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I’m having fun.
Real fun.
The kind of fun that girls my ageshouldhave with their friends.
This is what life is. This is what my lifecouldbe, but it’s not. And never will be.
An hour later, I’m dying for a cold drink of water and my feet feel like they’re encased in cement. The rest of the group is still going strong, so I catch Georgia’s eye and gesture to let her know that I’m going to cool off upstairs in the VIP section. She gives me a thumbs-up, still lost in the beat.
My eyes travel toward the wall closest to us. I wave at Mikhail to let him know I'm ready for a break. Through the dry-ice fog and strobe lights, I’m not sure if he nodded in response or not. I try again, but this time I lose him as the crowd shifts against me. The buzz from the shots has worn off, and now I’m tired and ready for a break.
I give one last glance over my shoulder at my new friends on the dance floor before setting off in the direction where I last saw Mikhail. And crash smack into a wall of muscle, or maybe he crashes into me, I’m not sure. All I know is giant hands come up and grab me around the waist.
“Sorry, beautiful,” a strange man smirks down at me. He doesn’t look sorry at all. “I guess I need to pay more attention to where I’m going.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I snap, removing his hands from my waist. There is something oddly familiar about this guy, but who knows, maybe all creeps are cut from the same cloth. “If you’ll excuse me—” He grabs my wrist and pulls me against him.
“Where are you running off to?” He presses himself firmly against my body. “What? You too good to dance with an average Joe like me?”
Unease presses down on my chest. Something feels off about this exchange. I don’t bother to respond. Lifting my foot, I bring the pointy end of my heel down hard on his leather-clad foot. “What the fuck.” He howls in pain. Twisting out of his grasp, I push the crowd aside, and fight my way towards the VIP section.
With the crush of bodies, it’s not surprising Mikhail lost track of me. I don’t want to get him in trouble, but I also know I need to get the fuck off this dance floor now.
A bouncer nods in greeting as I jog up the stairs to the VIP section, sore feet be damned, and beeline straight to our booth. I’m grateful for the jug of ice water I find at the table, and gulp down two glasses. My creepy interaction with that man is still fresh, and my skin crawls just thinking about it. Women have been putting up with unwanted attention from assholes for millennia, but when a guy’s aggressive like that, it can leave you a little shaken up.
I remove my heels and knead my foot, trying to soothe my aching soles, but the man’s face keeps flashing in my mind. Was he actually familiar, or was he a carbon copy of some other dude that couldn’t take a hint? Something about this feels different, more palpable.
Panting, I stand and hurry towards the washroom, hating the heavy feeling that’s settled over me and the way the room spins slightly. I push open the door to the ladies’ room and head to the sink. Splashing water on my face, I hope to calm my overheated flesh. With my eyes closed, I take deep, centering breaths, calming my nervous system. When my nerves settle, I push off the sink, preparing to go back out to the lounge. But I can’t move. A wall of heat locks me in, while a dark heavy material comes to rest over my eyes, obscuring my sight.
“No, please don’t!” I scream, terror jolting through me.
My attacker ignores my pleas, reaches under my dress to jerk my thong down my thighs, and pushes my dress up to my hips.
My heart thrashes in my chest. Who would do something like this? The man from earlier? I try to fight, but my arms are locked in vice grips, and the cruel presence delivers a brutal smack to my ass. I choke out a sob, but I can barely get any words out. I feel like I’m going to suffocate.
“Please,” I beg. “Please don’t hurt—”
My words are silenced by another hard spank, this one on the other cheek.
I cry out for help, but in one fluid motion the blindfold is ripped away. For some reason, I still keep my eyes pressed shut, not wanting to gaze into the eyes of a monster. That is until I hear a deep, angry voice in my ear.
“Hello, wife.”
CHAPTERNINETEEN
DANIIL
I am so fuckingmad I could scream. Not at Bianca, though. At myself. I should have fucking known better than to go along with Leo’s plan. Everything has been off tonight. The club’s packed to the gills, and a restless energy permeates the dance floor. This crowd is looking for trouble. Whether the fucking or fighting kind remains to be seen, but trouble nonetheless.
Leo and I had been watching their girls’ night unfold on the surveillance monitors from the manager’s office. One moment I had her in my sights on the packed dance floor—the dance floor they never should have gone down to—and the next she was gone, swallowed by the crowd. When I saw her again, she was back in the VIP areawithouta guard, looking rattled.
I’d lost her. Just for a minute, but it was long enough to make my blood sing in my ears and dread drip down my spine. As Leo predicted, Jorge showed up with an entourage tonight, though he’s not on the main floor. He and his crew have decamped to the champagne room in the basement, a secret lounge equipped with stripper poles and private alcoves. And girls. Lots of girls.
I had no intention of letting him through the door, but Leo insisted the whole point is to see what he’s going to do. And so far, it seems he’s done nothing other than let a bunch of naked strippers grind on his lap. It’s cold comfort, though, since I know what he’s capable of.
It’s this riot of emotions in my chest that compels me to follow her into the bathroom, to spank her, to teach her the consequences of ditching her guard. It might be twisted, but I want her to feel genuine fear. Anyone could have attacked her. Anyone who wanted to hurt me through my wife.
She is still shaking in my arms when I take her blindfold off and reveal myself in the mirror.
