“Yes. I’ve been here for almost one year.”
“And what are you girls doing in Zerilli’s club?”
She suddenly looks exhausted. “We are just to get them drunk. In compromising positions so Zerilli’s men can take photos, run up their credit cards with bogus charges. They will be too ashamed to do anything about it. It’s honestly better. Better than the Bratva whorehouses.”
I nod. That makes sense. And now I have my proof that Zerilli is in bed with the Bratva. Stupid motherfucker. I eye the woman in front of me.
Now what to do with her?
I check my watch. “You’ve been gone forty-five minutes, Yulia. Do you think anyone has noticed?”
The pulse point on her neck thumps faster as panic grips her. “There are many cameras.”
“We took care of those.”
“Oh. No. Maybe one of the girls. But they would never ask questions.”
I stand and motion for Gunnar to cut the bindings on her legs. “All right. We’re going to take you back to keep your little sister safe for now.” I walk over to a drawer in the table and grab a prepaid cell phone, add one of my phone numbers. I take my jacket back from her and hand her the phone. “My name’s Sandro. My number is in there. We’re going to be working on shutting down the Bratva trafficking operation and Zerilli’s part in it. But you call me if there’s any trouble. If you don’t feel safe. We’ll come get you out. Got it?”
Her eyes have a sheen of tears, but she doesn’t let them fall. “Thank you.”
Chapter 13
Lennon
This was the longest week in the history of weeks. But Saturday has finally arrived, and I find myself excited for the night out.
“Who’s this little guy?” Sloane coos as she drapes an armful of dresses on the back of the sofa.
I admire the short, silky red dress she’s wearing that shows off her mile-long legs. “You look amazing. That’s Pepper. A client’s dog I’m watching until we can find her and her kids another apartment.” I shake my head as Pepper lets Sloane lift him and cuddle him under her chin. “Traitor,” I snort. Then I glance at the dresses. “What’s all this?”
She eyes my outfit—a pair of skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder baggy top. Then smirks. “You are not wearing that. I’m taking you to the new club downtown, and it has a dress code. The sluttier the better.” She kisses Pepper on the top of his head and lowers him back on his pillow. Then she snatches up the dresses. “Come on. Let the fashion show begin.”
Rolling my eyes, I follow her into my bedroom and proceed to squeeze and wiggle my way into each one, groaning and moaning that I’m practically naked.
Until I get to the last one. It’s a black sequined little number with spaghetti straps, made from some kind of material that stretches around my curves in a comfortable and very flattering way.
“That’s the one.” Sloane hops off the bed and makes me do a little spin in front of my full-length mirror. “Like it was made for you.” She smacks me on the ass. “Okay, go finish your face, and let’s get out of here. We’ve got men to seduce.”
“You are so bossy.” I laugh but do as she says. I apply a little more makeup than I’d usually wear, adding a bit of dewy peach blush and a heavier coat of mascara. Then I remove the hot rollers from my hair, turn my head upside down and give it a dose of hairspray.
When I walk back out of the bathroom, Sloane whistles. “You are definitely not going home alone tonight.”
I dig my black heels out of the closet and sigh. “I’m not sure that’s my goal. I’m not sure what I’m doing except trying to let go of the past and move on.”
She comes over and wraps her arms around me. “I know, babe. You deserve to be happy. To be loved.” She pulls away and smirks at me. “Or at least have some mind-blowing sex.” While I’m still moaning, she’s dragging me through the apartment, cackling like a maniac. “Let the night of debauchery begin.”
Twenty minutes of crawling through downtown traffic later, the Uber drops us off in front of the large two-story nightclub. The front of the building is smoky glass.The Eclipseflashes on the building. The letters are gold but slowly fade to black and back to gold again. Classy.
We get through the long line and finally step through the doors. I clutch Sloane’s hand so we don’t get separated.
The place is packed. Techno-dance music is vibrating my bones. Laser lights are crisscrossing the dance floor in beat to the music. It’s an assault on my senses that are used to quiet Saturday nights with Netflix and popcorn.
Sloane takes the lead, pulling me through the crowd to the long bar with neon pink accents. As we try to squeeze in to order drinks, I’m suddenly grateful Sloane forced me to change my outfit. Every woman here is dressed to impress, showing off their best assets.
I feel completely out of my comfort zone as I’m jostled by beautiful bodies vying for access to the bar. The noise, the lights, the press of bodies bring on a sudden bout of claustrophobia. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.
I’m trying to slow down my heart rate and breathing when Sloane shoves a tall glass in my hand.
