Page 31 of Sweet Torture (Torture Games #1)

TWENTY-FIVE

NAZ

T he club is packed, and we would never have gotten in without the Russian.

Rose drags me to the front of the line by the arm and boldly proclaims, “We are Vlad Antonov's VIP guests.”

Although I took my time to get ready and think I look pretty presentable in my tan skirt and matching sleek boots with a plunging tight top and my hair down, the men protecting the door stare at me as if I am lost in the jungle.

The two big bruisers stare at each other for a second before the third takes out his phone to make a call.

Shortly after, we are ushered through the black, plain-looking front door and immersed in a frantic whirlwind of wriggling bodies and swirling lights.

Rose excitedly grabs my arm, and automatically her hips fall into rhythm with the dance music blaring over the speakers.

We are approached by a skinny and much too proper woman with a permanent sneer on her face from the looks of it.

The music is overwhelming at first, so she points with her bony finger to a winding staircase in the back when she beckons us.

Rose hooks her arm in mine, and we follow like ignorant lambs led to slaughter.

The woman in the functional pantsuit shows great skill to ascend the staircase before us without her sky-high stilettos getting stuck in the iron grid of the steps.

The club is littered with elements of industrial chic and might have been a sewing factory before it was turned into this venue of unadulterated sin and lost inhibitions.

I clutch to the seam of my short skirt and plaster it against my ass.

This is definitely not the place to lose my dignity, and flashing my vajay to a club full of people is not the way I want to make friends tonight.

Relieved to take the last step, my body tenses when I immediately notice the man from this morning lounging on one of the couches in the room.

There are other men about but his stark white hair is like a beacon in the darkness that emanates from the VIP section.

It could be cigar smoke, but I choose to believe differently.

The Russian is dressed in a tailored suit, judging by the way it fits his broad shoulders.

He is surrounded by skinny women in short skirts and tits hanging out, and I feel sorely misplaced.

This is not a place we need to be.

I pull on Rose’s arm to halt her advance, “Let’s go dance. ”

Even shouting, my voice is not loud enough to compete with the volume of the music.

I have been to this club a few times before with Rose, but now I see it in a different light.

I look over the railing to take in the spectacle that makes my nerves skitter in unease.

Burly men in black suits with bulges at their backs and keen eyes are guarding every exit.

In the slithering mass below, I spot unassuming women dressed provocatively, discreetly handing small packets to people dancing, taking money with their other hand, and depositing it into the small handbag hanging around their necks.

Some of the dancers are struggling to stay on their feet, and their friends find their loss of balance hilarious, howling like unhinged hyenas.

At least the bar looks safe enough with people leaning against it, watching the rest have fun.

Once, I could have ignored the obvious signs and let the transgressions fade into the background.

If only to fly below the radar myself. Now, I am hyper-aware of every slight and the repercussions it could have for those around me.

Is it because my eyes are being opened to a whole new world that exists in the underbelly of good men?

Or is it my assumption that I could keep myself safe if I became invisible?

I don’t know. I do know that I don’t feel safe here anymore, and we need to leave right away.

Turning my head back, I see the woman who accompanied us to the VIP section discreetly whisper something in the Russian’s ear, and his face lights up. He shoves one of the ladies off his lap and strides confidently our way.

I can just hope Rose saw the same thing, and it will make her change her mind.

“Girls, what a pleasure it is to have you here; come, let’s get a drink.” He grabs Rose’s hand, and she willingly lets go of me to follow the man deeper into the seediness.

Conflicted, I hover on the edge, trying to decipher the risks involved with this plan.

We should never have come here. But I can’t leave Rose now.

She would be all alone, and who knows what they have in store for her?

Frantically, I storm the heap of human limbs, climb over the limp bodies in my way, and grab Rose on the arm.

“We need to get a drink. Come with me.”

Ignoring her protest, I drag her down the stairs, not stopping until I feel the sticky wood of the bar below my hands.

Heaving, I order two shots.

“What are you doing? Vlad is gorgeous, and you drag me away like a felon. What is the matter with you?” Rose shouts close to my ear.

When the shots are poured, she declines the shot I offer with her hands on her hips, and I down both before I am capable of answering her.

The glasses barely make a sound as I slam them down on the bar.

I grab my bag and open my wallet but the barman only smiles and heads away to help someone else.

I put my wallet away and pull Rose closer to make sure she doesn’t miss a word of what I am about to say.

“These people are dangerous. We can’t stay here.”

Her soundless laugh comes from deep within her belly, and she slaps the bar repeatedly while doubling over. She wipes tears from her cheeks before she leans in and explains, “Rich, coming from you.”

“What do you mean? I am telling you I am getting a bad vibe from that guy. We need to leave right now,” I insist.

Placing her hand on my shoulder, she tries to placate me: "Don’t you think maybe you are a little paranoid because you are dating a criminal? I mean, it is completely understandable, but still. There isn’t a big bad wolf behind every bush, friend.”

I shove her hand off and grab her by the shoulders.

“I am telling you this man is dangerous. There is evil here, and I can feel it. Now let’s go,” I scream in her face.

I grab her hand and make my way to the door, only to be tripped by a drunk girl on her way to the bathroom. I stumble into a guy on the dance floor, and his glass shatters to the ground with deafening dread. I feel the pieces of glass splatter against my boots.

“What do you think you are doing, bitch? That was expensive booze. Do you know how many dicks you need to guzzle down to afford the drink you just wasted?” The asshole pushes me slightly on my shoulder and seems unstable on his feet.

Rose is plastered to my back, and I feel her hand creep around my arm to pull me away. But I won’t back down and be treated like a whore for the second time today.

“That is no way to talk to a lady, now is it?” I stand my ground, hands clenched in fists.

“Lady?” – he scoffs – “You are no fucking lady. You look more like the dick cleaner waiting by the door. Nobody would want to touch that.” He gestures to all of me.

The fist comes out of nowhere.

The man before me drops to his knees with blood gushing from his broken nose.

Chaos appears from the side, strutting while his hand is still fisted.

“Once again, is that any way to treat a lady?” he asks.

A hush has fallen over everyone in our immediate vicinity, and the circle that has cleared around us gets bigger and bigger.

Rose is nowhere to be seen, and I frantically search for her in the dense crowd.

But I don’t dare move. The man on the floor is moaning in pain, and my mouth opens in a gasp as I see Chaos lift his foot and kick him in the face.

Such displays of brutality have always triggered me, but seeing Chaos circle his prey with malice, knowing he is doing it to protect me and not harm me, is doing something to liquify my insides.

Before I can melt into a puddle on the floor, the guy says something he shouldn't have.

“She is a useless woman. What do you fucking care what I say to her?”

Griffin grabs his hair mop and yanks his head back, forcing him lower on his knees. I see the spittle flying from his mouth onto the loser’s face when he screams in his face.

“She isn’t just any woman; she is my woman, and I will kill you for even looking in her direction. Do you understand me?”

He still has his hands covering his nose, so I don’t hear his mumbled answer, but Chaos puts his knee in his back, pulls his shoulders back, and elongates his spine into what looks to be a very uncomfortable position.

“Apologize,” Chaos states.

The whimpering man has wet himself, and nobody cares enough about him to come to his aid. Like me, they are all mesmerized by Chaos’ display of force and twisted chivalry.

“Apologize, or I will snap you back like a twig. I want to see you treat women like shit when everyone sees you for the broken excuse of a man you are. Now!” He pulls back more on his shoulders until a pathetic whine escapes.

His voice is raised to a brutal war cry, and a squeak escapes from behind my fingers pressed to my lips.

The only sound that invades the bubble of vindication around us is the unmistakable accent of the Russian .

“Is that any way to introduce yourself to your new business acquaintance?” The voice is booming, and people scatter to make a path for Vlad, who arrives as if summoned from above.

Rose, standing next to him, shrinks under my glare.

My eyes communicate one simple message: I was right.

But that would mean that Rose is also right.

“You never made a deal with me. I suggest you take that up with the other guy. All I want is for this shit stain to apologize to my girl, and then we can leave.”

Frustration is evident on his face, and Vlad’s nostrils flare at Chaos’s words.