Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I step away from Adele, who’s trying to shield me from his ever-growing fury.
“I can do it,” I say with as much determination as I can muster.
He laughs. “You can do it, huh?”
With my hands on both hips, I step forward. “Yes, I can do it. Just because you think I’m incapable of doing this doesn’t mean I am.”
His eyes bounce between Adele and me. “No. Final answer.” There’s a finality to his tone, which I choose to ignore.
Adele sighs. “Dev, there’s no one else. She can do this. Look at how well she fills out this corset.”
His eyes drink me in while his teeth graze over his bottom lip. “Adele, leave us.”
She scampers away, and when we’re alone, I do not back down. “I’m dancing for the VIP party, and if you don’t like it, you can fire me.” This is something I need to do. I have to make some headway on this case.
“You’re not dancing.”
“Yes, I am.”
He stalks closer, pinning me to the wall. His warm breath fans across my cheek as he breathes. “You’re not.”
I push on his chest, but he doesn’t move. “You can’t stop me from dancing just because you don’t think I’m good enough.” Gah. I want to cry, but I never will. Not for this asshole.
His next words reflect the venom in his eyes. “You’re not fucking dancing.”
I wiggle away from him, marching past his tall frame. “Watch me,” I toss over my shoulder, leaving him standing in the back employee area.
I find Adele waiting for me, and she gives me a quick pep talk about finding a rhythm as she leads me down a hallway to the room. My heart pumps at an alarming rate and I might just have a heart attack before I can get in there.
“Always knock and wait to be invited into the room.” She raps her knuckles on the door.
“Come in,” someone on the other side says.
My lungs feel as though they aren’t working as she leads me inside the room doused in a soft red glow.
“They’re all yours,” she says before leaving me with about twenty people milling about the spacious interior.
There are a handful of scantily clad women, and the rest are men in suits. A slow and steady beat pumps through the speakers of the room, and all eyes are on me.
I spot the Chekov brothers immediately.
White couches bank three of the room’s red walls, and a white, circular stage with a silver pole touching the ceiling sits in the center.
“Hi, everyone,” I say, making my way to the stage. “I’m Swan.”
Dimitri leers at me. “Swan. I like that name.”
Phew, he approves. Said no one ever.
“Thank you. I like it too.”
Although I’m repulsed by everyone’s roaming eyes, I want to get closer to these people to see if there’s anything I can find out about the nights the Greedy Girls were murdered. Somehow, my feet keep moving, until I’m on the stage, gripping the pole, praying I don’t blow this opportunity.
In a flash, the lights go out. Groans fill the pitch-black room. Floodlights flip on a second later.
“What the fuck is this?” Vlad asks with a heavy Russian accent.
“Power’s out,” another man says.
Just my luck. I’m all but forgotten as everyone spills out of the VIP room into the main club area.
I’m the last to leave, and I curse my bad fortune as I stand in the middle of the main floor, watching half-dressed people rush out of rooms, trying to figure out what’s going on.
“Everyone get the fuck out,” a booming voice demands from above. Devereaux grips the banister of the staircase, high above everyone, looking down, his eyes pinned right on me. “Club’s closed.”
Lots of mumbled protests ensue, but he doesn’t change his mind.
“I said get the fuck out.” His stern voice echoes throughout the club, making my bones shake, and this time, they obey.
I should grab my things and go, but the weight of his stare keeps me rooted to the spot.
“Adele, get everyone out of here,” he says as she moves to the bottom of the staircase. “Employees included.”
“Well, we have to clean up.”
His knuckles turn white as he grips the railing tighter. “Leave it.”
Everyone scampers back and forth, grabbing their bags, while I watch Devereaux descend the stairs. I’m an employee, so it’s time for me to go as well, but then Devereaux is by my side, his large hand clamping down on my shoulder. “Not you, Swan.”
I swallow. Nervous energy shoots straight through me, making my legs wobble slightly on my five-inch heels.
As soon as the club’s empty, Devereaux slips his hands into his pockets. “Follow me,” he says.
I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I obey.
When he comes to the room I was in earlier, he stops and fishes his phone from his pocket. He taps on it and the power’s magically restored.