Page 7 of Brutal Secrets

“That was quite the performance,” the bald man says. “You’ve got a powerful voice for such a small woman.”

He smiles, and a gold canine tooth catches a glint of light from the backlit bottles. He lifts the glass and hands it to me as his eyes run down my body, but it doesn’t feel sexual. It’s like he’s appraising me to see if my power runs further than my voice.

My scalp prickles as I take the glass, every instinct telling me to keep control of my senses in this man’s presence. Raising the glass, I let the bubbles touch my lips. Sharp floral liquid touches my tongue, but I don’t swallow more than a touch. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime and my stomach feels hollow. If I drink, it’ll go to my head, so I raise it in a wordless thank you.

He takes my other hand and lifts it to his lips. “Yevgeny Guelman. Enchanted to meet you.”

The touch of his mouth on the back of my hand makes my skin crawl. I have no idea why I felt safer with the man who burst into my dressing room with a gun than this well-dressed Russian who has been nothing but polite.

“Are you enjoying Moscow?” he asks.

“I haven’t seen much.” I let my eyes wander to Vadim, who’s still listening to his animated friend, and across to Jimmy, who’s watching me through narrowed eyes.

“Did Antonov not invite you to the after-party? Such poor manners.” The furrows on his forehead deepen, and he purses his lips. “Of course, I’d be happy to take you.”

“If that’s where all the pretty dancers went, I’m sure my manager would love it.” I raise my glass to my lips again, pretending to drink. “It’s more his scene than mine. I’m a little tired.”

Warm yellow light bounces from behind the bar and reflects off the man’s lined forehead as his lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I won’t take no for an answer, especially not from a beautiful woman like yourself. The star attraction should really join the party.”

There’s something about the way he describes me as an attraction that spells out how he sees. To him, I am a pawn on a chessboard and not a tired, hungry woman.

Smiling tightly, I scan the crowd for Vadim. His back is turned to me, and the only man who catches my eye is Jimmy. He grins at me and draws a finger across his throat, so I turn back to the man looming beside me at the bar, who brandishes the bottle of champagne like a weapon.

“Come now, drink a little more. I don’t like to see people refuse my hospitality.”

I’ve gone from the frying pan to the fire, and I see no way out of the flames.

Chapter Seven

Abeer bottle rolls from under the red bench, and Sasha kicks it against the table like it’s done him a personal wrong. When it returns to our feet, he follows it with his eyes, then delivers another blow to the glass. It cracks apart, creating a jagged wound at its opening. Sasha kicks it back under the seat and steps toward me, shards of glass crunching under his feet as he runs his hands through his dark hair.

“What’s got into you?” I ask. Nervous energy comes off Sasha in waves that are strong enough to put me on edge too.

“Parties like this annoy me. Watching everyone else drinking and fucking while I’m trying to work out what the Night Governor’s going to do next.” He swivels his toe in a circle over the broken bottle fragments. “Makes me itchy.”

“Yeah, me too.” I glance back toward the dark corner where I left the singer, but I can’t spot her through the remaining stragglers. “I don’t think that clown Antonov will see out the month.”

Sasha stares at the thinning crowd. The bulk of the revelers have followed the richest man in the room to an after-party. “He’s still useful. There’s a deal going down on the China-Russia border, and the boss wants in on the smuggling routes.” He grabs a bottle from the table and takes a swig of warming beer with a grimace.

“How do you know what the border deal involves?” I question.

“Guess who’s going to spend two weeks in deepest Siberia in mid-winter if the deal comes off?” Sasha’s mouth twists in disgust.

I clap a sympathetic hand on his back, glad I can’t speak Chinese. I get sent to New York when the Night Governor needs errands run with his American business rather than Siberia. “Is that why you’re in such a bad mood?”

“Yeah. I’m the only one he trusts to deal with the triad gangs near the border.” He sighs, tossing the beer bottle from hand to hand before tipping the dregs onto the floor. “Or he doesn’t want me around and he’s sidelining me. You’ve got to watch my back while I’m away. I don’t trust him.”

I pull Sasha over to a sofa and fish around in a bucket of melting ice for some cold vodka. Once I’ve found it, I pour two shots in glasses that are none too clean. “No one trusts him, but you’re the smartest guy in the room and he needs you.”

Sinking to a bench, I hand my friend one of the shot glasses as I scan the throng of people for the singer. Now that the crowd has thinned even more, I see the corner I left her in is empty.

“That’s probably why he doesn’t like me.” Sasha looks over, worry creasing his forehead. “If I have to leave town next week, you’ll be here, right?”

“Where else would I be?” I let my head tip back as I watch the disco ball paint patterns of light on the ceiling. “We both need to get out of Moscow. That fucker doesn’t like anyone.”

Sasha stares pensively at the bar, then he throws back his drink. “Looks like the boss has found some fresh meat.”

I follow his gaze across the room and see my little songbird talking to Guelman. The boss might be pouring her champagne now, but he likes to break women for sport, even when he’s not selling them for sex.

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