Page 6 of Dark Truths

“Do you like what you see, little girl?” a voice says behind me.

I glance over my shoulder to find an older man standing close enough I can smell the alcohol on his breath. It’s an overwhelming stench, and I subconsciously shift away to seek fresh air.

“Excuse me?” It’s a stupid question but all I can think to say at the moment.

“The show,” he repeats. “Do you like it?”

My eyes frantically search the room for a familiar face, only to remember that I had come to the back room alone. I still don’t know why I did, but it certainly wasn’t for this conversation.

“It’s good.” Short and sweet and to the point.

“Just good?” He laughs, but it came out more like a snort. “I’m sure our host would love to hear that.”

He means Dimitri. An image of the Russian captain flashes in my mind, and I feel myself flush at the thought—surely a consequence of the show’s atmosphere. The man though mistakenly believes my blush is for him, and quickly grabs my arm, refusing to let go. “You know, they usually pick a few guests from the crowd to join the show at the end.” So I’ve been told. I pull against his hold. “I could put in a good word with Mr.Volkov,” the man continues, ignoring my attempt to break free of his grasp. “We could join them.”

“No, thank you.” This time, I place my free hand over his to try and pry my arm free. “I’d like to go find my friends now.”

“They can join us, too.”

“Again, thank you for the offer, but I’ll pass.” I dig my nails into the fatty flesh on the back of the hand, hoping a little pain will get my meaning across. My manners are slipping along with my patience.

“Oh, you like it rough, huh?” he says with excitement instead. “We can play rough.”

“Let me go. Right now.”

The man steps into my space, twisting my arm in his hold as he does. The pain is instant, and I hiss through my bared teeth.

“I believe the lady said no, Boris.” A new deep voice cuts in, even and sure.

I turn and freeze, coming face to face with the host himself. Dimitri Volkov stands with his hands slipped into the pockets of his pants. He’s tall enough to tower over us, forcing me to look up at him. For a quick moment, his ice-blue eyes snare mine, and I see a strange emotion in them. Like concern or something close to it, but it’s gone in a blink before I can really identify it.

He drops his eyes to where the man, whose name I now know is Boris, grips my arm in his fist. “What is the one rule at thePlayground?” the Russian captain asks, his voice as cold and sharp as the ice his eyes resemble.

Boris visibly swallows, his face suddenly a nasty shade of gray in the low light. “That anything goes, but everything is consensual.”

“And does this look consensual?”

“No, Mr. Volkov.”

“So then, why do you still have Ms. DiAngelo’s arm in your hand?”

Like my skin is suddenly on fire, Boris drops my arm. I instantly take a giant step back and unintentionally bump right into a solid back of muscle. Dimitri’s arm immediately finds my hip to steady me. His touch burns deliciously through my dress, like a warm blanket on a chilly winter’s night. But then, his touch slips away and I’m left cold, craving more.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Volkov, sir,” Boris stammers, bowing his head repeatedly like it’s on a bobble.

I can only stand and stare at the bumbling idiot, my wrist throbbing in pain as I cradle it at my chest. Behind me, Dimitri speaks Russian to someone, and my eyes shift to another tall dark-haired Russian with tattoos and a ring piercing his brow. He catches my eyes as he talks back in his native tongue to Dimitri and winks. With a chilling shift in tone, Dimitri’s words become coated in ice, prompting the stranger to roll his eyes briefly before resuming their conversation and leaving me alone.

Dimitri’s hand returns to my body, this time to the lower part of my back, and I can’t help but push back into his touch. “Would you follow me, Ms. DiAngelo, so that I can tend to your arm?”

I glance between my wrist and his expecting face and tell him, “Oh, no, it’s okay. I’m fine, really.”

“Do not lie to me, Gabriella.” The way he says my name in an authoritative and firm tone sends a chill down my spine and I shiver. Dimitri must feel it, because his fingers flex against my back.

“Okay, fine, yes, it stings a little.”

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his eyes flash in victory. “This way.” He gestures?like some kind of gentleman, and I follow his lead, leaving Boris and the other man behind. Dimitri shows me up a flight of stairs and into an office. “Please. Sit.” He points to an oversize chair before disappearing through a door.

I peer around the space. It’s large and open, with minimalist decor and style and sleek furniture in shades of gray and black. The only hint of color is the white orchid sitting alone on a glass table to the side. It smells nice of sandalwood and some kind of other spice, too. When Dimitri returns with a first aid kit and kneels before me, the air rushes around us, bringing the smell directly to me. It’s him. The enticing scent is his, and I have to fight the urge to lean closer.

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