance.
I moved toward the stage, and started back up the doggie steps, my stomach churning.
“Don’t go on the stage,” he said.
I froze, and looked over at him. The heat of his gaze sent a flush through me that was scandalously... well, hot.
So hot. The back of my neck crawled with a delicious feeling, and I was mortified to feel a wave of hot liquid swell up in the silver panties. I could feel red crawl over my cheeks.
“Um... don’t you want—?”
“Come here.”
His accent didn’t sound anything like Andrej’s, which was a strange thing to notice at the time, but I was in a tunnel and he was the only thing at the end of it.
I glanced nervously back at the door. “I don’t... we’re not supposed... to...”
His head moved slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what I was saying and he wanted me to say it again. He lifted his hand and beckoned me with his fingers, the way you would call over an underling.
My eyes went back to the door, as though anyone was coming to help me.
I wasn’t a hundred percent on even wanting to be helped. The side of my body closest to him was tingling as though he was stroking me with a feather. Fear wasn’t too far out of my mind, though; this guy looked mean and dangerous.
And hot. Sohot.
“The door is locked,” he said, and I jerked my eyes back to him. I felt my mouth open, but I said nothing, because the air was locked in my chest, which felt like a horse was standing on it now.
“No one is coming until I tell them to,” he said, picking up the phone and tipping it side to side before setting it back down and turning off the music.
The pulse of the strip club below reverberated in the floor and walls. It seemed extra loud now that his phone was turned off.
“No one can hear you,” he said calmly. So calmly it took me a minute to process what he had said.
What itmeant.
My heart actually stopped in my chest. This was it, I remember thinking. This guywashere to knock me off.
My mind went hazy. I thought about running; breaking down the door with my bare hands. But the moment I moved in that direction, Serial Killer’s hands shot out, clamping down on my wrists. They were warm, soft, strong hands, and he didn’t squeeze my wrists, but it was clear: I wasn’t going anywhere.
“No one is coming for you until I say so. So until then,Natalia, you are all mine.”
The cold that had been growing in my stomach spread out through my whole body. I felt my head moving side to side—was Ishaking my head at this guy?—and my feet moved on the floor, trying to take me backward.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t... I don’t do this kind of thing.”
I bumped into the stage almost immediately. My arms were stretched, and he was holding me as calmly as though I hadn’t moved. As soon as I made contact with the stage, I melted against it; my knees had pretty much given up on working and my legs were Jell-O.
