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“Hospital. One will likely walk with a limp. The other…” He shrugs.
What does that shrug mean? My throat hurts so badly I can barely swallow. I blink a few times, trying to remain in control.
I do not want to break down in front of this man. I suspect he would enjoy that.
“Okay,” I manage after a few seconds, and when my legs don’t collapse beneath me and I don’t throw up the bile left in my stomach, I decide I’ve never been prouder of myself.
A grunt is his only response. Then the elevator doors ping open, and the music that had been a background thrum upstairs blares loudly, the blast of sound rushing in to envelop the space and take my breath away.
Last time I was at a club, I was drugged and almost assaulted by a guy who offered to buy me a drink. It wasn’t this club, but the look, the feel, the sounds and smells, are all similar.
Luxury on the surface, a veneer of respectability, and underneath, sex and drugs and violent crime just waiting for an opportunity to burst free.
I begin to laugh, almost uncontrollably, only stopping when Rio lays a hand on the small of my back and pushes me forward, out of the elevator.
Several suited men are waiting as we exit, and they fall into step around us as Rio guides me along a raised walkway above the dance floor one level below. The floor is teeming with undulating bodies. A DJ works a bank of equipment on a raised dais at one end, while busy waitstaff deliver trays of drinks to waiting patrons seated at tables around the edges of the room.
The end of the walkway widens out into what appears to be a VIP-style viewing area, containing luxurious-looking couches and conversation pits, with a more refined-looking bar stretching across the back of the space, behind which several extremely attractive staff are mixing and serving drinks.
I take a seat where Rio points, on a couch right in the center of the viewing area, up front near the glassed-in barrier; the perfect vantage point to look out over the club.
“This is your place?” I slant a look his way, once he has finished murmuring in the ear of a thickset guy who is not hiding the fact that he is carrying a weapon.
That guy, and three others, stands nearby, watchful but not intrusive.
Rio sits beside me. Too close. Why does he not sit opposite?
“The building is mine, and this club. This whole city block is mine, Bianca. So, if you run, you will not get far. Remember that.”
Drinks appear in front of us as if by magic. A heavily made-up blonde hands me a fluted glass full of bubbly alcohol off the tray in her hands. I glance at Rio who waits, as if expecting me to take a sip.
I place the drink back on the tray. “I don’t want a drink. I don’t want to be here at all. And my name is not Bianca. It’sBree. I told you—”
“AndItoldyouto behave.” Despite the music and the voices rising up from below, his tone is commanding.
It rubs me precisely the wrong way.
“What will you do if I don’t? Kill me in front of all these people…” What can he do with this many witnesses? Surely, if I simply stand up and walk out of here…
A shocked gasp from the waitress precedes a crash as she drops the tray. Glasses shatter. Her eyes are round and wide and full of horror as she falls to her knees amongst the debris, apologizing profusely.
I can’t tell if her horror is because of her own mishap, or because of what I said.
Rio ignores her, as if she’s not even there. Ignores the other staff who rush over to help her clear up the mess.
Instead, he leans so close to me, his breath brushes over my cheek and ear when he speaks. “If you do not behave, Bianca, I will bend you over this railing, lift up your dress, and give you the spanking you so clearly crave.”
4
“A caged bird stands on the grave of dreams…”
Maya Angelou
Bree/Bianca
His words strikewhere I least expect, with a rush of heat right between my legs.
Oh, God.No.
