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I elbow my way through the crowd, earning glares and nasty looks from people until they realize who I am. Then they fall all over themselves to jump out of my way.
Oleg and I work our way down the other side of the mezzanine, but there’s still no sign of them.
“Upstairs?” Oleg suggests.
“You’re the one who dies if we don’t find them, so what the fuck do you think?”
He ducks his head and gets us through yet another velvet rope into the third floor VIP lounge.
We pass rows of private rooms I don’t even bother checking. Not yet. Because even the thought of my sister or Luna behind one of those doors is enough to make my blood boil. If I find them in there, everyone inside is dead.
I march down the hall and turn into the large viewing area at the back. The lights from the dance floor below flicker dimly off the dark red walls and black leather couches.
For a second, I don’t see anything. It’s not surprising. All the assholes who make it past the VIP rope prefer the anonymity that comes with the private rooms. They can’t pay to fuck waitresses and blow their brains out on drugs while a sea of people with cellphones are partying underneath them.
Then there’s a shift in the shadows.
I see a man standing in the corner, facing the wall. But there is another set of legs between his booted feet. The man shifts…
And I see her.
Luna’s face is pale white in the lights shining through the glass. Her eyes flutter like she can’t keep them open. Then she tilts her head. There’s a cut on her cheekbone, the beginnings of a bruise underneath it.
Oleg curses behind me, but I don’t hear him. I can’t hear anything beyond the rush of blood in my ears.
I cross the room in three steps, grab the dead man by the back of his cheap collared shirt, and drag him back. The sweaty material rips in my fist, but I still manage to fling him to the floor.
“What the fuck?” the man slurs. “Who are?—”
He looks up at me at the same time I finally see his face.
“You,” I hiss.
The asshole from the night I met Luna.
“Hey, man, I—” Sergey starts to explain, rumbling through excuses I don’t hear.
I’m too busy watching Luna slide down the glass as if her legs won’t hold her. Her dress is shoved up around her waist, a scrap of pale lace visible between her legs.
I turn back to where he’s still cowering on the floor. “What happens next will hurt you very, very badly.”
Sergey scrambles to his feet, but Oleg is there in a second. He pins Sergey’s arms behind his back.
Rage I’ve never felt before is coursing through my veins. I could slam my fist through his chest and rip his heart out right here and now.
But I can’t stop myself from turning back to Luna. I need to know if she’s okay. I need to know exactly how painful a death Sergey deserves.
One problem at a time.
I slip an arm behind her back and another behind her knees, carrying her over to the couch in the corner. Every inch of her, aside from the bruise on her cheek, is perfect. Fucking flawless.
“Yakov?” She blinks hard, struggling to keep her eyes open. “You’re… here.”
“I’m here.” I straighten her dress and brush my thumb over her swollen cheek. I might keep Sergey alive as long as this bruise lasts. By the time it’s beginning to fade, he’ll be begging for death. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay. My cheek hurts, but I’m—” Her eyes snap open all at once. She jerks back onto the couch, looking around wildly. “I was in here and he grabbed me. He was here. Sergey. Is he?—”
“Don’t worry about him.”
