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"Where are you taking me?" I finally slice through the silence. Somehow, my voice doesn't shake, and I'm proud of myself for that. Because inside, everything hurts. Aches. Trembles at the closeness of his body.
"My nightclub."
"Why are we going there?"
"Business."
He doesn't give much away. His hand sits firmly on my knee, thumb slowly caressing my skin. I have to stop myself from tearing it away. He clears his throat, his free hand running over his jawline.
"About earlier."
I feel my heartbeat slow. Please don't talk about it. Don't remind me. I almost scoff at my own pleas. Like I could ever forget.
"That's not how I wanted our first time to be, Amora. I wanted it to be special."
My jaw almost drops to the ground.
"But in a way, it was special, wasn't it? It was you and me. Together."
He's completely lost his mind. I don't look away, even though it hurts. Even though with every blink, I'm back in that bathroom.
"It was special." I practically spit the words out. They leave a sour taste in my mouth that sends waves of nausea through me, but I manage to keep it down. I can do this. Make him believe just long enough for him to find Rosa.
His hands move, lacing his fingers between mine as he raises my hand to his lips. "I'm glad you agree."
It takes every ounce of strength not to snatch my hand away and slap him across the face. I offer a smile, turning quickly to look out the window once more. I hope he didn't see how fake it was, but something tells me even if he had, his delusions would convince him otherwise.
After what feels like forever spent in silence, only the sound of wheels turning on roads and the feel of Vincent's hand in mine to keep me company, we finally come to a still. The driver kills the engine and moves quickly to the car door. The cold breeze hits me immediately, whistling through my curls and sending a chill through me. I look up, the sign immediately catching my eye, flashing in deep green: The Secret Garden.
"This is your club?" I turn to ask, voice louder over the bustling sound of people eagerly waiting to get in, music booming from inside.
He doesn't respond. He just tucks me deeper into his side, claiming me to all the watching eyes.
My eyes move to the people in the queue, and for a second, I let myself believe they'll spot the pleas and come to my rescue. But the more I stare at their faces, the more I see how little they care. To the outside world, we must look like a couple. I must look willing, and that very thought breaks me a little more inside.
"Boss," one of the bouncers says at the door. I study him for a second. He's a big guy, easily 6'5 and 280 pounds of pure muscle. His head is shaved, and face set in a scowl. The perfect type for a bouncer, I guess.
"Is he here?" Vincent asks as we walk past the crowd and straight into the VIP section.
"Arrived around twenty minutes ago. Jules sent him to the VIP, didn't think the dungeons would be appropriate." Vincent smirks in response whilst my heart races. Dungeons? In a club?
We walk further into the club, my eyes moving from the bar to the dance floor where people are dancing, their bodies colliding together to the sound of Chase & Status's Alive. I close my eyes for a second, remembering back to a time when Rosa would play this song on repeat. A smile lingers on my lips as I watch her clutching the hairbrush, dancing on the kitchen counter. But just like everything, Vincent steals me from the memory and forces me back into reality.
"I need you to behave now, Amora," he hisses into my ear as he steers me to the VIP booth. My eyes land on a small, older man with a moustache sitting just above his top lip. My eyes almost bulge from my head when I spot the APD badge on his jacket. Ashwood Police Department. I turn with a frown to face Vincent.
"One word, Amora, and I'll find Rosa for myself. I'll fuck her till her cervix caves in, and then I'll sell her to the next man. Got it?"
Everything inside me dies at his words, my feet stumbling as we walk, my palms soaking with sweat. He means it. Every word.
"Chief Rowland." His voice is confident as he holds out a hand for him to shake.
"Vincent." Rowland clears his throat, but I can't help noticing he's a little sketchy; his eyes don't stop flitting around the room.
Vincent shoves me into the booth without care. He doesn't introduce me, but Rowland's eyes keep landing on me. I know he's trying to work out who I am, or worse—what I am. I bite down the reflex to scream, to tell him I'm being held captive and to help. But Vincent's threat—no, promise—rings in my ears alongside the sound of my own heartbeat.
"We could have done this at the manor," Rowland says as he nurses his drink that's still full.
"I needed a change of scenery, and you, my good friend, look like you need a good drink." Vincent nods towards the whiskey glass, his smile not once faltering.
