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Sergey, just as drunk and handsy as the night I met him, curves me towards him. His breath reeks of alcohol. “I saw you dancing. I recognized you. I followed you.”
I push against his chest to try and give myself some space. “Hi. It’s, uh…nice to see you again.”
It’s absolutely not nice to see him again. I never even wanted to see him in the first place. But I have too much experience talking drunk, angry men back from the ledge. If I start yelling, this is going to go south. Fast.
If Sergey was willing to put his hands on me in a restaurant full of people with a man like Yakov sitting two feet away, what will he try now that we’re by ourselves?
“Where’s your boyfriend?” he sneers.
Lie. I hear Yakov’s voice in my head as if he’s standing right behind me. Don’t you dare tell him you’re alone.
“Downstairs. Getting me a drink.” I start to pull away. “I should probably go find him and?—”
Sergey clamps his hand around my wrist. “Weird. Your ‘boyfriend’ looked a lot like a brunette in a crop top.” Panic claws up my throat and he laughs. “I told you I was watching you. I saw you the moment you walked through the front door.”
“Okay. My boyfriend isn’t here. I don’t even have a boyfriend.” If lying doesn’t work, we’ll try radical honesty. “I’m here alone and I’d like to keep it that way. I’m not interested in meeting anyone tonight.”
“We’ve already met,” he purrs.
“And you made a shitty first impression.”
He shakes his head. “No, no, princess. That was you. You went out with another man in the middle of our date.”
“Because you were an hour late. And you showed up drunk. Just like you are now.”
“I’m drinking. Not drunk,” he slurs. His hand slips down to cup my ass. “I’m sober enough to know that you look fucking delicious in this dress.”
I smack his chest hard. Sergey is nowhere near as big as Yakov, but that doesn’t make him small. He’s twice my size, at least. He stumbles back one step, but it isn’t enough for me to run for the door. Even if I did have space to run, I can barely walk in these heels, let alone run.
His lazy smile slips into a sneer as he stalks toward me. “You owe me, you little bitch.”
I blink and Sergey blurs into Benjy.
Suddenly, I’m not in a club; I’m in the bedroom Benjy and I shared.
Sergey pins me back against the glass and I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
You make me act like this, Luna. You get me all worked up.
I block Benjy’s voice out. He isn’t here.
“I don’t owe you anything.” I force the words out even as my throat tightens and tears burn in my eyes.
“I’ll make it nice for you.” Sergey slides me to the corner of the room. I can see the dance floor far below to my left, but no one will see us up here.
If I’m going to get out of this, I have to do it myself.
Sergey scrapes his hands under my dress and I shove against his chest. He totters back one step, but is on me again in the next second. His hands are everywhere. The alcohol on his breath is making me nauseous.
I jam my knee forward and connect with his junk.
He hisses, but doesn’t fall back. He falls forward, pinning me to the glass. He groans in my ear. “Your friend didn’t put up any fight at all. She was happy to play along.”
I freeze. My heart jolts to a stop. “My friend?”
“The perky brunette in the sparkles. I had my eye on you, so she went with my buddy.”
While I was dancing—during the two fucking seconds I let myself relax—some asshole lured Mariya away.
