Page 15 of The Bratva’s Captive (The Ivanov Syndicate #1)

SLOANE

S afety would never be a part of my reality.

As draining as it was for every day to be exactly the same, I didn’t relish any more changes and adjustments that I’d have to manage, either.

I’d had enough of life throwing me curveballs.

Learning that I was pregnant was enough of a shocker to handle.

But coming home to find my apartment broken into and trashed was just too much. All my things—not that I had much to begin with—were ruined. My clothes were ripped or stolen. My fridge was raided and left with the doors hanging off crooked. They even stole my damn toaster.

I suspected my neighbor, the single mother, might’ve been behind it because she looked way too damn smug when I reported the incident to the landlord.

And that bastard was determined to make my life even harder by saying I was responsible for all the damages and that I’d have to pay him back for repairs, plus interest if I couldn’t pony up for it all now.

That was why I showed up at the club depressed and feeling so beaten down by life. More than usual, I was dragging my feet.

My crappy little apartment was the only home I’d had since coming to New York and it didn’t resemble a safe space at all anymore.

Knowing someone had busted in there so easily made me realize how unsafe it had been all along.

After I finished work tonight, I had no clue how I’d go “home” without the security of a working door.

The landlord didn’t see a reason to hurry on replacing the busted doorknob.

What do I do now?

The allure of running away filled my mind again, but first, I had to get through this shift tonight.

With an empty stomach, so much fatigue I wondered if I’d pass out on the stage from sheer exhaustion, and nauseous from this pregnancy, I hated how badly I was breaking my promise with myself.

I vowed to never need anyone, but like this, at rock bottom, I wasn’t sure that I could manage this hard of a life.

To make matters worse—since rock bottom wasn’t already bad enough—Lenny was in charge tonight instead of Brent.

Drunk and clearly in a mood, he was more of an asshole than usual.

If he wasn’t harping on us dancers to get ready faster, then he was bitching out every other employee who seemed to be moving slower than he wanted them to.

It was going to be one of those kinds of nights, but there was no way out of it.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he demanded, pausing at the dressing room I had taken to get ready in.

He’d paused in his walk through the backstage space, narrowing his eyes at me and snarling.

Catching me in the act of lowering my head and rubbing my brow, he seemed to think I was planning on slacking off.

“Get up. Move it.” He smacked his hand on the back of the chair I was seated in, and it wobbled so violently it nearly tipped over.

At my panic of falling, he snickered and kicked the leg until it crashed down.

I stood just in time, but I had to catch my breath from the fright.

I’d only wanted to close my eyes for a moment and talk myself out of this damn headache.

“It ain’t my fault if you stupid bitches stay out too late partying. You’re here on the clock and you’re gonna fucking earn every cent you can.”

A deeper, meaner chuckle trailed after him as he sauntered by to harass other dancers. Of all the managers who worked for the owners, he loved to reap as much of his cut as he could. It wasn’t like he was out there dancing and hanging on to the poles, but he would get a cut of it all anyway.

He was wrong about me. I hadn’t been out partying at all. I had been dealing with the shitty cards life was set to keep giving me. But I knew better than to argue with him. When he was in this sort of sinister mood, it was smarter to just avoid him.

Dressed and made up to dazzle and seduce, I went out on stage on time with all the other girls.

The moment I was under the lights and feeling the oppressive, heavy beat of the music vibrating through me, I couldn’t snap into work mode and do anything well.

If I wasn’t clumsy and looking like I’d never danced before in my life, I was trying so hard not to cringe at the constant threats of bile creeping up my throat.

I missed steps. I bumped into other dancers, who immediately gave me mean looks.

When I almost fell off the stage from a wave of horrid dizziness, I gave up and knew I had to at least sit down for a moment.

Breathing hard and focusing on the monumental task of simply putting one foot in front of the other to exit the stage, I didn’t see Lenny approaching me. He swept up next to me so suddenly, catching me off guard, that I cried out in alarm and reared away from him.

“What the fuck?” He grabbed me by the upper arm, his fingers like greasy, tight locks as he shook my limb. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I need…” I licked my lips, desperate for water but also afraid to sip anything because of how queasy my stomach was.

“I’ll be telling you what you need.” His handlebar mustache twitched with his scowl. “You need to get your ass back out there on the fucking stage.” Releasing me with a shove, he followed after me as I slumped against the wall.

My heart hammered so fast that I wondered if I’d drop down here and never get back up. But I had to. I had to stay strong and not quit. Not for myself, but for my baby. Nodding weakly, I agreed with him and tried to turn around.

“Quit stalling, you lazy bitch.” He spun me so quickly I nearly puked, and he gave me such a rough shove that got me back on the stage that I paused for a moment until the whirling in my mind ceased.

I’d never pushed myself this hard. Without food since yesterday morning.

Without water since I’d arrived. Hardly any sleep since I spent all morning and day cleaning up the mess my apartment was in.

And now I was back here, in this recurring nightmare of having to strip and dance when I was two seconds from passing out.

I can’t do this.

Moving the best I could, I stayed in the back so I wouldn’t interfere with the dancers who weren’t messed up like I was. I wouldn’t stop them from making whatever they could, but I also knew I couldn’t sneak off stage again with Lenny on the warpath back there.

Music boomed so loud that the bass notes felt like a hammer inside my skull. The stink of booze and too many men’s colognes tricked me into thinking I would vomit on the stage. Hunger pangs had me shaking, pushing my body too far.

I needed sleep. I needed food and water and…

Licking my lips again, I winced at an ache in my side. It was just a stitch, but feeling any discomfort near where my baby bump would show had me panicking.

Fuck Lenny. I had to sit down. I wouldn’t hurt my baby by not taking care of myself. One of the other dancers wouldn’t notice if I sipped from their water bottles or snuck a protein bar or candy bar out of their purses. I’d pay them back one day. I would.

Feeling the burn of a man’s stare on me, I turned away and refused to work with a guest’s clear interest. There was no ounce of energy left in me to try to concentrate on getting all the dollar bills I could.

Staggering backstage once more, I blinked and willed the black dots dancing in the periphery of my vision to cut out.

Water. Something to eat. Then after I sat and caught my breath for a couple of minutes, I was sure I’d have a second wind.

I had to.

As soon as I dropped into a chair, I realized that I would have to revise my plan.

Okay. Catch my breath. Then get a drink and something to eat.

Forcing a rough swallow with how dry my mouth was, I closed my eyes and counted my breaths. Panic started to rise in me with how shaky and close to exhaustion I felt.

“What did I just fucking tell you, bitch?”

Lenny loomed over me as I wrenched my eyes open. He was there, snarling and more pissed off than before. His nostrils flared as he reached down to grab a fistful of my hair to yank me back up on my feet.

I cried out, lifting my hands to get his fingers off my hair. My scalp stung with the pain of my hair pulled out by the roots and I damned the tears that slipped free from my eyes, an instinct at the burning pain.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” He shook his hand, rattling my head without letting go. “You’re supposed to be one of the better dancers out there and you’re trying to hide back here like some good-for-nothing, lazy bitch?” He drew his free hand back to slap me.

Flinging back from his strike, I lost the fight with this nausea. Gagging, then coughing, I felt the dribble of bile coming out of my mouth.

“Ah!” He let go of me then, roughly dropping me so hard that I fell back to the wall as I wiped my mouth off. “You fucking bitch!” he roared, staring at his sleeve. “That’s the second time you’ve puked on me!

I shook my head, not sure why my instinct was to protest or deny it.

That wasn’t who I was. Running was always the first and best move I could make, but I wasn’t some wallflower who couldn’t fight back when I had to.

Like this, weak and sick and so depleted of energy, I had no fight left in me to give him.

And he deserved it all. I wished I could stand up straighter to knee him in the nuts and punch his ugly face.

All I could do was lean on the wall and wait for this wave of nausea and dizziness to pass.

“You goddamn bitch! Don’t you dare think you can show up like a useless whore and not do your job.

Get a rag and clean this up.” He pushed me aside and kicked out at me, catching me in my shin.

“Fucking dumbass bitch,” he growled, still scowling at where I’d puked a little on him.

“Again? You think you can play dumb and act sick just so you can get away from me? Huh?”

He raised his arm again and struck me, this time catching my shoulder.

Sharp stabs of pain pierced me, making me gasp at the intensity of his hit.

I dropped back, lacking the strength to stand up straight and take it or give him a taste of his own medicine.

The most I could do was hold my arms up, one to deflect him from smacking my face again and the other over my stomach to protect my baby.

True to his vicious nature, he raised his arm again, rearing back to punch me. “I’ll show you?—”

A low growl ripped through the air. It reached my ears as a beastly premonition, a warning call from someone behind Lenny. Past the buzz that still rang in my ears from his first slap to my cheek, I registered the thudding footsteps of someone rushing at Lenny.

The long sleeve of a dark-suited arm entered my vision. As the cuff lifted up, I caught a peek of the end of a thick black line of tattoos merging over a man’s wrist.

Lenny cried out, arching back as this newcomer forced him to turn.

It was him.

I blinked, and blinked again. Cowering against the wall and trying to stay away, I questioned my eyes and wondered if I was delusional now.

With a loud grunt, Lenny dropped to his knees. My hero kicked the back of Lenny’s knee to achieve that.

His dark-brown stare locked on me. The sight of me just recently struck and ducking in defense like this seemed to flip a switch in him.

Rabid anger swirled in his dark gaze, but it wasn’t an omen of his adding on to my misery.

Instead, as I whimpered in pain, so confused and bewildered by his showing up like this, he channeled his fury to Lenny.

He gritted his teeth, making the tendons and veins in his neck strain.

I watched, worried I was imagining his appearance. Nothing could explain him here, now. This was backstage, not a VIP party where I first saw him as a guest.

But he was here. This was real. Shifting his violent attention to Lenny, he punched him in the gut until Lenny gurgled, lurching forward from the intense hit.

Then before I could ask a question or utter a single word, I watched in horror as he placed his hands on either side of the manager’s head and thrust his arms inward.

A distinct crack sounded.

Lenny’s arms fell limp.

Another wave of nausea threatened me, but in a flash, as I drew in one more breath, I lost the fight to stay awake. Blacking out, I surrendered to gravity and slumped over.