Enjoy! The wigs are from Caroline. Take a minute and check out the Bohemian lounge. Got a great vibe. Car said she’ll be in touch. Welcome home
Curious about the eclectic lounge, Halston showered, then dressed in the black jumpsuit with a halter neckline and a pair of three-inch heels. This was the first time she’d shown any skinin months. Though feeling deliriously free, she had to guard her identity, both her real one and her Minka one. After pulling on a short, light-brown wavy wig, she brushed on powder blush, ran a dark lipstick over her lips, then slid on her new glasses.
My James Bond eyes.
She stopped in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom. “Barbi, are you ready to have a little fun?”
So ready.
After dropping her keycard and the Barbianna Bogdanova credit card into the jumpsuit pocket, she left her suite. Despite the late hour on a Monday night, the front desk clerks were busy helping guests. As she walked toward the lounge, she loved hearing the tap-tap-tap of her heels. As Minka, she’d been expected to dress in high-quality clothes and attractive shoes, but she’d chosen flats. They got the job done without attracting any attention.
Tonight, however, she strutted through the lobby like a boss lady. Shoulders back, head held high. Being here, in this boutique DC hotel, energy flowed through her like lava from a volcano. Aside from seeing Wolfie and her parents, this was the most fun she’d had in almost a year.
She stood at the entrance to the lounge and soaked up the décor, the melodic beat of the music pulsing through her. Rose-light sconces on the walls, stunning chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but it was the plush purple sofas and bright orange cushioned chairs that wowed her. A vintage-looking room that made her feel like she was stepping back in time. All she needed were bellbottom pants and a tie-dyed shirt.
The sofas and chairs were jammed with adults chatting it up. In the center of the room stood several four-person tables for traditional-style seating and, off to the side, a small dance floor off. The bar filled the left side of the room.
For Halston, it was the hundreds of vinyl records neatly arranged in cases on the right that intrigued her. As she entered, she paused to watch the turntable spin to a song she didn’t recognize, but the hypnotic rhythm had her breathing deep and swaying to the music.
The song ended, the arm of the record player lifted off the vinyl and returned to its primary location. Rather than select an album, she continued toward the bar, finding a vacant barstool. A woman sat to the left, a man to the right.
The woman was busy talking with the woman beside her, but the man glanced her way, his light brown eyes drilling into hers. His almost jet-black hair brushed against his shoulders, his striking face made her breath catch in her throat.
In that second, everything went into slow motion while adrenaline powered through her like a locomotive.
Oooh baby, he’s a looker.
“Is this seat taken?” she asked.
“Join the party,” he replied as he pulled out the leather stool for her.
4
NO NAME
GABRIEL
In Gabriel’s world, payback was hell. The Bratva were coming for him, and they were coming in hot.
Hours after leaving the Black Site, Gabriel was still so damn heated. Despite the chill ambiance in the hotel lounge, anger burned through him like a five-alarm fire. To appease the group at the Black Site, he’d agreed to leave the country. Truth was… he had no intention of goinganywhere.
His home had been too damn quiet, and he was too riled. He couldn’t silence his mind, couldn’t calm his anger. After thirty minutes of pacing, he drove himself to Rebel’s hotel. With no underground parking at Hotel Dillinger, he had to walk three blocks. By the time he got there, his leg was screaming at him. Sitting at the bar was working and, after the attractive woman pulled up beside him, his evening got a lot more… promising.
“Welcome to Hotel Dillinger,” said the bartender. “First time?”
“Yes,” replied the sexy stranger.
“What can I get you?” asked the bartender.
“I’d like one of everything,” she replied, her thick Russian accent catching his attention.
Gabriel and the bartender laughed.
“Not really,” she said. “A glass of red wine. Chianti.”
The bartender returned with an unopened bottle of Santini Chianti. It’s the only Chianti we offer. Can I pour you a glass?”
“Da, pozhaluysta. Yes, please.” She glanced over at Gabriel’s empty glass, then her smokin’ hot gaze met his. “What are you drinking?”