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Nick opted not to reply. There was nothing he could say.
“But after such a tasty meal, I can be reasonable,” Zhoglo went on. “If I am sufficiently entertained.”
Nick’s dread deepened, widened. “Entertained?”
Zhoglo’s eyes sparkled. “We have nothing to do this afternoon but stare at this oppressive greenery. So entertain me. With your little friend.” He jerked his chin at Becca. “I like spectator sports.”
Nick’s eyes flicked to Becca. She’d sensed the vibe, gone on alert. Her hands wound together, white-knuckled and pressed against her belly. Her mouth was tight, her eyes big. Silently beseeching him.
“Vor,” he said slowly. “This woman is not a professional prostitute. She is not prepared to perform in this way. She will not be able to function as your cook if I do as you propose.”
“No?” Zhoglo’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Then what good is she?”
“What’s on the menu for dinner, Becca?” Nick asked in English.
“An appetizer of spicy Calabrese sausage and an assortment of fine cheeses, to start. Vegetables, roasted and au gratin. Tuscan crostini, with paté, tapenade, roasted red peppers and porcini sott’olio,” she said, with reassuring promptness. “Pepper-rolled beef, accompanied by a Montepulciano red. Herbed baby red potatoes, glazed carrots. Fresh sliced exotic fruits with crème Chantilly, coffee, Grand Marnier Chocolate Torte, and an assortment of digestive liqueurs.”
Zhoglo blinked a few times. He let out a sigh, and gazed at his plump, steepled fingers. “Very well,” he said, sounding faintly petulant. “I will compromise, for the sake of a decent meal.”
Nick was about to sigh in relief, but the man kept talking.
“Take her to one of the bedrooms and fuck her there,” Zhoglo went on. “We will watch on the monitor in the security room. Will that sufficiently insulate our little dove’s delicate female sensibilities? She will still be functional afterwards, no?”
Zhoglo’s eyes shone into his, bright and blank and impenetrable. He jerked his chin, a what-the-fuck-are-you-waiting-for gesture.
“If you doubt your ability to perform, one of my men would be happy to screw her in your place,” he added softly. “They would be most enthusiastic at the prospect.” He paused. “All of them would be.”
“What’s up?” Becca asked. “Was something not right with the meal?”
“The meal was superb, my dear,” Zhoglo said in English. “I’m just waiting for the entertainment, that’s all.”
Becca looked from Nick to Zhoglo. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Zhoglo snickered. “By all means, Solokov. Enlighten her.”
Nick seized her by the arm, and towed her out of the room.
Becca scurried to keep up with him. His grip hurt her arm. Something was up. Something bad. When Mr. Big bitched and grumbled, she could relax and breathe. But when every trace of emotion vanished from his face, and his eyes went dead and flat, her guts knotted up, her knees started to knock, and spots danced in front of her eyes.
Entertainment? She didn’t like the sound of that at all.
He dragged her up the stairs. She got even more nervous, although logically speaking, she should be happier the more distance she put between her and the scary, slobbering guys with guns.
She stumbled on the carpet runner, and he jerked her up to her feet, without even looking at her face.
He slapped the door open into a big, bright bedroom. A picture window looked out over a waving sea of endless evergreens and a heavy gray sky. The glass was beaded with raindrops.
He wrenched off his shirt. She stared at him, speechless. Terrified by the shuttered, implacable look on his face.
He pushed her up against the wall, his big hands stroking her shoulders as he leaned to whisper in her ear. “Showtime, babe. See the video camera mounted up in the corner?”
His meaning sank in. “No way,” she said. “You can’t be serious.”
He unwound the knot of hair at the nape of her neck, and smoothed the tangled strands down around her shoulders, the gesture oddly tender. “Dead serious.” He whipped the blouse over her head before she had time to react.
She whacked frantically at his hands. “No! You can’t! I have absolutely no intention of letting you—mmph!”
He clapped his hand over her mouth. “I bartered him down to this,” he muttered into her ear. “It’s me, for the camera, for their viewing enjoyment, or all of them, on the dining room table. Get me?”
