Page 62 of Dancing With Distraction

I push to stand, giving Ronnie one last hard kick to ensure he’s definitely dead. “You didn’t think I could take him?” I ask, wiping sweat from my forehead. “I’m insulted.”

He grins. “We need to hide him until clean-up can get here,” he says, grabbing one of Ronnie’s arms. I take the other, and we drag him around the other side of the desk so he isn’t immediately visible if anyone should walk in. “You’re keeping them busy this week.”

“Vivian knows he was in here.”

“Do you want her dealt with?”

I think over his words before shaking my head. “No. I’ll speak to her. You deal with this.”

I straighten my tie before heading back out into the bar, where I locate Vivian in the VIP area. “Are you okay?” She shakes her head and it’s clear she’s been crying. “We should go to the hospital and have your ribs checked. I think you may have broken them.”

She stands, wincing in pain and clutching her side. “Where is he?” she asks, her voice breaking with emotion.

“He left in a huff,” I say, shrugging.

Tori

I watch as Vivian hooks her arm in Dmitry’s and he leads her from the bar. Narrowing my eyes, I pull out my mobile and shoot off a text message.

Me: How’s your night going, handsome?

His reply doesn’t come for another five minutes, and when it does, I’m more annoyed.

Distraction: Busy. Speak later.

I tuck my phone away and head towards his office. I saw Marshall going in there just a few minutes ago, so maybe he can shed some light on where Dmitry went.

I shove the door open, and Marshall looks up from behind the desk in surprise. When he sees it’s me, he scrambles to his feet, but he isn’t quick enough to stop me moving closer and then I’m staring down into Vivian’s father’s lifeless eyes. “Jesus,” I screech.

“Victoria,” says Marshall, holding out his hands in a placating manner, “you shouldn’t be in here. In fact, why aren’t you at home?”

“What did you do?” I whisper, glancing from him to the body. It’s surprising how numb I feel looking at another dead body—it’s becoming a habit and that alone alarms me. I don’t want to get used to seeing this crap.

“Let me call Dmitry.”

“No, he’s busy,” I snap. “Or maybe you already knew that.” I turn to leave. “Tell Dmitry to call me . . . when he’s through fucking his ex.” I march out of the office.

I hear him scrambling behind me, yelling at me to wait, but I don’t bother. The office door slams and I hear keys jingling like he’s locking it. Maybe he should have done that in the first place.

Outside, I stop by the roadside to flag a cab, and Marshall finally catches up with me. “You can’t just leave. Let me call him and he can explain everything.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” I snap, and for once, I don’t feel like crying. I’m angry. “I mean, is this just a regular night for you?”

He narrows his eyes. “Things have got a lot busier since you came on the scene.”

I place my hands on my hips. “Are you blaming me?”

“I’m saying your brother was first, and that set off a chain reaction.”

“Fuck you,” I yell, shoving him. He doesn’t budge but smirks at my attempt.

“We’ve got two options,” he tells me. “I can either call Dmitry, or I can kill you.”

“You better clear that with your boss. I don’t think he’d be happy with you just killing me.”

“Option one it is then,” he says, pulling out his mobile, turning slightly to make the call. I take the opportunity to flag a cab, relieved when one slows. I rush over, pull the door open, and dive in.

“Drive,” I practically scream, and he does, pulling away just as Marshall gets to the car.

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