Artem.
But when I spin around, he’s not there. The crowd has gotten bigger, and they’re getting closer now. That smell could have come from any of them. Or a mixture.
If Artem was here, there’s no way in hell he’d be letting me talk to these guys. He would have swooped in and grabbed me off the dance floor the moment I stepped inside this place.
The overbearing oaf.
“You need to go.” The first man says again, taking a small step in my direction.
“Look, seriously. I just need to talk to him. He’ll want to talk to me.” I assure them, but they keep looking at me like I’m someone’s kid sister trying to break into the after-prom party.
“No one here by the name of Janis,” Mr. Clean-shave says.
“Just tell him, Mrs. Tony DeAngelo wants a word. He’ll tell you to let me through.”
There’s a flicker in his face. His jaw line tightens.
“What the fuck would a DeAngelo wife be doing here?” His eyes get colder.
“Just need a minute with him.” I put on a smile, something casual, something warm, something that saysI’m not a threat please don’t kill me before I can have a simple conversation with a man who could possibly help me make up for what I’ve done.
The shaved head man jerks his head to the clean-shaven one, and he disappears through the doors. Beneath my feet, the concrete floor vibrates along with the heavy beat of the DJ.
Lights continue to sweep over the crowd as they get louder, screaming and carrying on.
“So. You’ve been working here long?” My question is met with a death glare while he runs his tongue over his overly white teeth.
As the door opens behind him, the music cuts out with a screech. The warehouse falls into silence. Bright white lights flood the space, and chaos ensues.
“Fuck.” Mr. Cleanshaven grabs me and pulls me toward the doors. “Call this number.” He shoves a card into my hand, then smacks his partner on the shoulder. “We need to move.”
“Wait.” I try to follow them as the doors swing open. “Please. I just need a second with him.”
The bald one shoves his partner through the door.
“The place is about to be raided.” He steps into the hallway behind the doors and pulls it shut.
I lunge for the door, slamming my hands down on the bar but the door doesn’t budge. With the side of my fist, I bang on it, but with all the noise the sound of it evaporates.
A riot has started behind me. If I don’t get out of here, I’m either going to be crushed by the mob scrambling for the exits or wind up with a set of handcuffs. A brief image of my oldest brother Alexander walking into the Boston Police Department to collect me flashes, and I decide it’s healthier for everyone if I get the hell out of here.
I follow the thick stream of people through a set of doors that leads into another hallway and back through to a set of exit doors. Once I’m outside in the chilled air, I take a breath, but the calm only lasts a moment.
Flood lights kick on, and I’m off running again. My foot catches a rock, and I stumble forward, hitting the ice-cold ground. A pain shoots up through my wrist, but I have no time to consider it as I’m stepped on. It’s a full-fledged stampede.
“Get the fuck off her.” A familiar voice booms as a man is pulled away from me, giving me enough room to get to my feet.
“Artem?” I yell his name, recognizing his voice, feeling his presence, but he’s not there.
“Go! Go! Go!” I’m shoved from behind, propelled to keep up with the current.
Gripping the card in my left hand, I pick up speed. Even as I run, I can’t help the sensation there’s eyes on me. That couldn’t have been Artem; he wouldn’t have simply disappeared.
Once I’m a few blocks away, on my own walking toward the bus stop, I replay the voice in my mind. It sounded like him. His booming, commanding voice. The sort that makes grown men get in line.
It couldn’t be him.
I pay the fare and take the first seat on the bus, along with a few other people I recognize from the cattle run. Tucking the card into my back pocket for safety, I grab my phone.