Page 6 of Brutal Secrets

Jimmy.

The new album.

Demands from the label.

And who the hell is this man I’m following?

A cold shiver runs through me as I think about how I’ll fix the mess I’m in. I have two days left with Jimmy in Moscow, but he’ll be vindictive now that I’ve turned him down. Is a Russian stranger with a gun really a better option?

I trot to keep pace with the stranger’s long strides, but my anxiety gets the better of me and I place a hand on his shoulder. He stops and turns slowly to face me, staring down at me with otherworldly pale-blue eyes. Like a wolf. Or an angel. He could be either, for all I know.

“Hey,” I say, my voice sounding loud to my own ears. “Where are we going? Are you giving me back to him? Sending me back to Jimmy?”

He shakes his head in answer and watches me with those strange eyes, and I take him in. His hair is a warm sable color, and his sun-kissed skin stretches over slashing cheekbones, a square jaw, and lips I want to trace with my finger. Only the faded white scar on his left cheek mars the perfection.

“You saved me.” I slide my fingers down his arm, and he shudders as if my touch almost hurts him.

“I’m no one’s savior, zolotaya.”

These words set off alarm bells in my brain. I step away, but he grips my hand and squeezes it, drawing me toward the open door. The tall Russian pushes me inside a room filled with half-dressed women. He keeps his hand on my shoulder, and there’s something comforting about its weight.

“Oksana, is your bathroom free?” he asks a redhead wearing only a G-string.

A dozen women in various stages of undress turn to face us as he speaks. Some wear sweats, but the other half wear little more than rhinestones and sequins and platform heels.

The redhead appears to be their leader. She doesn’t look embarrassed as she stands up, making sure the man at my side can see every inch of her large, creamy breasts with their rosy nipples. She smiles at him and spares me a brief glance.

“Vadim, honey. Did you bring a guest? Is she going to join us on stage?” She gives me a derisive look, taking in my swaying beads, my flat chest, and my scuffed boots. I’m not an Amazon like these women, and she’s trying to make me feel small. From the way she faces forward, pushing her tits toward the man at my side, I have a feeling they’ve slept together.

“Not funny. Are you going to help me or not?” He clips out the words, holding back any hint of the tenderness he showed me. I’m an idiot, though, thinking of him like we’ve got some kind of connection when I didn’t even know his name until she spoke it.

Vadim.

I’m losing it.

This Russian stranger can’t save me from my life and the fact I’m being forced to work with a man who wants to break me. What am I thinking? That he’ll hop on a jet with me to Nashville? I must be mad.

I look back at him, and he nods before pushing me toward a bathroom door. I close the door behind me and look into the mirror. The woman staring back at me looks flushed and bedraggled. My eye makeup has smudged, and I do the best I can with water and some tissues while I listen to the low hum of voices in the changing room outside.

I run the tap and turn my attention to my attire. Jimmy has torn the fitted panties of the short stage dress. I rub the ripped fabric through my trembling fingers and squeeze my eyes shut, listening as the sound of female voices fades to the click of heels and the slam of a door as the dancers troop out.

Opening the door a crack, I stand in the bathroom doorway and watch him for a moment. He’s looking down at a phone, his head bent, long eyelashes casting shadows across his cheekbones.

“Vadim?” I question softly, stepping toward him. He looks up and stares at me, unsmiling, and I stop until he holds out his hand.

“Come on, little songbird. We need to figure out what to do with you.”

We step into the dark club, listening to the beat of the music as we move down the corridors, past the backstage entrance, and into the curtained VIP area.

“Wait here for me.” He leaves me in a dark corner and strides toward a handsome, dark-haired man on the opposite side of the room.

It takes a while for my eyes to adjust, but I scan the crowd until I see Jimmy. He’s seated on a bench at the back, eyeing me malevolently. Once in a while, he lets his anger mar his nice-guy mask so everyone can see who he really is. He crooks a finger at me but gets distracted by a woman wearing a skirt so short that I can see the white flash of her underwear as she sits down and puts a hand on his shoulder. As he turns her way, I return to scanning the room.

Vadim remains locked in conversation with his dark-haired friend, their heads huddled together. Nearby, a tall bald man in a tux picks his way through the crowd and moves toward the bar. People part for him, and Vadim’s eyes follow him.

I start to edge through the crowd toward the bar. I’ll be safer out of dark corners where Jimmy can reach me unobserved, and if this bald man is important, perhaps my proximity to him will provide some protection.

I lay my hand on the bar top at the same time as the bald man. He waves at the bartender, who walks over with a bottle of champagne, pours a glass, and slides it across the bar top to me.

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