We go to an oblong room at the back of the club that is more like a VIP area. The smell of marijuana mingles with perfume and alcohol. But it’s cool and dark and luxurious, leather couches and beautiful people draped over each other. I find myself wishing Scout was there to see this. She’d be wide eyed and scandalized.
I notice that Maxim seems agitated.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to bring you on stage to be ogled, but I don’t trust anyone enough to watch you while I am gone.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I laugh, rubbing his arm. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
His grumbling almost drowns out the music. “Come. You will wait at the bottom of the stairs where I can see you.”
The hard line of his jaw tells me it’s pointless to argue. He keeps me at his side as we leave the room, reentering the main club, just behind the stage. A man I assume to be his manager arrives in front of us, visibly drunk and celebrating, slapping a gold belt into Maxim’s hand. “You forgot this last night.” He looks at me, but wisely keeps his attention respectful. “You had another prize in mind.”
Maxim grunts, his big fingers stroking up and down my bare arm.
On stage, someone says his name and the crowd goes nuts. Champagne bottles are uncorked and sprayed all over the place, Public Enemy starts to blare. Maxim reminds me with a stern look to stay put, then he and his manager climb up from the rear of the stage, their figures swallowed up by the spotlights. Feeling kind of tingly and proud, especially after what Maxim told me about his youth, I smile, cheering along with the rest of the club.
Only about twenty seconds have passed when someone grabs my elbow.
A chill goes through me even before I turn around.
But it gets worse when I see who it is. My father.
He’s wearing a hood and his face is a mess of bruises and cuts. I’ve seen him like this before when he couldn’t pay a bookie, but this is the worst condition I can remember. “Come with me, you little traitor,” he hisses at me through a split lip. “Don’t make a scene.”
No. No, whatever he wants from me is not good. I try to pull my arm away, but he holds on. “Stop! I’m not going with you.”
“Do you want to see your sister or not?”
The fight goes out of me. “What?”
Satisfaction curls his upper lip. He has me and he knows it. Before I can ask another question, he slips into the crowd, and after a brief hesitation, I cut through the masses, following him. I have no choice. If Scout is somewhere in this club or nearby, nothing is going to keep me from her. Maxim is going to be pissed. But I’ve been taking care of myself for eighteen years. I’ll be fine and later I’ll soothe his ruffled feathers.
My father takes a left down a back hallway and ice crawls up the back of my neck. Is he trying to draw me somewhere? I slow my pace and carefully crane my neck to look down the hallway—
An arm shoots out and I’m being dragged down the dark corridor. My heels keep slipping on the polished wood and I can’t get my balance, the punishing grip of this man biting into my arm. Is it my father?
I gather every ounce of air into my lungs and scream. “Maxim!”
The music is too loud. I’m too far away.
Tears crowd against the backs of my eyes.
In a snap, I’m tossed into a different room and the door slams behind me. Quiet. Too quiet. I’m not alone in the room. There are two shadowy figures leaning against the far wall. Bass thrums from the dance floor, my breath rasps in my ears and no one speaks. I throw myself up against the door and jerk the knob, but it’s locked. Shit. Shit.
“I want what I was promised,” says a familiar voice behind me. “I was promised you, Whitney, and I’m not accustomed to losing. Especially not twice in one day.”
Banner.
I turn slowly as he comes into the light, limping, half of his face swollen and purple. My skin crawls the closer he comes, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips. “You’re lucky I’m willing to take the Russian’s sloppy seconds.” He reaches out and captures my chin, pinching it. “Virgin or not, you’re still the hottest little bitch around, aren’t you?”
“Jesus,” snorts my father, though he hardly seems bothered. “She’s my kid.”
“I’ll talk to her however I want, whenever I want,” Banner grits out, slaying my father with a glance. “You want me to pay to keep the sharks off your back? Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
“Is Scout even here?” I ask, my teeth starting to chatter from nerves. I’ve never seen that crazed look in Banner’s eyes. “Did you just use her to lure me back here? You know she’s with—”