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Van laughs, looking between the two of us. "Seems to me it is. Unless you want to challenge the results?"
I can feel the hostility between them. Samuil's gaze is as cold as ice. He's weighing his options.
I touch Samuil's arm, drawing his attention. "Trust me," I whisper.
His eyes search mine for a moment, the internal struggle evident. Finally, he nods, although reluctantly. "You have your fun, Van," he says, voice dripping with disdain. "But remember, everything has a price."
Van chuckles, not taking the warning seriously. He reaches for my hand, attempting to pull me away.
I pull back, standing my ground. "I said I'd go with you. But don't think for a second that you can treat me like one of your paid companions."
He raises an eyebrow, intrigued and slightly amused. "Feisty. I like it."
We exit the den together, my mind racing, planning. If Van thinks he's won this game, he's got another thing coming.
I can't wait to show him what happens when you cross the Tsarina.
Chapter 11
Anastasia
The plush leather of Van's car can't disguise the sleazy atmosphere as we're driven through the city. Neon lights streak past, blending with the scent of his overpowering cologne. The back seat feels more like a predator's den than a vehicle. He's leaning back, arm stretched across the top of the seat, not even trying to hide the fact that his eyes are practically undressing me.
"You've got curves in all the right places," he comments with a smirk, eyeing me like a piece of meat.
I snort, feigning nonchalance. "You're very observant."
“And you’re very tough. So many of these girls I spend time with, they’re soft, too pampered for my liking. You’re different.”
His grin grows wider as he lowers his arm, his hand sliding over the seat, inching toward my thigh. But I'm ready. As soon as he touches me, my hand snaps out, catching his wrist in a vice-like grip. With a quick twist, I have him in a wrist lock that has him gasping in pain.
"Touch me without my permission again, and you'll lose that hand," I warn, my voice cold and unyielding.
He lets out a surprised laugh, his face reddening slightly from the pain but his eyes glinting with amusement. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
Releasing him, I lean back, allowing myself a smirk. "Trust me, you've only seen the tip of the iceberg."
The car pulls up to a swanky nightclub, its entrance teeming with patrons and a bright neon sign announcing its name. As we step out, the thumping bass from inside fills the air.
Van, rubbing his wrist but with a mischievous smile, offers his arm. "Shall we?"
I ignore the offered arm but walk beside him. "Lead the way."
I make a mental note to up the flirtatiousness, a trait that doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m not one to bat my eyelashes at the boys, but if it means I can find out about who hurt my brother, it’s a small price to pay.
As we head into the club, I can't help but consider my situation. With Samuil not around, I have a rare opportunity. I need to play my cards right, extracting as much information as I can without arousing suspicion. The game's afoot, and I'm ready to play.
The club is opulent, dripping in golds and silvers. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, their lights refracting and dancing in every direction, complementing the rhythmic beats blaring from the speakers. Plush velvet seats line the walls, with private booths encased in glittering beaded curtains offering some semblance of privacy.
While the place screams money, there's also an undeniable layer of cheesiness. Golden statues that resemble Greek gods, with one sporting what seems to be modern-day sunglasses. The bartenders, though expertly mixing cocktails, wear flamboyant vests with too many sequins. Definitely not my kind of place.
Van, however, seems to be in his element. He strides in confidently, throwing wads of cash for the smallest of services.Every few steps, someone new approaches, each trying to one-up the other in their show of familiarity with him.
It's a grotesque display, but it gives me the insight I need. Money, connections, a need for validation—Van wears his weaknesses on his sleeve. As much as I want to visibly cringe, I bite my tongue, feigning awe at every turn. "You really know everyone, don't you?" I say, batting my eyelashes for effect.
He grins, puffing up his chest even more. "Only the ones worth knowing."
When we reach the bar, he doesn’t bother to ask me what I want. Instead, he orders the most expensive bottle of champagne, letting the numbers roll off his tongue, making sure I’m aware of the price as if spending that kind of money is an everyday occurrence for him. It might very well be.
