Page 6

S till in the flashback....

“Stop it! No!” I yelled, but the sound was muffled as my attacker pressed his sweaty palm over my face.

“Come on. Don’t play hard to get,” he said, breathing heavy against my ear.

Revulsion filled me. The room was dark, strobe lights bouncing off the walls, and he wore tinted glasses, hiding his eyes.

“Fuck you! Get off me,” I said and spat at him, bucking against his hold and knocking his glasses off his face.

His eyes were cold, unfeeling, glazed with drug use. I shivered as they zeroed in on me like a shark stalking his prey.

“Bitch!” he yelled and slapped me, hard.

My face stung, and whatever buzz I’d been feeling earlier left in an instant.

“You were asking for it out there, you fucking slut! Shaking that fat ass in front of my booth all fucking night. Just another rich bitch, prancing around here in your designer clothes, showing off,” he said with his lips so close to my face, his foul breath made me gag.

“I wasn’t showing off. I was just having fun,” I cried.

I was so damn mad.

And scared.

I was both.

Mad at him for the words he used.

For thinking me dancing with my cousins was some sort of invitation for him to touch me like this.

Scared because he was stronger than me. And clearly, the guy had a broken moral compass.

Oh God. No.

His big hands squeezed my body, bruising me. I struggled, but he was bigger than me, and he shoved me around with my back to him, his grimy hands tugging on my skirt.

“No! I said no!” I repeated, wishing I was anywhere else.

Terror seized my throat and tears pricked my eyes.

Was this what they meant when they talked about fear? Like real fear ?

I’d never felt it before. Never had to.

I’d been pampered and protected all my life. But I’d stupidly sent my bodyguard to the front of the club and there was no way he’d have heard the DJ single me out and invite me back to his booth.

Stupid, Micky. So fucking stupid.

Just when I thought this was it, something happened.

I got lucky.

DJ Masters— stupid fucking name —couldn’t do more than tear my dress and paw at me before the door to his booth opened again to reveal a stunning, slender redhead and her entourage.

She looked familiar, and I could tell by the way she narrowed her eyes, she recognized me, too.

“What the fuck you doing? You can’t be in here,” my would be abuser snapped, wiping his face where I spat at him earlier.

“Fuck. Take care of him,” the woman said to the two men bracketing her.

Then she turned to face me, “Let’s get out of here, Little Wolf. You don’t want to see this.”

“T-thank you. You stopped him from—” I paused, shivering as revulsion rolled through me.

“Easy. Come on, we can go to my VIP room till you feel better,” she said, and pulled me along with her around the booth to a private hallway.

Fuck.

Why did this have to happen?

“Did he rape you?” the woman asked point blank when we entered her VIP room.

“What? No. But I think he might have tried,” I said, and closed my eyes as I tried to process that.

“You’ll need some therapy,” she pointed out. “But physically you look okay. A little bruised.”

“Um, thanks. I mean, it’s stupid to feel this way. You got there in time,” I said, feeling guilty and foolish for being so upset.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have every right to feel as you do.”

“I should get back?—”

“Why don’t you take a minute? Sit down. At least, wait until you stop shaking first,” she said, pointing to my trembling hands.

The woman who saved me was right. I needed a minute, or my cousins would know what happened. I didn’t want that. Didn’t need them reporting back to their parents who would, of course, tell mine.

My parents were so overprotective of me, it was all I could do to convince them to live alone after I finished grad school.

Dad finally gave in and allowed me to have a condo in one of the buildings he owned near Volkov Towers where I would be working.

I mean, he’d still have security watching me, but if I told him about this, he would insist I forget about my career and come back home. But I couldn’t do that. I refused to be a useless decoration.

I wondered briefly what the stranger would say if she knew who I was. Would she want money? Some kind of reward. I even wondered if maybe I should offer, but clearly, she must have money.

The woman had to be somebody, I mean, she had a VIP room with top shelf champagne sitting in buckets just waiting for her.

But who was she? She called me Little Wolf.

Must have been a coincidence.

But how can I be sure?

“Thank you so much. I-I don’t know how I can repay you,” I whimpered as she draped her sheer cape over me, hiding my ruined dress.

“Don’t worry Michaela Volkov, I am sure we can work it out,” she said, and I froze.

This woman knew exactly who I was.

And now I was in her debt.