Page 14 of A Sinner's Virtue
Mikhail sighs into the phone but seems to drop the subject. “Okay. Should I send the jet to bring you home for a weekend soon?”
“I’d like that, but let me look at my work schedule and get back to you.”
“Anytime, Zoe,” he says.
“I know.”
“I love you,” he tells me in Russian.
“Love you too,” I say right as the door to the bathroom opens. “I have to go. I’ll call you back later.” I cut the call without hearing whatever else Mikhail was going to say. I can only imagine the surprise on his face. No one hangs up on Mikhail Petrov. Except maybe his wife. And now me.
Marcel stands in the doorway of my bathroom, nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. There’s a look I can’t decipher on his face. Without a word, he snaps out of whatever trance was holding him captive. Then he walks over to his discarded clothes and gets dressed. Which takes him less than five minutes to do.
He takes a few steps in my direction, his hands tucked into his pockets as he approaches me. “Last night was fun.”
“It was.”
Then Marcel leans down and kisses my forehead. “See you around, Zoe,” he says before turning around and walking out.
“What the hell was that?” I whisper the question to the now-empty room.
Chapter Seven
I’ve been watching her all day. Well, technically, I’ve been waiting for her to finish work all day. Instead of letting her know I’m here, waiting for her, I’m following her down the streets of Melbourne. Wondering where she’s going. I stop when she enters a building.
A building I know all too well. What I don’t know is why someone like Zoe would be going in there. It’s a strip club, owned by the Bratva. I shouldn’t fucking be here. We’re not exactly on friendly terms with that crew.
I can’t walk away now, though. Not when Zoe is in there. I need to find out why. Because if she’s on that stage, I will drag her ass off it. Kicking and screaming if I have to. My stomach twists at the thought of her being gawked at by the sleazy fuckers who hang out in that club.
It takes less than two minutes after I walk through the door to draw the attention of the men I would have preferred to avoid. “What the fuck are you doing in our club, De Bellis?”
“Looking for someone. A woman, about yay high.” I hold up my hand just below my shoulder. “Blonde, American. You see her?” I ask the two angry-looking Russians.
The moment I mentioned American, their demeanours changed completely. They went from annoyed to downright lethal. Guess they know exactly the girl I’m looking for. Then I make the mistake of taking my eyes off them to look through the dimly lit space.
That’s when the first hit comes. A fist slams into my jaw, jarring my head backwards. I duck the next one, but then a third gets me in the ribs. I start throwing back, focusing on the fucker in front of me. Until I’m grabbed from behind. My arms held down.
“Fuck you. Fight like a fucking man, cocksucker,” I hiss out while spitting blood from my split lip.
“You’re asking questions about a woman you shouldn’t even know exists. You’d be smart to forget her,” the guy says in a thick Russian accent.
“Yeah, and you’d be smart to remember who the fuck I am,” I growl at him. I kick out a leg, managing to swipe his out from under him. Throwing my head back, I connect with the second fucker’s face. I hear the sound of crunching bone and smile. His arms drop, but before I can do anything about it, the first guy is back up and laying into me. This, of course, gives the one behind me time to recover.
Two on one, seems fair. Assholes know I’m alone. I don’t give a fuck, though. I won’t go down easy. They want to try to take me out, they’re going to have to work up one hell of a sweat.
For every punch I manage to block, or deliver, I’m hit with two. And by the time my ass is being carried out of the club, I’m fucked. My entire body black and blue and bleeding. I can feel bruises forming on top of fucking bruises. I could call one of my brothers to come and pick me up, but they’d want answers I don’t want to give them yet.
I pull out my phone out and text Dom.
Me:
I need you to come get me.
I attach a Google maps location to my message.
Dom:
I’m not a fucking Uber.
