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I nod back.
The thick tension can be cut with a knife, so I’m thankful when Alek gently pushes Nadia aside so he can exit the car. Saint does the same with his admirer, who unhappily walks back into the club with Nadia hot on her heels. When he opens my door and offers me his hand, I peer up at him, wondering if the surprises will ever cease.
Not wanting to rouse suspicion, I place my hand in his, ignoring the sparks crackling between us, threatening to electrocute me where I stand. We instantly drop hands when Alek walks over.
“There is no need to be frightened.You will be by my side.” If that’s supposed to make me feel better, he’s sorely mistaken.
Another car pulls up, and when Hans and two other men exit the black truck, Sara sighs. That soon turns into a strangled wheeze.
“Hans, you will wait outside. I need someone to watch the door.”
Hans nods, but something doesn’t feel right.
“Shall we?” Alek offers me his arm as though he’s some gentleman. With no other choice, I hook my arm through his, hating how close I am to him.
Saint leads the way, our own personal shield as he scopes out our surroundings. The guards at the door move aside, allowing us entry. When Hans takes his post outside, Sara whimpers softly, but she follows us, not wanting to make a scene in front of Alek.
The moment we step inside, I wish it didn’t look like your sleazy stereotypical strip club, but it does. It’s so dark, I can barely see three feet in front of me. The disco ball reflects the hue from the stage lights, showcasing a naked woman clumsily gyrating against a silver pole. Money litters the small glitter stage she dances on. She barely seems to notice, though, because it’s clear she’s high.
Men in suits, their ties loosely knotted, sit around ogling the women with drinks and cigars in hand. The bar is well stocked, and when the bartender sees Alek, he stops polishing the glass he’s holding and instantly reaches for the top shelf vodka.
Saint leads us to a red booth in the back. Alek gestures for me to enter first. I feel trapped, but I slide along the vinyl. Alek sits close to me, placing his hand on my thigh. Even though it’s on the material of my dress and not my bare skin, my stomach still roils.
Sara sits on a wooden stool as it seems she’s not good enough to sit with us. Saint stands with his back facing us and his arms crossed. By his stance, it’s clear he’s watching the door, and when a group of men walk through it, I can see why.
There are four of them, but the older man in the middle, the one with the piercing eyes, is definitely the leader. The others flanking him have their hands on their guns as they scan the room for any threats. Once they see Saint up ahead, they huddle closer to their boss.
When they reach the booth, Saint doesn’t move an inch. His rigid position reveals he isn’t playing. One wrong move, and they’ll all pay dearly…with their life.
“Are we allowed in?” teases the man in the middle. The well-dressed man smiles, flashing a gold front tooth. Nothing about him screams mobster, but that’s exactly what he is.
“Saint, it’s okay.” Alek taps his back, indicating he’s to move to allow our guests to join us. After a few seconds, he does as Alek says. The man enters the booth but doesn’t hide his surprise when he sees me.
“Adam, this is Willow.” It seems I don’t need further introduction because Adam instantly nods graciously at me.
“Lovely to meet you,” he says in an accent I can’t place.
I wish I could share the sentiment.
Adam’s men loiter near the booth, but Saint makes it clear there is an invisible line they are not to cross. If they do, they will lose a limb.
“Shall we get down to business?” It’s Alek who doesn’t want to dabble in small talk and just go straight in for the kill.
The bartender doesn’t say a word. He places three glasses and the bottle of vodka on the table, then makes himself scarce. He knows the drill, but I don’t. I don’t know why I’m here. Or what I’m about to witness.
“Alek, I am so pleased we can do business. I guarantee the best product out there.” One of the men passes Saint a black briefcase.
He slams it onto a table and pops open the lock while I hold my breath. A single brick of white powder appears. No guessing what it is. He reaches for the switchblade in his pocket and cuts through the plastic. Scooping out a tiny portion, he balances it on the tip of his knife.
He offers it to Alek, who shakes his head. When he gestures to Sara, I shift in my seat nervously. Saint has avoided making eye contact with me, and I know why. I’ve seen the real him, and this cold, callous bastard is not that.
“No,” Sara gasps, gripping the edge of the stool.
Alek simply looks at her, and it’s enough for her to nervously brush her hair back and lean forward so Saint can place the knife under her nose. She presses down on one nostril and inhales sharply, the white powder disappearing up her nose.
She rubs her nostril and closes her eyes tight as she sniffs repeatedly and clears her throat loudly. My attention flicks back and forth between Sara and Saint. Both look in pain. When she stops sniffing, she opens her eyes, and I can’t help but notice they’re wet. Alek may think it’s just the burn of the drugs, but I know better. They’re her tears.
Alek looks at his gold Rolex, and when a few minutes pass and Sara isn’t convulsing on the floor or foaming at the mouth, he nods at Saint. Sara is the lab rat. He used her to test the drugs to ensure they weren’t poisoned. That’s how little her life means to him.
