Page 40 of The Butcher's Wife

Dom still hasn’t called me back.

What’s the point of all this?

Without looking at Carlo, I shrug. “Sure.”

I gripmy seatbelt with white knuckles as Checkers drives us down a dark neighborhood street. Music blasts through the car, and the guys are all laughing and joking at Checkers striking out with some girl at the last bar.

“I told you she was a fucking bitch,” Checkers says.

Carlo punches his shoulder with a raucous laugh, making the car swerve.

I squeeze my eyes shut. My heart is a ticking bomb.

“Watch it!” Russell barks out from the middle seat, next to me.

I’m crammed against the door with my forehead leaning against the window, but Russell’s thigh is still pressed against mine.

I offered to drive because they’veallbeen drinking, but they laughed at me. When I asked Carlo if he could take me home, he promised me he would after one more stop.

“You okay?” Russell murmurs. He captures my knee in his hand.

“We gotta turn back,” I say to the others.

“It’ll be quick!” Carlo says.

I cram myself against my car door. Russell slides his hand up an inch higher.

I can barely breathe. The car stinks of men and alcohol, and my chest is tight. I want to go home, but I don’t know how to find it from here.

Checkers swerves into a parking spot in front of the Velvet Kitty.

“We’ll be right back,” Carlo shouts and stumbles out of the car.

Checkers follows suit.

Panic seizes my lungs. I’m going to be stuck in here with dead-eyed Mark or handsy Russell.

I fumble for the door handle and throw myself out of the car into the freezing night air. I don’t want to go to a strip club, but it’s better than being stuck in the car.

“I’m gonna get a smoke,” Russell calls out in a raspy voice. He nods to Mark. “I heard Tatiana’s gonna be here tonight.”

That seems to capture Mark’s attention, because he stumbles to the club entrance after Checkers and my brother.

Of the four, Russell’s had the least to drink, but it hardly puts me at ease with the hungry way he looks at me.

“Want some?” he asks, offering me a freshly lit joint.

I shake my head, tightening my coat around me. I glance at the bandages wrapped around his throat and quickly look away.

He laughs and holds his joint away from his clothes, leaning against the car door next to me. On this side of the building, it’s just us in an empty parking lot. A lone car drives past on a faraway street. “You couldn’t get enough last time.”

For a moment, I have no idea what he’s talking about. Then I remember.

He still thinks I’m Serafina.

“Last time?”

He flicks off the bright red cherry and hides away the joint in a tin in his pocket.