Renata
We drive for half an hour. When the vehicle finally comes to a stop, the sound of music and heavy conversation filters in through the closed doors.
“Where are we?”
“My nightclub,” Rokiades says with a leering smile. “The heart of my empire. The capital of the kingdom our son will inherit.”
I balk at the mere suggestion that we might have a child together one day. I can’t think of a worse jail sentence than that. He doesn’t linger to see my disgusted expression, though. He lumbers out, and his men push me out of the car and I’m forced to follow him into his nightclub.
The music pulses around us as we make our way into the club through the private entrance. A separate corridor ferries us directly into the VIP section.
The nightclub’s décor is a mix of reds and blacks. It’s meant to be dark and sexy. But it just comes off as depressing. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of cheap booze, sweat, and sex that pervades the atmosphere.
We pass through the VIP section, where several groups of patrons are clustered around large booths and sprawled across luxe red sofas.
I’m surprised by how crowded it is, considering it’s midday. But then again, in here, it might as well be nighttime.
Rokiades starts walking up a flight of stairs that taper off at the back of the VIP section. I glance behind me, hoping for a window of opportunity to escape, but there are two security guards at my back ready for anything. So, swallowing my disappointment, I trudge along in Rokiades’s wake.
The staircase leads to a massive, glass-walled office that overlooks the dance floor. There’s no desk that I can see. Just more of the same red couches, spread beneath gaudy chandeliers that look like they belong in a cheap brothel.
There’s also a huge bar on the left-hand side of the space. Mirrored shelves behind it bear racks of premium liquor, far nicer than the bottom shelf garbage I saw people drinking in VIP. Apparently, Rokiades likes to keep the good stuff for himself.
I hesitate at the threshold, but one of the guards shoves me inside. The door clicks shut and I know without checking that I won’t be able to get out.
I just stand there, intent on keeping as much distance between Yannis and me as possible. My body is as stiff as a board, but I’m already trying to figure out my escape plan.
There are several objects I could use as weapons. I fought off Kian with less the first time. And Rokiades is nothing compared to the O’Sullivan don. Yannis is fat and slow, whereas Kian was fast and strong in a way that defied logic.
“A drink?” Rokiades asks me.
“No, thank you.”
“Drink something,” he snaps. “You don’t want to be rude.”
I suppress a sigh. “Water, then.”
He raises his eyebrows, but to my surprise, he doesn’t insist on offering me something harder. He moves to the bar and starts pouring. His back is to me, so I can’t see what he’s doing. But more importantly, he can’t see what I’m doing.
I sidle a little closer to the coffee table between the ugly red sofa and pick up the metal bottle opener that’s casually lying there. I hide it in my jeans just as he turns around with a clear glass in hand.
“Drink up,” he tells me as he ambles over and presses the glass into my hand.
I make sure to sniff it first, but it’s definitely water. I take a big gulp to appease him and then set the water down.
“I must say,” he says, looking me up and down like he’s appraising me, “you might be the most beautiful of all my wives.”
I grit my teeth as a wave of dizziness hits me. “I’m not your wife,” I remind him.
“Ah, but you will be.”
I shake my head. “When hell freezes over, maybe.”
He grins. It’s the nastiest grin I’ve seen in a long time. I practically expect to see slime oozing from between his teeth.
As a matter of fact, when I blink again, that’s exactly what I see. But it seems weird somehow. Like all the colors of reality are melting and blurring together. I struggle to find words as the room spins suddenly, making me lose focus of the predator in front of me.
Is it the music? The lights? My own head turning on me?