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It’s all I can think as I walk away, his scent burning my lungs. My mouth waters and my sex clenches with my relentless need for my husband.
I walk through the dark passage leading to the piano room with my heart in my throat. The lights at the end are a deep violet, and before I’m engulfed by the decadent space, I pause at the mouth of the tight corridor, composing myself with deep inhales and steady exhales as I hold my belly.
I’ve grown so used to feeling empty that I have no idea how to contain and control the severity of my longing. I might actually burst.
The music morphs into something more mainstream. Still Tchaikovsky though, and that is enough to confirm that he’s here. Swan Lake is probably my least favourite of Tchaikovsky’s compositions, but it still holds so many fond memories that I actually manage to relax somewh
at.
Sticking to the shadow, I search the room. The place really is empty. There are a few girls in barely anything around one of the tables where Tomasz is sitting. He has guests, and I hope that he doesn’t see me as I watch them. I want to memorise their faces.
Every. Single. One.
The men he’s with are all new to me, barring one. Charles Winterbourne. The Foreign Secretary. I recognise his sharp features like I only saw him moments ago rather than months.
Last time I saw him I was lying in a hospital bed with my body threatening to give up.
Maybe I should never have woken up.
That thought crosses my mind far more than it should. I should be grateful I made it. That I’m here now.
I watch as they talk, and I wonder if he’s getting something more than I have. Tomasz is a fort of secrecy. Trying to see if anything has come from their conversation, I focus harder, but it’s too late. Before the song is over, they all stand—except for Tomasz, who doesn’t move a single muscle—and leave without so much as a parting word. They disappear through one of the private passages that will take them to the closed-off entrance at the back of the building.
“I did not say stop,” Tomasz tells the pianist as he makes to leave also.
His words are a slurred, unspoken threat.
The pianist has barely sat back down as he demands, “Balakirev.”
He doesn’t bother looking to see if the man is doing as he tells him to. Clicking at one of the half-naked girls, he points down at his empty shot glass. Head down, back straight, and long legs barely able to balance in her ridiculous heels, she follows his wordless instructions as the piano fills the air again.
Shooting back the vodka, his hand rounds the curve of her arse. She doesn’t look up while he gropes her. There’s no flinch. She’s passive.
“Again.”
Pouring him another shot, her hands tremble as she tries to balance under his rough touches. Just as she’s straightening, he slaps her arse so hard that you can hear the thwack! bounce between the walls and over the music.
“Clean it, sooka.” Bitch. Grasping her at the nape, he forces her down, until her face is pressed to the table. “With your tongue.”
She does. The girl licks up every last drop, and when she’s done, she doesn’t stop licking the table until he releases her.
My heart clangs against my ribs, disgust filling me with rage. I’ve always known the kind of man Tomasz Vassily is. Dad made sure I understood everything he was capable of. It’s why I’m here, because I won’t let him hurt Christopher.
But it’s the here and now that cements his fate. His father might’ve given the order that killed my baby, but he is the same kind of man. He is his father’s son. Cruel and vicious. And for that alone he deserves to die.
“Leave the bottle and get out!” Pushing the girl away, he makes no effort to catch her as she falls to her arse. There’s not the slightest move to try and help her. “Polzti ty gryaznaya shlyukha,” he snarls at the girl as she crawls towards where I’m standing. “Vrediteli! Bystryy! Izmennik!”
Moving faster on her hands and knees, her whole body trembles. I have no idea what he’s saying, apart from that he called her a whore. But before she’s reached halfway across the room, he turns to the security guy that’s been standing beside him the entire time. I sense what he’s about to do as he reaches into his bodyguard’s jacket.
No! Lunging forward when he pulls out a gun, aiming it straight at the girl’s head, I lose my balance. I only just manage to stop myself from ending up beside her on the floor. And when I look up, cold blue eyes meet mine.
Tilting his head to the side, Tomasz gets up and strides to me, heavy, purposeful steps that put me on edge.
My breaths quicken with my racing heart, and finally I understand what it feels like to be a deer in the headlights. I’m not startled. I’m scared. I see death coming again, and this time I’m his target.
Fuck, what was I thinking?
I’m trying to get my breathing under control, trying to calm myself, but as he powers to me, all I see is darkness and that gun—the metallic glint of it in the purple light—becomes a knife. A sharp knife that could kill.
