Page 131 of Filthy Elites

Her eyes widen, and when I expect her to deny my claim, she merely rolls her eyes. I push away and let her gently ease over. “Tell me you have something to clean me off with,” she orders.

I press a button and the barrier starts to descend a few inches.

“Mitchell Fucking Vikson!” She scrambles, snatching up her dress and holding it over her chest as she flashes me the most murderous look I’ve ever seen from her—even when I knew she hated my guts.

“Andrei,” I start. “You got any—”

A pack of wipes is shoved through the open space, followed by, “I’m with the chick,” he mutters. “Next time keep it in your pants, asshole.”

The look Haley continues to shoot me seethes with violence, but it’s all I can do not to laugh as I nod his way, press the button to move the barrier up, and hand her the wipes. She snatches them from my hands and begins to clean herself up as I tuck myself back into my pants—tucking my retrieved gun back into place—slide my shirt back on, and slump down into the seat.

At least we’re relaxed,I think. How long that’ll last, though, I don’t know.

TWENTY

Haley

Men are such predictable creatures.Viks is no different. Once, I thought he was. I thought he was impossible to read, and even worse to cater to. I couldn’t tell what he wanted from me or why he would torment me so, but now I get it. I get him.

So, when I walk intoInfernosans underwear with the feel of air rushing over my freshly fucked pussy, I know it’s because he’s staking a claim. That’s just who he is. That’s what he wants—me. And I’m ready to give it to him. No, I don’t like the goal of tonight. Being in another club, and knowing he expects Patrick Kennedy to show up makes my anxiety creep up to wrap tentacle like fingers around my throat and squeeze. At the same time, though, he’s here.Reallyhere. His arm around my back like a security blanket.

“Don’t worry, Haley,” he had promised as I’d cleaned myself up in the car and redressed. “Nothing bad will happen to you tonight.”

I believe him. I believeinhim.

“This way,” he says now, directing me past a long line of waiting clubbers as we bypass the bouncer and the rest of security. It’s odd being on this side of it all—not one of the employees, but his date. His woman.

We step into the interior of a tall building with blacked out windows. The inside is just as big as Club Outsider, but different. Long pillars support the massive industrial type building and the entire ceiling is a collection of windows. Between each are long strips of colored lights that flash back and forth across the whole building, not just the dance floor.

Waitresses dressed in leather pants and black bras pass through the crowds that have already collected inside, their hands full of trays as they pass out drinks. Viks takes one and hands it to me as the girl slips between us.

“Take it,” he says, “but don’t drink it.”

“Why?” I ask, frowning. “I thought we were here for the opening. Everyone’s drinking.”

He shakes his head. “Not us.”

I hold the stem of the glass in my hand, full of what looks like bubbly champagne, but I don’t argue. I just keep it as a prop as his hand returns to my waist and he directs me where he wants me.

“So,” I say, lowering my voice, “what exactly is the plan?”

His mouth curves down into a grimace. “The owner of the club is a …friend,” he starts. I arch a brow at the tone he uses when calling this man his ‘friend’ but don’t say anything. “He’ll be making a speech and while he’s doing that. I’ve got people working on scanning security footage.”

“Okay, and me?” I press. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just stand there and look pretty,” he says. “Not hard for you to do, baby. You’re the most beautiful girl here.”

“Uh huh.” I lift one brow. “And flattery is a load of bullshit. I thought you said I was bait?”

“I promised I would take care of you,” he repeats. “The only reason you’re even here is because I couldn’t get out of bringing you.”

“What?”

Viks doesn’t answer me. Instead, he tightens his hand on me and pulls me sideways towards a staircase with a roped off entrance and a bouncer standing by. “Come on.”

“Mitchell,” I try, but I don’t get a chance to finish as he flashes something at the bouncer and the man nods, pulling aside the red velvet rope to let us through.

“The first door on your left is open, Mr. Vikson,” the man says.

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