Kozlov smiles back. “It ensures discretion. If I have your credit card details, plausible deniability is out the window.”
I take Henry in carefully, trying not to stare at him, and I’m surprised to find him quite handsome. Nothing about him screams perverted criminal or disgusting recluse that no woman would dare go near.
Though isn’t that what they always say about serial killers? He seemed so normal.
“I must ask, and forgive my bluntness, but what could justify such an astronomical reserve? Beautiful women are hardly rare in our circles.”
As his gaze settles on mine, I see it, a cruel glint that tells me his gentlemanly mask would slip the second we were alone. I suppress a shiver as his eyes narrow, and he runs his tongue along his bottom lip.
This guy definitely isn’t normal.
With a smug grin, Kozlov edges closer, curling a finger for him to come near, before whispering in his ear.
Henry’s eyes widen before sweeping over me with new interest. “A virgin?” he says, just loud enough for others nearby to hear despite the music. “How remarkably unusual for one so beautiful.”
More heads turn.
“I thought you might like her given your penchant for the more innocent look,” Kozlov says, looking away as Henry continues to leer.
“Oh, the things I could teach you,” he says. His sleazy tone makes me want to recoil, but Kozlov’s hand on my back warns me to stay where I am, to be polite.
Excited whispers ripple through the crowd. More cold eyes slide over my body like icy fingers.
“Indeed,” Kozlov says smoothly, barely able to contain his delight that this man now seems fascinated by me. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have anotherveryinterested party who wants to talk logistics. If you want more details, let’s set up a meeting.”
The Brit nods enthusiastically, his greedy eyes gleaming in delight.
“Dimitri?” Kozlov says.
Seemingly from nowhere, the man who appears to be his second-in-command materialises at his elbow. “Boss?”
“Excuse us.” Kozlov stares at the english man until he leaves before turning to Dimitri.
“Keep Miss Wilson company.”
Kozlov looks at me before gritting out through clenched teeth, “You are valuable to me, but do not get brave. Nobody here is as valuable as my reputation. If you act out or cause a scene in front of my clients, I will end your life, and your brother’s, without a second thought.”
Heartbroken, I nod. I don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. Which is why I’ve decided there will be no attempt at a daring escape tonight. If nobody can touch me for the next week, keeping quiet could be my best chance at staying alive.
Glancing over his shoulder once to get another look, he walks over to a high-top table where two women sit flanked by two guards while being hit on by two older men. A server appears to take the men’s orders, like they’re at some kind of speed-dating event and not window shopping for a sex slave to rent out for the night.
Kozlov greets them warmly before disappearing into the crowd, networking with his sicko friends and gesturing in my direction every so often with a twisted smile.
Dimitri hands me a drink, a flute of champagne, as if I’ve got anything to celebrate, and then positions us beside the bar. He leans close to a brunette bartender who keeps touching his armand laughing while batting her eyelashes at him and flicking her hair. When he looks away, her smile drops, but he laps it up anyway. It’s obviously never occurred to him that maybe, just like me, flirting with him is her way of ensuring her safety.
If the rest of the room thinks they’re together, they won’t touch her. She’s clearly decided staying on his good side is in her best interests with patrons like this wandering around.
Uncomfortable listening to him telling her exactly what he’d like to do to her when her shift ends, and to her awkward giggles as she struggles to keep up her act, I step away to create a few feet of blessed distance. I stand alone near a deep brown leather sofa, trying to look less scared than I feel and ignoring the appraising stares of each new man Kozlov chats to on his way through the swelling crowd of guests.
But as I look around, I realise the other women in the room aren’t watching Kozlov; they’re fixated on something else entirely.
“Have you seen the new one?” A dreamy sigh.
“He’s absolutely massive,” a girl’s voice drifts from behind a nearby pillar.
I pretend to glance around casually, spotting another two young hostesses, heads tipped together, their eyes also fixed on the door behind me.
One fans herself with a napkin. “Bodhi Lennox,” she whispers. “Sara heard he broke his father’s spine with his bare hands when he tried to double-cross him. That’s why he left. His own family hates him now.”
