Page 80

My cheek and the corner of my mouth ache horribly. I don’t want to touch my fingertips to my lip, but I do when the copper taste of blood fills my mouth. It’s already swelling up, the blood running down my chin before I wipe it away with the back of my hand. More than anything, I want to tell him he’ll be sorry for that. I mean, isn’t that always what people do in scenes like this? Just wait until my hero comes through and rescues me. He’ll make you pay for that.

One problem: I don’t know if I’m being rescued.

Another problem . . . I am in real trouble with this guy right now. Even if they find me in the next five minutes, I’m not sure it will be fast enough. This isn’t just an attempt to get the guys’ attention. He wants to hurt me and he’s ready to do it.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” These words cut through the pain still throbbing in my face, making blood rush in my ears. “You’re going to die in agony either way.”

He touches my hair again, making me recoil, but that does nothing to stop him. “The only difference is whether I do it while they’re watching or not.”

“What did I ever do to deserve that?” My voice is a little thick now, my words slightly slurred, thanks to my wounded lip. I imagine all the things he deserves, hoping Adrian will be that karma . . . and that I’ll be the one watching.

“Not a goddamn thing,” he replies, evenly, smoothly, while he strokes my hair. I don’t think I’d look good with all my hair shaved off, but he’s making me consider it. “But that’s not the point. It’s all about justice. Balancing the scales.” Once again, he grips tight, this time tugging my hair until my scalp stings. “Blood for blood. Is that clear enough for you? How about you write that into your next book?”

“I can’t do that if you kill me.”

He brings his hand back like he’s going to slap me again, but something stops him. Maybe the fact that I didn’t flinch in terror.

“Oh, well, you might as well make this worth the trouble.” He surprises me by backing away until he’s seated at the closest table in what is probably a private room. It’s small enough for those intimate gatherings when you really want to get an up-close look at the body parts of the girl who probably has to dissociate just to get through her shift.

I don’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

Taking a seat, he spreads his thighs, and right away I know. Right away I’m disgusted too. “Dance for me.”

“Dance?” The idea makes me snort, which of course makes him narrow his eyes dangerously. “There’s no music. And you picked the wrong girl. I have, like, negative coordination.” When he draws a gun from inside his jacket, however, I have a change of heart. “I mean, I could try.”

“That’s more like it. Go on,” he demands, gesturing toward the pole at my back. “Impress me.”

He might as well ask me to take flight.

Stepping away from the pole, I study it while dread pools in my belly. “Is this thing sanitized between uses?” I don’t even want to touch it, much less grind on it.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“You’d be surprised how often I hear that question.” I even manage a faint laugh that does absolutely nothing to help me.

The click of the safety being taken off snaps me to attention. “Move your ass. Now.”

Move my ass. Okay, I can do this. “But, really, can I have, like, music or something?” I suggest. To hell with it. I bend down and release the strap on the shoe I’m still wearing, because my uneven hobble seems unlikely to be something he’s into. As my other foot touches the floor, I cringe. I’ll probably need antibiotics after this.

“No.” There’s a click when he chambers a round in the gun. “Now dance.”

Cool. Cool. I’ll dance.

I start slowly, swaying my hips a little, imagining an upbeat song. Like one of the fun, energetic songs I keep on my playlist when I write a fun scene. “No, no,” he grumbles, making a face. “Not that kind of dancing. Stop playing dumb. You know what I’m looking for, so give it to me.”

“Okay, right.” I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life. I’m supposed to get into the mood to dance sexually when my lip is throbbing like it is?

I slow down, walking in a circle around the pole, being careful not to touch it. “Come on. Move that ass,” he urges.

“I’m trying.” I turn my back to him and deliberately wiggle my hips, remembering how Emily and I used to dance to Shakira, trying to copy her signature butt shake.

All he does is groan loudly. “You look like you’re having a seizure.”

I turn around, looking over his head since I really don’t want to look at him, then put one hand behind my head while moving my arm back and forth at shoulder level.

He lowers the gun into his lap, staring at me with his mouth open. “Is that . . . the sprinkler?”

I nod, then switch arms.