Oh God, this really was a horrible idea.Just one more shitty thing I can blame on di Salvo. “Is there another exit that way?”
“Yeah, sure.” The guard’s mouth twists in a sick interpretation of a smile. “Something like that. Now get moving.”
I don’t have the chance to argue. The guard wraps a meaty paw around my upper arm and throws me down the hall. I stumble a few steps before I reach a thick glass door. It opens easily and suddenly I’m in the pulsing center of a club. Now all the flashing lights make sense. The place is vibrating with them, streaks of color rippling out from the same stage where a DJ is ruling over a packed dance floor.
I’m on some sort of balcony that wraps around the central part of the club. Below me a mass of bodies moves to the music. Waitresses edge along the perimeter, bottles of booze balanced precariously on trays. Every few feet, an arm thrusts out of the crowd, grabbing a bottle and drawing it into the mayhem.
It’s the best dressed mayhem I’ve ever seen. The men are rocking suits. The women look like they all went to the same teeny tiny dress store favorited by Alik’s escort. Skin is showing everywhere, slick with sweat and the spray of champagne.
I can’t see Alik, the woman, or Renzo di Salvo anywhere. Nor is there another obvious exit. Sticking around is a questionable idea, but without a clear way out that doesn’t involveanother encounter with the bouncer I figure I’m better off blending in as best as I can until Dimitri finds a way inside.
There’s a metal staircase to my left that leads down to the main floor. No one is paying me any attention as I descend to the lower level, the base beat of the music making my organs jump. It’s not until I get to the dance floor that I see the guards stationed at regular intervals around the room. Just as large as the guy at the door, they fit the stereotype of every low-level enforcer I’ve ever seen. Bulky, with no need to conceal the weapons they’re carrying and an unmistakable deadness to their eyes. They must’ve been concealed from view by the balcony, but now I’ve spotted them, I can’t help but count the number of armed men patrolling the perimeter. I start to feel genuinely queasy when I tally at least ten.
A server walks by and my queasiness morphs into full-blown nausea. She’s wearing something around her neck. It’s too clunky to be a necklace. It looks more like a collar. At the base of her skull, almost hidden behind her ponytail, there’s a gray box attached to the band. Even in the funky lighting the resemblance to a shock collar is too similar to ignore. Exactly like the ones my uncle used on his dogs.
I scan the crowd for more servers, finding three more. They’re all women, all dressed in the same skimpy white dress. All are wearing the same type of black strap around their necks, all with their hair partially concealing the receiver.
Holy shit. The women working here are wired with shock collars.
Not just the servers. Women on the dance floor are wearing them too. Corralled and controlled, like cattle in a pen.
Of course Renzo di Salvo is coming to a place like this, sick bastard. The fact that Alik’s here too makes me even more determined to get answers.
The next time a server walks by, I step out from the shadow of the overhang, using her for cover as I slip behind and pushinto the dancing crowd. The air is cloying, hot and heavy with hands everywhere. The crowd moves with the music and I do too, pushing through the bodies as much as I dare. I’m about halfway across the dance floor when I catch gold sparkle out of the corner of my eye.
The mystery woman is on the balcony above me, directly opposite where I originally entered the room. She comes to the ledge, Alik right behind her. The club’s lights dance around her. She seems to shine from head to toe. Gold hair, gold dress, golden legs that stretch down to dangerously high heels.
She’s gorgeous. The antithesis of me with my hair knotted on the top of my head, my wrinkled pajamas the least club-appropriate outfit imaginable, and my obscenely unsexy sneakers.
I push harder against the crowd, getting jostled every which way. Against the wall in front of me is another set of stairs leading up to where Alik is standing. I try to keep my attention focused on the staircase, but the flash of the woman’s dress makes it impossible. She’s running a hand up his chest. Slipping her red-nailed fingers behind his neck. Alik doesn’t react to any of it, his eyes fixed across the room, at a point on the balcony behind me. He’s ignoring the woman and she’s getting pissed.
There’s only a few more bodies between me and the stairs when she pulls his head down, locking her lips against his.
I stumble, crashing into the back of a random guy. He pivots, looking pissed as he yanks the cork from a bottle of champagne. The fizzy liquid explodes, drenching us both. It’s in my hair, on my face, making my thin top stick to my skin. I’d be worried about how see-through my shirt is except I can’t tear my eyes off Alik and the woman, at the way his hands come to rest on her hips, his fingertips digging into the kind of curves I’ll never have.
My nose burns and I have to force down the lump that’sclogging my throat. I’m not going to cry. Not here, not because of this. I’m so busy talking myself off an emotional, jealous cliff that it takes a beat to notice that people are looking at me.
Staring, actually. At the same spot on my chest the bouncer had fixated on.
First, it’s the guy with the champagne. Then the woman he’s dancing with. More heads turn, and I wrap my arms around my chest, give the gawkers a dirty look. “What, you never see tits before?”
But even when I’m covered up, heads keep turning. There are whispers. Pointing, too. Freaked out, I look down to see what they’re staring at.
At first, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. There are numbers on my chest, above my right breast, just above the neckline of my now-transparent tank top. What looks like six or seven digits. Upside down from my perspective, but large enough to be clearly legible to everyone staring at me.
I rub at my skin, but they don’t come off. “What the hell?”
I cover the patch with my palm, search the back of my hand for the numbers, like they’re being projected onto me. But no. My skin just dances with the lights from the club. As soon as I pull my hand away, the numbers on my chest return, clear as day.
The guards are looking now, too. Looking hard, whispering into their earpieces as, one by one, they elbow through the crowd toward me. I don’t know where the numbers came from or what they mean, but everything happening right now says they’re bad.
I have to get out of here. I have to get help.
I move toward Alik without thinking, pushing people out of the way as I try to make it off the dance floor and to the staircase. People start to shout, one lady teeters on her heels. The guy she’s dancing with grabs me, but I shove him back. Heshouts something nasty, the men around him joining in. It’s turning into a riot and I’m the at the center.
I risk looking up at the balcony. The woman in gold is practically writhing against Alik, her talons sunk into his shoulders as she advances on him with an obscenely openmouthed kiss. Part of me wants to turn away, to pretend she’s not about to dry hump him in public. But the crowd is turning feral, a pack of rabid animals intent on the kill, and I’m running out of time. A glance over my shoulder confirms the guards are closing in. Angry men on the dance floor are grabbing me. I feel one strap of my tank top rip off. Someone keeps tugging my pants.
“Alik!” My shout is drowned out by the dance music and the foul rumble of the people around me.