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My reflection in the mirror is distorted, like the glass isn’t perfectly flat against the wall. I stare at a face that I’m not sure that I even recognize anymore.
I’ve spent so much time pretending to be someone else that it’s getting harder to remember who I really am.
A toilet flushes, surprising me. Another stripper comes out and steps up to the sink next to me, adjusting the bikini top that she wears with one hand. It’s only made up of a bunch of string and two tiny triangles that are barely large enough to cover her nipples.
I quickly look away so she doesn’t think I’m staring, but then our gazes meet in the mirror.
Her expression suddenly changes. “Olivia?”
Surprise makes me stare at her in shock for several seconds before I make the connection. “Chantel, right?”
“Fancy seeing you here,” she gushes. “I didn’t know you worked the clubs.”
“I don’t.” My gaze follows hers to the ridiculous outfit I’m wearing. Even though the French maid costume is a little more modest than what the ladies working here wear, it isn’t totally out of place. “Tonight is the first time I’ve been here.”
“Well, you picked a bad night to get started. We’ve got some of those boys from the college in the VIP room. Be careful around them.”
I meet her doe-eyed gaze in the mirror. “What do you mean?”
Chantel shrugs, a look of hesitation on her face like she already regrets saying something. “You just hear things, you know. Guys always talk when they come here. I swear that we might as well be therapists with all the confessions we hear.”
Premonition tingles at the back of my neck. “What sort of confessions?”
“Last year, one of them got really drunk and started crying during a lap dance. And I was like, really? But he was so puppy-dog sad while I’m literally twerking on his dick that I basically had to ask him what was wrong. He said something about how he had to hurt a girl really badly, or something, all blubbering about how guilty he felt.”
A chill of premonition moves up my spine. I keep my voice casual as I question her, like I’m just curious. “That’s so weird. Did he say anything else?”
“The other guys with him overheard and laughed like it was a big joke. They dragged him away before the dance he paid for was even over. All of them left right after that.” Chantel leans over the sink to peer at her reflection in the mirror. With a frown, she fluffs her hair and then purses in annoyance at her own reflection. “I didn’t really think much of it at the time, you know. Guys say all kinds of weird shit when they get drunk. But then I remembered that something supposedly happened up at the school last year. People saw police and ambulances going up there, but then there was nothing in the papers about an accident or anything. Those boys might spend good money, but I think I’ll stick with my regulars.”
I look down at the water running into the sink so she doesn’t see the expression on my face. “The guy who said all that to you…is he here tonight?”
“I haven’t seen him since that night. The next time that those guys came in, he wasn’t with them.”
My hands clench into fists at my sides. I force myself to relax before she notices just how tense I am. “Thanks for the warning. I’m surprised they haven’t been banned from the club by now.”
She dries off her hands and backs away from the sink. “These boys are big spenders, so the owner won’t let us kick any of them out, no matter how they act. Occasionally, they get a little rowdy with the girls after a few drinks, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Just make sure you don’t leave with any of them and you should be fine.”
“They sound like assholes.”
“You could say that about most of the men here.”
Chantel steps away from the sink and heads for the door, but I stop her before she can leave.
“Did the guy tell you his name?”
She hesitates for a second, obviously trying to remember. “Anthony or Antonio, maybe. Something like that.”
I don’t recognize the name. St. Bart’s is a small college, but the yearbooks I studied were still as thick as a copy of War and Peace. I’d studied the names and pictures of every guy in the Havoc House photos, there hadn’t been anyone with the name Anthony, at least not that I can remember.
But this guy, the one whose name I don’t even know for sure…he could be the one.
I might have just figured out who hurt Olivia.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Anton Bilik,” I say, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. “It has to be.”
“You know him.” Evangeline sits on the very edge of the pew, fingers rubbing convulsively over the wood as she tries to control her eagerness. “Who is he?”
