Page 4 of Refrain (Beautiful Monsters #2)

CHAPTER THREE

CHLOE

Think . The need hammers against my skull.

If he really is one of Vlad’s lackeys, then he’ll call for help at any moment.

I can’t let that happen. Desperate, I scan the room for a lamp or another item I could use as a weapon.

There . Piotr’s prized ashtray is within my reach, a poetic sort of irony.

I shift toward it, clinging to the wall. Just my fucking luck, the man follows.

“I’m no cop,” I lie. Miracle of miracles, my voice doesn’t shake. How in the hell did he know? “I’m not—”

“You came here with a cop. Don’t tell me that’s just a coincidence.”

“What?” Dread knots my stomach. He has to be lying. Grey doesn’t make dumb mistakes. His truck was unmarked. He wasn’t even in uniform. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Cut the shit.” His hand strikes the wall near my head, and the resulting bang snaps my nerves to attention. “Let’s say I know a little birdy who warned me that a woman was headed my way. Average height. Thin. Red wig. You ditched the wig for some reason, but I know you’re her.”

My lungs are on fire. I’ve been holding my breath. “How?”

“You don’t have a mark on you. At least… ”

I flinch as the rough pad of his thumb grazes my forehead.

“Except for that. My little birdy mentioned this female cop would have a scar like that.”

Breathe. I do as he withdraws, feeling my chest expand and contract.

“You’re crazy—”

“Am I?” The shadow that falls over his face could be a trick of the ghoulish light, but he looks older.

Harder. More demon than angel. “Tell me who your target is,” he demands.

“Or I go back out there and let good ol’ Vlad know that he has a mole in his club.

Are you after the girls? I know sometimes you cops like to use them as collateral to get to the big boys. That won’t work.”

“You could tell Vlad,” I admit. “But he…he won’t believe you.” Only because he might already know. I feel it in my gut. Despite the few hiccups, this has been way too easy. “I’m not a cop—”

“Then who are you?”

I have just a second to compose a good lie. “I work for them. The police said, if I come and get them information, they won’t charge me for prostitution, and I can be safe.”

Blue Eyes tilts his head, unconvinced. I’ll have to dig deep to fool him.

“Think about it. Could a cop just prance in here undetected? Without backup? Without a weapon? Look.” I run a hand down the side of my tiny, white shorts. “I can’t even hide a gun. Who would be that stupid—”

“So, who are you, then?” He advances another step, and I’m trapped. “Tell me the truth or I’m going to Vlad.”

“I’m no one,” I insist.

“Oh, really?” An alarming expression contorts his mouth. A breathtaking smile. A terrible grimace. “Then what business do you have with Olshenkov?”

I blink, unguarded for a split second. What business do I have with Vlad? Nothing. Everything.

“That’s my business— ”

“And your cop friend. Don’t tell me he’s just here to hold your hand?”

“His…business is about Piotr Petrov,” I stammer, risking a kernel of the truth. “That’s it.”

“Petrov?”

I avoid his suspicious glance in favor of hunting for a way out. I could shove him into the bathroom and barricade the door. Incapacitate him somehow. I could…

“What’s your name?”

“Why does it matter?” I glance at him sharply.

“I guess it doesn’t,” he admits. “Still want to know though.” He angles his body toward mine—a stance that makes it ten times harder to sneak past him.

“Ksei,” I spit.

He cuts his gaze to the doorway before I can tell if he believes me or not. “Well…what do you say we both get the hell out of here, then, Ksei ?”

Go? My mind latches onto that word. I should fucking run.

Something about this room renders me helpless.

The walls of my old prison are familiar yet different at the same time.

Even the paint seems to be a slightly different shade of gray.

There’s a tinge of red now. Wait… That “speck” of red starts to flash.

It doesn’t come from the wall itself, either, but a small, black box mounted near the ceiling.

Shit. Recognition hits me like a punch to the stomach.

“The camera…” How could I have been so stupid as to forget it? “He’s watching us.”

Someone has to be in that little room at the back of the club, making the lens refocus to trigger the light. Vlad?

It doesn’t matter.

“Wait.”

A firm grip seizes my arm, but I’m already halfway to the door, my fingers pawing for the knob.

“Hey! Listen to me. ”

Listen. I’m years in the past, going through the motions with a client while Piotr coaches me—sometimes symbolically through the pulsing camera’s lens. Sometimes he booked a bird’s-eye view right beside the bed if the customer was into that sort of thing.

“Give the man his money’s worth,” he’d growl into my ear. “Make him beg for more…”

“Hey.”

The gruff tone doesn’t drag me back to the present as much as the gentle touch trailing down the length of my arm does. I wrench the limb back only to lose my balance and trip forward. A startled grunt bastes my skin, and I feel rather than see an unfamiliar hand slide down to my waist.

“Don’t move,” the man warns the moment I resist his grip. “Unless you want all of them out there to realize who you are.”

Ksei, back from the dead?

No. A cop—that’s what he thinks, anyway.

“Give me a dance,” he suggests, his breath warm against my ear. “Something quick and easy. Then I’ll leave, and you can slip out—”

“Why?” I draw back enough to see his face. “Why help me?”

“To be fair, I don’t think we have a lot of time to waste on talking .”

I swallow hard. He’s right.

“Get on the bed,” he says, following the same train of thought. Letting me go, the stranger backs up a step, tilting his head so that his expression is hidden from the camera’s view. He sinks onto the mattress, watching me during the entire descent.

He’s on my level now, and thoughts of escape come more easily, more tempting than before. I could hit him and make a break for the exit before Vlad could even rise from his chair.

My legs spur into action, bringing me forward, and his scent floods my nostrils. Sharp. Acrid—like smoke. The camera’s still watching from the corner, its steady, red light blaring a silent warning .

“Lie down,” I whisper.

A shadow descends across his face, hardening his features with every ounce of space I gain on him.

I’m almost taken aback at how easily my body reacts to the role I have to play.

My hands slowly slide across my bare torso, and the motion catches his attention.

His eyes flicker down to my exposed breasts and a flash of heat jolts through my body—but that statuesque expression never wavers, even as I brace one knee on the side of his left hip.

Our postures now mirror each other’s. Both tense, both untrusting. There is a stiff chill that shrouds the heat emanating from him.

I blame it for the shiver racing down my spine.

“Let’s get you a bit more comfortable,” I murmur as if Vlad is listening outside the door.

“Maybe take your shirt off?” I run my fingers down to his chest, using the act as a cover to feel for a weapon.

I find only coiled muscle that twitches, ready to spring into action, as I hook my hand beneath his shirt and lift.

I can only pray that Vlad doesn’t see what they’re really doing from his position. They’re clenching. They’re shaking.

Memories flood my brain one after the other, riding the telltale stench that lingers in the sheets. Piotr only ever wore one brand of cologne. Krov’Volka. Wolf Blood. I smell it even now with every frantic breath I take. He’s inside me, whether I want him there or not. Just like old times.

No. You’re here for Anna, I mentally chant. Anna, Anna, Anna.

“Wait.” Suddenly, the man beneath me rears up, knocking me against his chest. His nearness triggers a million uncomfortable sensations. Unfamiliar body heat. Raw skin on coarse fabric. I almost miss what he says next. “What’s that?”

I scramble back. “W-what?”

Faint thuds come from behind the closed door. Shouting. Glass breaking.

Vlad is throwing quite the party tonight .

“Shit.” Blue Eyes lunges to his feet. It’s the prime position for the dingy, artificial light to glance off the planes of his back revealed by his displaced shirt. Scars. The grouping of welts rises from his skin, more striking than any tattoo.

A revolting mixture of horror and pity floods my veins. I know those marks. How the wounds sting and burn as they heal. How the resulting scars swell against the skin like snakes. My fingertips run over my inner thighs without permission, sensing the uneven ridges of flesh.

I must have made a sound, because he turns, his eyes darkening when he realizes what I’ve seen. Before he can adjust his shirt, the door opens and Vlad storms in.

“We need to reschedule,” he says brusquely. “Here. So that your friend doesn’t forget our generosity.” He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a roll of cash he shoves against the other man’s palm.

“Why?” Blue Eyes accepts the money, but his feet drift apart, opening his stance. “Something wrong?”

“Change of plans,” Vlad says. “Just some fucking pigs causing trouble. Didier will discuss your… friend’s future business before seeing you out.”

The stranger doesn’t even glance back at me before leaving. I follow him, keeping my head down, my eyes averted from Vlad. Focus, Grey would warn. Don’t break your cover, no matter what. My foot breaches the threshold the moment a hand seizes my shoulder and yanks me back.

“Oh, no, you don’t. Not you.”

The door slams, and I’m wrenched around, forced to bear the full brunt of Vlad’s scrutiny. His gaze skims over my shoulder, and a chilling grin shapes his mouth.