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“Eh…I think I made a mistake.” I stood as tall as I could. “I’d like to leave.”
“Oh, come now.” The older man with greying dark blond hair stood from his suave slouch. “That’s not very nice. We’re friendly…once you get to know us.”
Henri muttered something under his breath.
The guy shot him a narrowed glance. “What did you say, Ward? Come now. We’re all friends here. If you’re going to speak, let everyone hear.”
Henri braced his shoulders. “I merely agreed with her. She did make a mistake. And I doubt she’ll be going anywhere…not now she’s here.”
I flinched. “E-Excuse me?”
Henri’s turbulent gaze met mine. I sank into their smoky depths, and came face to face with how badly I’d fucked up.
I’d agreed to go with a complete stranger.
In a foreign country.
The same night I’d broken up with Sam.
For the ludicrous promise of a million euros.
God, Ily…what have you done?
“You should’ve run when I told you to,” Henri growled, rage etching his features, turning him cruel instead of dazzling.
“You told her to leave?” the older man asked sharply. “I thought you wanted into my club.”
“I do.” Henri tore his gaze from mine, focusing on the guy. “I’m here, aren’t I? Regardless of fighting my moral compass.”
“Moral compass?” The older guy snickered. “If what Roland tells me is correct, your moral compass shattered months ago.”
“No, it didn’t.” Henri lowered his jaw. “It shattered the day I was born.” Stalking toward the silver tray on the bar holding a row of crystal liquor bottles, he added, “I’ve just been fighting it for so long, I can’t decide if I’m capable of embracing what I truly want or if I should get as far the fuck away from you as possible.”
A cold edge filled the room.
The older man shifted and looked at Henri with a bit more respect. He studied him the same way he’d studied me: devious and manipulative, plotting things I couldn’t fathom.
The guy beside the older one, with his pressed suit and large belly, finished his drink and clapped his hands. “So…Henri completed your task, Victor. Now what?”
Henri splashed alcohol into a tumbler and shot it back. He did it again, gulping down booze as if it had the power to erase whatever was about to happen.
Time to go, Ily.
I reached for my cellphone tucked into my skirt waistband.
I needed to call the police.
I need to get the hell out of here.
Withdrawing my phone, I flinched as a hundred reflections in the mirrors did the same thing.
I wobbled as I turned to the door behind me. My heels sank into the ruby carpet, my hand outstretched for a lifeline that would save me. My right hand grasped the handle all while my left thumb flew over my keypad, calling the emergency number.
A rustle of motion behind me. A masculine curse.
I didn’t turn to look. I yanked on the door and—
It didn’t budge.
