When she came back, a couple of Edgar’s friends had joined them at the bar. They were both cute in that slightly boyish way that was popular now, and looked to be in great shape. They introduced themselves, and Mia learned that they were from the show as well. Peter was a stunt double, while Sean was a member of the supporting cast. “What is this, Entourage?” Mia joked, and they laughed, agreeing that their lives had much in common with the old show.
Apparently realizing they were horning in on a girls’ night out, the guys ordered another round of drinks for everyone. It was tequila this time, and Mia nearly gagged at the strong taste that remained in her mouth even after biting into her lime. Her alcohol-barometer nose was long past its itching point, and she knew she would probably regret this tomorrow. But at this partic
ular moment, with vodka and tequila surging through her system, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Mia wasn’t planning on chatting up any guys, but Peter turned out to be a surprisingly good conversationalist. His voice was deep enough that it carried above the loud music, and she learned that they had Polish ancestry in common. His parents had actually come to this country fairly recently, even though he was an American citizen and had no accent. He had recently graduated from NYU himself – the Tisch School of the Arts – and wanted to be a film producer longer term. Since he had always been athletic, stunt-doubling was the best way for him to break into the field and start getting to know people, and he had been lucky enough to land a spot on the recently cancelled show.
He also seemed genuinely interested in Mia, his blue eyes sparkling whenever he looked at her. With his wavy blond hair, he looked like a mischievous angel, and Mia couldn’t help laughing at some of the over-the-top compliments he directed her way. Under normal circumstances, a fun, outgoing guy like that would never have been interested in someone as shy and studious as Mia – and she couldn’t help but be flattered by his attention. So when Peter asked for her number, she gave it to him without thinking, the alcohol in her veins slowing her thinking just enough to remove all caution.
They went on the dance floor again – Edgar and Peter joining her and Jessie. Sean, probably feeling like a fifth wheel, left to join another group of girls. They danced as a group at first, and then Peter starting dancing closer to Mia, his movements graceful and athletic. She smiled, closing her eyes and swaying to the pulsing rhythm, and it didn’t occur to her to move away when he put his hands on her waist.
It felt good to just dance with a regular guy she liked, whose intentions she had no need to second-guess. Nothing could come of this, of course, but some silly drunk part of her hoped that maybe – if she survived all this and was still in New York when Korum inevitably tired of her – she could look up Peter on Facebook one day. Out of all the guys she’d met in recent years, she liked him the most, and she could easily envision herself becoming friends with him . . . and maybe something more.
A new song came on, with even more explicit lyrics. The crowd let out a whoop, and the movement on the dance floor picked up. Peter stepped closer to her, his hips rubbing suggestively against her own. He was of average height, and Mia’s high heels put the top of her head nearly at his temple. He smiled at her, eyes twinkling, and Mia smiled back, experiencing a pleasantly mild attraction – nothing like the maddening, all-consuming heat Korum made her feel. And even though her stupid body was wishing that it was Korum who was holding her like this, she still enjoyed the sexy dance with a cute guy . . . who, under different circumstances, could have been her date.
“You’re really pretty,” said Peter, practically yelling it over the music.
Mia grinned, moving to the rhythm. It was always nice to get compliments. “Thanks,” she yelled back, “so are you!”
Her head was spinning from the drinks, and the whole night started to seem a little surreal – right down to the angelically handsome guy dancing with her. Still dancing, she closed her eyes for a second while holding on to Peter’s waist to combat a slight dizziness. Mistaking her actions, he leaned toward her, and his mouth brushed against her lips for a brief second.
Startled, Mia pushed Peter away, taking a step back. Embarrassed, she looked to the side and suddenly froze, paralyzed with dread.
Looking directly at her from the edge of the dance floor was a familiar pair of amber-colored eyes. And the icy rage reflected in them was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen in her life.
Chapter 12
He knew.
In the suffocating panic engulfing her, Mia had only one clear thought: Korum knew. Somehow, he had found out about today – about what she’d done for the Resistance fighters – and he had come here to find her.
Her survival instinct kicked in, and a surge of adrenaline cleared the alcohol-induced fog from her mind. She fought a desperate urge to run, knowing that he would hunt her down in a matter of seconds. Instead, she just stood there, watching as he stalked toward her through the dance floor crowd, his eyes nearly yellow with fury.
Through the pulsing music and the terrified pounding of her own heart, she heard her name.
“Mia! Mia!” It was Peter, and he was talking to her. “Hey Mia, listen, I didn’t mean to be so pushy –”
He broke off in the middle of his apology and followed her gaze. “What the hell . . . is that your boyfriend or something?”
“Or something,” Mia said dully, staring at Korum easily pushing his way through the normally impassable mob. Her stomach churned with nausea and fear. Would he kill her on the spot or bring her elsewhere to interrogate first?
And then he was there, standing right in front of her.
“Hey man, listen, I think there’s been a misunderstanding –” Peter bravely stepped up, not realizing in the darkness what he was dealing with. In a blink of an eye, Korum’s hand was wrapped around Peter’s throat.
“No!” screamed Mia as Peter was lifted off the floor, feet kicking in the air and hands clawing helplessly at the iron grip around his throat. “No, please, let him go –”
“You want me to let him go?” Korum asked calmly, as though he was not killing a grown man with one hand in a crowded club.
“Please! He had nothing to do with it,” begged Mia, horrified tears running down her face.
“Oh really?” said Korum, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So my eyes deceived me then. He wasn’t the one just pawing you . . . It was someone else?”
Pawing her? Korum was upset that she had danced with Peter? Her brain could barely process the implications.
“Korum, please,” she tried again, “you’re mad at me. He didn’t do anything –”
“He touched what’s mine.” The words sounded like a verdict.