The rest of the evening is far less eventful. I give a few lap dances, but none are overly memorable for me after what transpired earlier. I'm still ablaze from Anton discovering James and questioning me about him.
As the night winds down and the club closes, I head to the dressing room to change into my jeans and pink shirt. I grab my small duffel containing an extra pair of clothes, my makeup, and all my face wash products. I have glitter caked onto my skin, unlike last night when I toned down the makeup since I hadn't brought much of my own.
My clutch is tucked deep into my duffel, along with my phone. I'll grab my cell phone and order a rideshare service if Anton has already left. But I'm hoping that he will wait for me.
Exiting the dressing room, I head down the elongated hallway for his office and give a prompt knock. The door squeaks open. It wasn't shut very tight.
Anton is situated behind his desk. His sleeves are rolled up, and his jacket is slung on the chair opposite him. I don't want to be presumptuous. We may have talked about grabbing a bite to eat after the club closed, but things change.
James showed up.
I didn't intend to tell him that James is FBI, but I suspected I might need to do something if Anton has any suspicions. That's why I insisted James leave me his business card, as a reassurance that I was telling the truth.
Anton's brow is tight, and he looks a bit confused.
"It's time already?" He glances at the watch on his wrist and puts his pen down. He shuts the ledger he's working on and opens the top desk drawer, shoving it inside. He locks the drawer behind him and stands.
Anton comes around from behind his desk, rolling down his sleeves. He grabs his suit coat and slips it back on as he escorts me outside.
The other girls have already left. The place is bare, and as we exit outside, I notice that there's only one vehicle in the lot, Anton's.
He unlocks the doors to the SUV, and I open the backseat, putting my duffel on the floor behind my seat. I carefully maneuver the tracking device. I had kept it nestled in my palm under the duffel strap.
I shove it under the passenger seat. Hopefully, no one will ever notice it.
I slam the back door and jump into the front seat, securing my seatbelt.
"Ready?" he asks. The engine runs, and he strums his hands on the steering wheel, waiting attentively for me.
"Same place as last night?" I'm not sure what's open at this hour. Most of the city is asleep, and the few open places aren't in the best parts of town.
"I have someplace else in mind. Do you trust me?"
I inhale sharply. "I do."
"Good." He heads out of the parking lot, not giving me any indication of where we're going. The city disappears as we head farther out of town.
Is he planning on taking me someplace remote and killing me? Has he figured out that I'm an FBI agent?
As I shift in the front seat, I try not to show discomfort—my stomach grumbles.
"We're almost there," he says.
I don't point out that there hasn't been anything for miles. It's open roads, forests, and trees surrounding us—the perfect place for a body dump.
There's a weapon buried at the bottom of my duffel bag, but that's in the backseat. "What are we doing out here, Anton?" The smile has left my face, and it has been replaced with dread.
"You look worried," he says and glances at me briefly before returning his attention to the road. "Why? Don't you trust me?"
"There are no restaurants open out here." I don't bother mentioning that it's late, and the sun will soon be coming up.
"There's a protein bar in the glovebox."
I open the glove box, and sure enough, there's a protein bar stashed inside. That's not the only thing I notice peeking out from under his registration and paperwork. I also see the glistening metal of a handgun.
I don't comment on the gun, pretending not to notice it when I grab the protein bar and shut the glovebox. I can't snatch the gun without Anton noticing, and the last thing I want is for him to drive us off the road, wrestling me for the weapon.
"Do you want half?" I offer him part of the snack.
"No, thanks."
He pulls off the road onto a small pathway. It's narrow and dark. There haven't been any vehicles for miles, but it's also the middle of the night. When he gets to the intended destination, he kills the engine.
"We're here," he says.
I glance at him and back at the glovebox. I have only one chance. Yanking the compartment open, I grab the gun, click off the safety, and point it at him. I'm not going down without a fight.