Lethal Devotion

Chapter One

Sienna

The first thing that greets me when I reach the back door of the Hibiscus is a cold drop of water falling from the overhang, directly into my eye.

Could tonight get any worse? I squint, reaching up to brush it away before it leaves a track in my makeup, trying not to smear my mascara and eyeliner, while juggling my purse, tote bag, and Lucite heels in my other hand. I never change into my work shoes before I get inside—besides the fact that they’re horribly uncomfortable, the alleyway behind the club is questionable both in smell and whatever is squishing under my boots as I go to open the back door. 

A sound catches my attention, a low moan, and I glance over to see one of the other dancers—a brunette named Malia who is barely nineteen—pinned up against the stucco wall on the other side of the dumpster by her flavor-of-the-week boyfriend. He’s wearing a backwards baseball cap, the thick gold chain around his neck glittering in the streetlamp that serves as the only lighting for the entire back parking lot, and he’s currently mumbling something into her neck as he grinds up against her.

“...you’re just mine, baby, right? Promise me. None of those other guys mean anything—”

I roll my eyes, yanking the door open. The slam of it behind me drowns out whatever Malia’s response is, and I’m fine with that. Next week, it’ll be someone new. And I’d bet tonight’s tips that guy is going to be off at some other club later, throwing dollar bills at topless women.

There’s a steady buzz of chatter when I step into the dressing room, which doesn’t let up at the sound of my entrance. A few of the girls glance over at me, but none of them pay me very much attention. I know most of their names and they know mine, but we’re not exactly close. I don’t get invited to drinks on the beach after our shift or breakfast at the diner as the sun is coming up. It’s partly my fault—I keep to myself, more often than not. But none of them have been all that friendly, either, and I’ve been working here for six months now. 

“You’re late.” Carmen, the girl who has the dressing table closest to mine, looks up from where she’s drawing on a thick cat eye and frowns at me. “Doug was just in here looking for you.”

“I couldn’t get a ride.” I toss my bag next to my table and plop onto the worn, faded velvet-topped stool, untying my boots. “Battery’s dead as a doornail in my car, and all the Ubers are surge pricing this time of night on a Friday. I had to take the bus, and you know how that is.”

“Yeah, well—” Carmen flicks her eyeliner up, a perfect line drawn out from her upper eyelid. “I’m going on before you, now.”

I press my lips together, but don’t argue. “Maybe that’ll be alright.” I manage a tight smile, forcing a cheer into my voice that I don’t feel. “The drunker the guys get, the more they tip, right?”

Truthfully, it could go either way. It’s really just luck. But I was scheduled to go on for my first dance right around ten tonight, when the club really starts getting busy, and I was looking forward to it being a lucrative one. As the night goes on, the guys start to wander off for private dances, and unless there’s a surge of new customers, later stage dances don’t do as well.

I try to stay positive, though. I’ve seen girls do just fine late at night. I tug on one of the Lucite heels, careful of the blister on my big toe that I tried to bandage without it being obvious—blood on the stage isn’t a good look—and smile at Carmen. She’s not even looking at me now, though—she’s gone back to the mirror, swiping on her cherry-red lipstick. 

The door slams, and Malia comes in, her hairline damp from the water dripping from the overhang outside. A few of the girls look up as she enters, pushing her way through the crowded room to her table, and I see Amber, one of the girls she’s made friends with, lean over to her.

“Hey,” she whispers. “I know you’re new and all, but you need to be careful. Doug won’t like it if he catches you making out with guys who haven’t paid.”

Malia wrinkles her nose, tossing her hair carelessly over one shoulder. “That’s my boyfriend.” Her voice has an exaggerated, Valley-girl edge to it. “I can make out with him if I want.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t want to be on Doug’s bad side,” Amber urges, and a few of the other girls nod along.

“Being on his bad side might mean that you get on the big boss’s bad side, too.” Sapphire—I don’t know her real name, she’s never shared—chimes in. “And you sure as hell don’t want that, chica.”

“The big boss?” Malia looks bewildered. “I thought Doug was our boss.”

“He is.” Amber sweeps a bit of bronzer over her nose. “But not the big boss.”

I can see the confusion on Malia’s face deepening by the second. Sapphire sighs, slipping on an earring that nearly sweeps her collarbone. “Rumors are, this place is owned by the Bratva. The Abramov family. So Doug answers to them. Runs it for them.”

Malia’s eyes go wide as saucers, as Amber giggles.

“I think I’ve seen the big boss here before. The one who runs the Bratva now. Konstantin, I think Doug called him?” She faux-shivers, fanning herself with one hand. “God, he’s so fucking hot.”

“A little uptight, if you ask me.” Sapphire shrugs. “But I kinda like the uptight ones, sometimes. It’s so much more fun when you get them to lose control. And you’re right, he is fucking delicious. Those tattoos—”

“The other guy is more my speed.” Carmen glances up from where she’s carefully picking up a magnetic strip of lashes—as if she needs them. Hers are naturally thick and long, those rare double eyelashes that I’d give my pinky finger for. The fake ones added make it look like she has a fringe glued to her eyes, in my opinion. But the guys love it. “The one who’s come in with him sometimes?”

Amber’s eyes go wide. “I’ve seen him. He’s terrifying.” She bites her lip. “I wouldn’t want to let him anywhere near me. I’ve never heard his name, but I’d be afraid to even ask.”

“I did.” Carmen’s eyes gleam like a woman who has a secret, and one she wants to share. “And I didn’t bother asking his name. I was too busy getting fucked.” She winks, long eyelashes fluttering along her cheek.

“You bitch!” Sapphire gasps, but there’s no real venom in it. Just jealousy, pure and simple. “I’ve tried to talk to him every time he’s come in. He just ignores me. Waves me off and follows Konstantin. Carmen’s right, he’s so hot.” She grins. “He looks like he’s got a big dick, too. Kind of man who could ruin a woman.”

“He ruined this pussy, that’s for sure.” Carmen flashes her a triumphant grin. “Bent me over in a back room while Konstantin was in a meeting. Just grabbed me, shoved me over the couch, and put it in.”

Malia’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of her head. “Didn’t…” Her voice cracks. “Didn’t that hurt?”

“Oh, you bet it did.” Carmen winks at her. “It hurt so good. He fucked me like a fucking animal. Hard and deep—” She draws the last word out, sing-song. “I had to pretend to be sick and go home after. I couldn’t walk, I was so sore. He’s like a beast. Fucking brutal, but god, he made me come so hard, and he didn’t even touch my clit. Just hammered away with that big, thick—”

“Why the fuck are none of you girls ready yet?” Doug’s voice, booming as he strides into the room, abruptly shuts down the conversation about Konstantin Abramov’s right hand man, and how brutally he apparently fucked Carmen. A shudder runs down my spine at the thought. I know who the girls are talking about; I’ve seen him once. They’re right that he’s handsome—beautiful in the way a predator is beautiful, something that you know could kill you, and probably would, if you got too close. I got one good look at him before they disappeared into the back—blond, taller even than Konstantin, with broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms, and tattoos crawling out of his collar and sleeves in a way that suggested he’s inked all over. I caught a glimpse of his eyes, too—a dark blue, so dark they looked black in the light. And while I’d never speak up, I heard Konstantin say his name.

Damian. It had sent a shiver down my spine, sent me hurrying in the opposite direction. The man looked like a devil. Silent, hard, cold. A killer, through and through. 

The kind of man I want to avoid, at all costs.

Doug clears his throat in the sudden silence, which is all the more apparent after the raucous chatter of a few minutes ago. “Sapphire, get ready to go out. Carmen, you’re after her. Malia, get out on the floor, there are plenty of guys out there with hard-ons and only a couple of girls trying to get them into a private room. Sienna—”

His gaze flicks to me, and my stomach tightens. He has an appraising look on his face, but there’s something else, too—something that looks a little like regret, or maybe apprehension? Whatever it is, it doesn’t make sense, and I don’t understand it. I don’t like it. Every woman has an instinct, a gut feeling that sets off alarm bells in the back of her head when a guy is being shady, and right now, that alarm is pinging in mine.

“Sienna, come with me,” he continues, waving a hand impatiently. “We’re going to shoot some video. I’ll get you back in time for your slot on the stage.”

My stomach swoops, knotting into a ball that makes me feel faintly nauseous. But I just nod, getting up to follow him. I did ask for a lucrative night, I think grimly to myself as I follow him out into the hall, Sapphire behind me before she pivots off to head to the curtained area that will lead off to the stage.

All of the dancers here do some kind of side work for Doug and the club. Besides the usual stage dances and lap dances in private rooms, we all have something else we do for extra money, depending on our boundaries. Some of the girls give handjobs or blowjobs in the back rooms, and a few of them will let a guy fuck them for a high enough price—part of the money going to the club and Doug, of course. Those of us who are too prudish—Doug’s words, not mine—to get guys off in person do cam work. Doug will single one of us out for an hour or so, take us to a soundproof room at the very back of the club, where we’re streamed live on a camgirl website. A couple of the girls are willing to fuck on camera, but I flat-out refused to do that. So instead, I do solo shows. Doug’s video guy films while I’m being streamed, and then Doug posts those videos on pay-per-view sites. 

At first, I hated it. It still feels strange, performing in front of the filming crew, naked and pretending to get myself off. But apparently, I’m one of the more popular girls out of the ones Doug singled out for this gig, and my cut of the money—while nothing to write home about—pays at least one of the utility bills every month. So I keep doing it, and I don’t complain.

I’m not sure he’d let me out of it anyway, even if I did complain. 

Halfway to the room where we usually film, Doug veers off, taking the hallway toward the other back exit instead. I hurry after him, trying not to trip in my platform heels, confused. “Doug? What are we—”

He shoves open the heavy back door, stepping out into the rain, and motions impatiently for me to follow him.

That alarm pings again in the back of my head. I swallow hard, slowing almost to a stop, and Doug looks back, his expression pinched and irritated. “Sienna! What the hell are you dragging your feet for? Time’s money, girl.” 

It’s an expression I’ve heard him use plenty of times. He always sounds impatient when he says it. But right now, he sounds more than impatient. He sounds… nervous.

I want to balk, to retreat, but as Doug motions with his hand again for me to hurry the fuck up, I walk toward him anyway. That’s what a job like this teaches you to do—ignore your own instincts in service of not getting fired. A man grabs your ass or tries to slide a finger under your panties? Ignore it and smile, while trying to turn it into a private dance. A man calls you a bitch when you won’t suck his dick? Ignore it, and smile, while you try to get him off without ever touching him, shaking your ass over his lap just right. A guy throws quarters on the stage instead of dollar bills, trying to trip you? Ignore it, and smile, like he just threw you a fortune.

This job has dulled my instincts. Slowed them, in favor of survival, of keeping a roof over my head and food in my refrigerator and the lights on.

So I follow Doug out into the warm, humid night. Out into the rain.

“Shit!” Doug swears, making that hurry up motion with his hand again. “We’re gonna get fucking drenched. Where are the other—” He breaks off as I hear footsteps behind me, and two other girls—one whose name I don’t know, and one who I know is Cara—come clattering out of the back door. “Good. Amber went and got you two.”

“What’s going on?” I hang back just under the overhang, peering out into the dimly lit parking lot. And then I see one of the bouncers walking toward us from the back of the lot. Behind him, where he was a moment ago, are two men standing next to a black van. They seem unbothered by the rain. They’re wearing jackets, unseasonable for Miami in the early fall. 

“You’re going somewhere else. For the videos.” Doug adds, almost as an afterthought. “Sean and those two guys will take you. Just go with them, and they’ll bring you back when you’re done.”

“What?” The alarms are all screaming now. “We always film here.” I glance back at Cara and the other girl, who both look nervous, shifting from side to side as they hang back near the door. “There’s no way I’ll get back before my turn on the stage. And why would we need to—”

“Do I pay you to ask fucking questions?” Doug snarls, more anger in his voice than I’ve ever heard before. He can be a dick, but right now, he sounds fucking pissed. “No, I fucking don’t,” he adds, answering his own question. “Come the fuck on, all three of you. You’re costing me money every second you stand there with your thumbs up your asses.”

“I—” I swallow hard. The other girls, for some reason, seem to be following my lead, and that’s more responsibility than I want right now. “Doug, I just don’t get why—”

His gaze turns sharp and cruel. “Do you want to keep this job, Sienna? Because I think I made myself crystal-fucking-clear that you’d need to contribute here. Do more than just shake your ass up on stage and in the back room. And since Princess Sienna doesn’t suck dick or fuck—” His voice turns venomous. “Then she’s going to go with Sean, and get in the van, and go finger-fuck herself on camera like she agreed to. Or she’s going to get fucking fired.”

He steps forward, and I can smell the stale-cigarette scent wafting off of him, even in the rain. “Which is it gonna be, princess? Are you gonna be a good girl and go do your fucking job? Or are you gonna pack your shit and go home right fucking now?”

My entire body clenches, like a full-body cramp, fear rippling through me. I know—I know—that getting in that van is a bad idea. That something is wrong here, that there’s something Doug isn’t telling us.

But I can’t lose my job. I think of the three dollars in my bank account after paying rent, all that I have left for food until tonight’s tips come in. I think of what it would be like to go back home, jobless, in a city where hot women willing to strip naked for money are a dime a dozen. 

I walk forward, into the rain.

The two men barely look at me as they open the side door of the van for us. The van smells like cigarettes, too, and stale carpet, the air inside hot and close. I have to stifle a gag as I slide in, my nerves making my stomach flip over and over as it is. 

Fuck. Just calm down, Sienna. It’s going to be fine. They just found a better location, or something…

But nothing I can tell myself, as Cara and the other girl slide in, can silence those alarms in my head. My stomach is twisted into knots, and I don’t know how I’m going to put on a convincing performance. I’ve only ever come for real a couple of times on camera—being handed a vibrator when you’ve never used one before makes it hard not to—and the rest of the time, I’m full-on faking it.

I’m going to have to put on an Oscar-worthy performance tonight, that’s for sure.

The door slams, and one of the guys gets in the driver’s seat, starting up the engine. Sean slides into the back row of seats behind us, and the other guy hops into the passenger’s side, just as the van starts to pull out toward the road. It’s raining harder now, sheets of it lashing the window, and I press my lips together as I stare at the golden patterns that the streetlights make in the rivulets running down the glass.

Next to me, Cara has her hands laced tightly together, pressed between her knees. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the other girl shivering. She must be new—that’s why I don’t know her name. It’s probably her first night doing this. I was terrified my first time, too.

I lick my lips, which have gone dry despite the humidity. Who am I kidding? I’m terrified now, too. This feels all wrong, and there’s no way out of it, not unless I want to lose my job with no promise of something else to follow it.

And I can’t do that. I just can’t.

The rain is coming down so hard that I can’t really see what’s in front of us when the van finally stops, just a dark shape in front of the windshield. Sean yanks the door open, hauling it back as he gets out and motions for us to follow, and I do, careful not to slip and trip in my chunky heels as my feet hit uneven gravel.

My stomach drops when I see what’s in front of the van. We’re in a part of town I don’t recognize, but it doesn’t look good. I see a junkyard on the other side of the road, the lights off, the streetlamps flickering in and out. There’s nothing to my right, and a closed-down, decrepit gas station to my left. In front of me, looming in the darkness, is an old warehouse made of wood and corrugated steel, the door hanging open and a sickly yellow light spilling out onto the gravel in front of it.

Sean gives me a shove, hand planted between my shoulder blades—not hard enough to knock me over, but hard enough to startle me. “Let’s go,” he snaps, his voice rough and impatient, and I stagger forward, wanting with every step to balk and refuse.

I need this job. I need this job. I need—

Inside, a long, poorly lit hallway leads down to a large open space with mismatched chairs scattered around a cheap card table, a few guys sitting around it smoking cigarettes and drinking beers, playing some kind of game with dice. They’re clearly gambling, from the pile of money and other items tossed in the center of the table, and the stack of dollar-store chips near each of them. I pause just long enough to take it in, to try to center myself, but Sean doesn’t give me a chance. He shoves me again, harder this time. “Fucking go, bitch,” he snaps. “I don’t have time for you to stand around and take in the sights.” He grabs my arm when I don’t move fast enough, and I freeze, too shocked to try to pull away. I’ve seen the other bouncers lay hands on the girls from time to time, when they’ve gotten out of line, but it’s never happened to me before. I always behave. I’m one of Doug’s good girls.

My stomach roils again at the thought. What has that gotten me into? 

“Down the hall.” Sean turns me to the right, pushing me forward. “Third door on the left.”

I realize that Cara and the other girl are no longer behind me—they’ve gone somewhere else. I walk forward, the hard wooden floor clacking under my shoes, and I stop in front of the door Sean pointed out, my heart beating so fast that it hurts. I can feel my pulse fluttering in my throat.

Sean shoves the door open, and me inside.

The light is so much brighter in the room that I stop for a moment, blinking rapidly to clear my vision. There’s an actual lighting rig in here, the kind that looks professional, surrounding a black leather couch in the center of the room. There’s a guy sitting in the middle of it, built like a bodybuilder with a shaved head and bulldog face—nose crooked, all of his features too close together—and he’s stark naked, his hand wrapped around his stiff cock, idly stroking. I stare at him for a moment too long, a spasm of fear tightening my chest. He’s fucking huge. The tip of his cock reaches his navel, and it’s thick enough that it looks big even in his hand. 

Four other guys are lounging around the room nearby. One more is naked, leaning against the side of the couch as he plays with his half-hard dick. Two are fully dressed, and another is in just a pair of boxers.

They all look at me when I walk into the room, lips curving into anticipatory smiles, a predatory look on every single one of their faces. They all look hungry. 

I feel my knees turn to water. I want to run, but if I do, I’m afraid my legs will give out. I twist around, desperately looking for Sean. He’s standing behind me, blocking the door, arms crossed. “This is—” I swallow hard, my mouth dry. “This is the wrong room,” I manage. “It must be. I don’t do…” I swallow again, my throat tightening up with fear. “I don’t do this. I do solo shows. Just me.”

“I know what solo means, bitch,” Sean snaps. “You’re in the right room. Boss says you’re doing a gangbang video tonight. Go stand in front of the couch so they can make sure the lighting’s good on you. We start filming in five. Stay dressed, he wants you stripping down in the video.”

“I—” I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I stare at the five men, feeling my head swim. The guy leaning against the couch is fully hard now, pivoted to face me, stroking his cock with intent. He has a shit-eating grin on his face, and he raises his other hand to his lips, fluttering his tongue between his first two fingers in a lewd gesture as he jacks himself harder.

That does it. Something snaps in my brain, and I forget about how badly I need this job, how empty my bank account is, everything except the fact that there are five guys in this room that think they’re going to fuck me, all at the same time, on camera.

I pivot on my heel, nearly falling as my ankle rolls sideways, and I bolt around Sean for the door.

I only make it two steps. His thick arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off the floor as he blocks me. I slap at his muscled arm, letting out an anguished, animal sound of fear, but he just picks me up, holding me against his side as I squirm as he carries me back toward the couch. 

“Grab her,” he tells the two naked men, and they both obey immediately, coming toward me one on either side, each grabbing an arm. I feel something hard and stiff brush against my right hip, and bile rises in my throat.

“Hold her still,” Sean snaps, and he grabs my face in his meaty fingers, squeezing until my cheeks are pressed inward. “Listen here, bitch,” he growls. “Boss says you’re gonna get fucked on video by these five guys. You’ve got three holes and two hands, so you oughta be just fine. You keep fighting like this, and I’ll make sure the guy who gets to fuck you in the ass doesn’t get any lube handed to him. You feel me?”

I can’t speak. I can’t move. Forget fight or flight—I’m frozen, shuddering in the grasp of these three men. I hear the one to my left chuckle, see him reach down out of the corner of my eye as he gives himself another stroke. “I like this one,” he says in a rough, Eastern European-accented voice. “I like the ones who struggle. Maybe we make this a rougher video than we planned, boss? I’ll fuck her in the ass. Sergei can sit on the couch, have her pussy.”

Fight kicks in again, at that. I twist in their grip, screaming, and Sean lets go of my face just long enough to rear back, slapping me hard enough to send my head to one side.

“You keep this up, bitch, and this gangbang is gonna go on a very special corner of the internet. You hear me? You’re no virgin, so it doesn’t matter if you’re bruised up when we send you out of here.”

My ear is ringing where he slapped me. That last sentence doesn’t make any sense. I look at him, dizzy from the slap, and I try to breathe. It feels like I can’t, all the air trapped in my lungs, my chest painfully tight.

“Just let me go,” I whisper. “Please, I—there must have been some kind of misunderstanding. Doug gave you the wrong girl. Someone else is supposed to be here—” Someone who agreed to it. Someone who’s willing to film this kind of porn. There are girls at the club who would do it. Carmen would, I know that for a fact. She’d probably get off on it. But I feel like I’m going to pass out. I don’t even think I could fuck one guy on camera, let alone—

“Listen here.” Sean’s fingers are digging into my cheeks again, my chin held tightly in his grasp. “You either do this, and you act like you fucking like it, or there’s gonna be consequences.”

“I’ve never—” I gulp, shivering so hard that I think my teeth are going to clack together. “I’ve never done this before. Fucked on camera. This isn’t what I’ve been asked to do before—”

“There’s been a change in management,” Sean snaps. “That's enough of an explanation for you? This is part of your job description now. So when I tell these two to let go of you, you’re gonna stand here like a good girl, let them get the lighting right, and then you’re gonna act like getting fucked in all your holes is the best fucking day of your life since your birthday. You understand me?”

I don’t think I have a choice. I stare at him, unwilling to nod, to actually agree to this, but when he lets go of my face and motions for the other two men to step back, I can’t move. I can’t make my feet budge even an inch, much less run for the door. I see the crew starting to adjust the lighting, and I feel frozen once again, like a deer in headlights.

“Good,” a voice says, someone I don’t know. “Now, we’re going to get started. When the music starts, I want you to start dancing. Strip just like you would for a private show. We want the two men by the couch there for now, naked—keep stroking, yeah, we want those dicks hard—and then the guy in his boxers, you come up here next. Two of you dressed—you come in last, like you’re walking in on a private show. We want the participation staggered. In three, two—”

I stiffen, braced for the first note of the music, for the moment when I’m going to be expected to start, unsure if I can. If I can move, if I can do anything at all—and I’m terrified of what happens if I can’t. Of what happens if I can.

I’ve never been so afraid in my life. 

I hear the music, the first beat filling the air and making me flinch—and then a different sound cracks through the air, making me jump and let out a sharp, startled, shrill scream.

I know that sound. Anyone who lives in a neighborhood like mine does. It was a gunshot.

Before I can take a breath, or think, or react, there’s more of them. Crack after crack, the sound splitting the air outside the room, and I hear the ping of metal, shouts, the stomping of boots, a guttural, male cry of pain…

I stagger backwards, arms wrapped around myself, looking around, terrified for somewhere to go. Somewhere to run. There’s only one exit, and it leads out to where the gunshots are—

The door slams open, and I scream again.

Chaos erupts. I hear the men behind me swearing—I don’t know who, the camera crew or lighting guy or maybe the ones who thought they were going to get to fuck me, or all of them. Someone shoves me as they run past, more gunfire erupting in the room, and I drop to my knees as one of the lights crashes onto the floor next to me, glass shattering and spilling across the hard concrete floor.

“Fuck! My fucking cloth—” There’s a guttural, choking sound, and I wrench around to see the man with the bulldog face, the one who said he was going to fuck me in the ass, sprawled on the concrete. There’s a smear of blood under his body, more leaking from his head.

I stare at him, dizzy with shock, unable to process everything happening all around me. I should feel something other than relief and a strange sense of vindication… shouldn’t I? But all I can think, as I stare at the man’s sightless eyes and limp body, is that he was going to force me. He knew I didn’t want it, and he was going to enjoy fucking me anyway. He was going to enjoy hurting me.

I’m glad he’s dead.

A string of curses from the other side of the room makes me wrench around again, and I see Sean being shoved to his knees by three of the men in fatigues. I stare in horror as one of them puts a gun to the back of his head and pulls the trigger.

My blood turns to ice as I watch him drop to the concrete, blood pooling around him. The cold violence of it makes my stomach roil, and I nearly vomit, my throat tightening as I start to shove myself up to my feet. Men are still shooting, there’s blood everywhere—and I’m in the middle of it, backing away as I look for an escape. There isn’t one, nothing other than the door I entered through, and suddenly my feet feel as if they’re able to move again, as cold terror ripples through me.

I run. Blindly. I bolt for the door, ducking, keeping to one side of the room, my ears ringing from all of the gunshots. I’m nearly there…and then a man is filling the doorway, standing in front of me, blocking my path.

He reaches for me as I try to shove past him, his arm wrapping around my waist much like Sean’s did earlier, and my chest tightens, panic overwhelming me. I didn’t like Sean, he was an asshole—but now he’s dead. Killed in cold blood…I start to swing my arms wildly, clawing at the man holding me, a man I’ve…

A man I’ve seen before.

There’s a brief moment of clarity as I look up at him. Blond hair, broad shoulders, tattoos climbing up his neck, dark blue eyes—

It’s the man that I saw with Konstantin. The quiet, brooding, dangerous man. The one that Carmen claimed fucked her like a beast.

That memory is enough to make me go wild with fear again, clawing and kicking as the man grabs the back of my neck, shaking me hard enough to make my teeth clack together.

“Stop!” He shakes me again. “Stop fighting. I’m trying to help you.” He keeps me close to his side as he looks around the room, and I realize there’s a gun in his other hand, blood spattered over his arms and clothes. I follow his gaze, breathing hard, and I see that everyone who was in the room with me is dead, all except the black-garbed men who burst in. The crew, the five men who were getting paid to fuck me, Sean… everyone.

I have a momentary flicker of sorrow for the crew. They probably didn’t know they’d been hired for a job where the star of the show didn’t want to be there. But the rest of them…

Maybe I should feel bad that they’re dead. But I don’t.

“Come with me,” the man says urgently. “Stay close. If I let you go, are you going to—”

I twist in his grasp, hoping it’s loosened, and he lets out a frustrated growl. 

“I’m trying to protect you, girl!” He shakes me again, pulling me with him as he backs out of the doorway, turning abruptly around as he raises his gun, scanning the hallway. “Come with me. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Who are—” I break off, my voice ending in a high-pitched sound of horror as I almost trip over a slender body in the hallway. Bright pink top, dusty blonde ponytail…it’s the other girl who came here with me, the one whose name I didn’t know. Another flare of guilt washes over me…I didn’t even ask.

The man is already dragging me down the hall with him. “Damian,” he says curtly, his voice sharp and abrupt, thickly accented. He’s Russian, I can tell that much, which makes sense if he works with Konstantin for the Bratva. “Damian Kutnezsov. Is that good enough for you?”

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I can’t think, can’t form words. I’ve never felt fear like this before—I thought I had, just a little bit ago, when I saw those five men, but I was wrong.

This, this is real fear. I’ve never before thought that I might die at any moment, but now I know what it feels like. Now…

The crack of Damian’s gun makes me jolt backwards, against his grasp as my ears ring, my nose burning with the scent of hot metal and blood. I hear a body hit the floor, and Damian drags me forward, shoving me against a wall as he blocks me with his broad, muscled body, looking around a corner. I see him aim, fire, hear that thud of a body dropping again, and then we’re moving, Damian dragging me forward—

I see the propped-open door of the warehouse. I see the dark outside, the rain still puddling at the opening, in that sickly glow of light. And then, I feel a whoosh of air next to my head, and the ping of a bullet hitting metal as…

Damian swears in Russian, swinging me behind him as he aims, and I see one of the men who brought me here, one of those two men wearing jackets, aiming at both of us. There’s the sound of Damian firing again, and the other man drops. His blood gleams in the light, and I feel that nausea rising up again.

“Run!” Damian snaps, grabbing my elbow as he bolts for the door. He hauls me after him, but I’m running now too, trying to keep pace with his long strides as we rush out into the rainy darkness.

It’s warm rain, but it feels cold against my hot skin, pelting us in sheets as Damian runs through the parking lot with me. My ankle rolls, twisting in my high heel, and I feel myself toppling, about to fall to the gravel as pain shoots up my leg.

Before I can hit the ground, I feel strong arms go around me, and suddenly, Damian is carrying me, holding me against his chest with one hand as he runs. He twists around, firing once more, and I have a second to wonder how he knew someone was there before we reach a black Mercedes G-Wagon, and Damian yanks open the passenger side, shoving me in.

“Don’t you dare try to get out,” he growls, slamming the door shut in my face, and I see him sprint around the front of the car, leaping into the driver’s side as he shoves the key into the ignition.

The car growls to life. I stare at Damian, shaking all over, my teeth chattering together from fear and shock. “What’s going on?” I gasp. “What’s happening? Why—”

“Don’t ask questions,” he snaps. His foot presses down onto the gas, and the car lurches forward, gravel spitting. 

“But I—I don’t understand—” I can feel my shaking intensifying. I feel like I might pass out, or scream, or—I don’t know. All I know is that an hour ago, my life was one thing, and now it feels like something else altogether.

“You’re in danger.” Damian jerks the wheel to one side, pulling out onto the road. “Your life is in danger.” He looks over at me. “Do you understand?”

“No, I—”

“Stop talking. Stop asking questions.” He grips the steering wheel with both hands, and the car speeds up, driving us faster into the darkness of the rain-drenched night.