Page 44 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

Chapter Twelve

Istudy the gleaming floor tiles, wondering how many times a day an underpaid cleaner had to wax this shining pearl like floor into a desirable state for wives, girlfriends and mistresses to plant their dainty little stiletto heels upon.

The luxury boutique smelt like all the others we’d been in today. The oaky smell of soft, expensive calf leather was probably a diffuser they all bought based on some study on spending habits.

I’d agreed to come to Spain with Liam because I had no other choice. After the raid at Emmett industrial Park was unsuccessful, Fergus had threatened to pull the plug on the entire operation. They went in there with 300 officers and found washing machines. Misuse of taxpayer funds was plastered on the front page of all the tabloids.

Fergus had given me a dressing down and told me to take the week off. He’d quickly forgotten I’d given him nearly 150 drug and human traffickers. The week off was perfectly timed for me to catch a big break.

Liam emerges behind a luxury satin caramel curtain. His being fitted for a penny coloured bespoke suit with a flashy silver tie.

“What do you think?” He asks me as I stroke the plush purple velvet roll top bench I’m seated upon.

“You look great.”

“We’ll take it. And I’ll take another two. One in beige and one in grey.”

“Muy bueno,” says the bespeckled tailor with his measurement tape around his neck as sales personnel glide towards us with champagne flutes.

I thank the impish looking lean women for the champagne as Liam walks over to me. “Are you sure you don’t want something else? They have beautiful shoes here.” The woman hovers listening intently for my answer.

“I have enough.” I say looking down at the bags collected by my feet, trying not to calculate the inordinate sum of money Liam had spent on dresses, bikinis and kaftans for me, for a three-day trip. I was wearing a Bardot dress in the colour juicy watermelon. And Liam had been extremely vocal about wanting to push it up around my hips later.

Thankfully, I’d packed my supplement box. There would be no opportunity to get off the boat, or to get away from Liam. And honestly, my own depth of recent sexual pleasure meant I could no longer trust myself to refuse him so I would tranquilise him again. It’s not like he noticed the first time.

Once we paid for Liam’s suits and all of our designer totes were tucked in the back of the neon green Lamborghini Liam had rented, we drive to the port of Estepona to board the ship that would take us across to Morocco.

Liam is off chatting to someone I guessed was the cabin. Waiting for our yacht to come into port. I looked out over the crystalline blue hues of the Mediterranean Sea, breathing in the grilled fish and sea salt when Liam approached me from behind, pushing his arms around me breathing into my neck.

“I have something to confess,” he says, stepping back. “Promise you won’t kill me?”

If only he knew how ironic that statement was.

“I promise,” I say, fluttering the fake eyelashes.

“My Uncle Freddy and Admir are joining us for the trip. The boat’s big enough so you don’t have to spend any time with them.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“And one of the girls from the club. Tanya. I know you don’t want her to go on the boat, but she’s not alone with Freddie. We are with her.”

I grit my teeth at this news. This was an unwelcome complication.

“The boat’s this way.” says Liam motioning to a huge white yacht that’s anchoring down shore.

“Lead the way,” I say ,offering Liam my hand. I’d had my stripper acrylics replaced with a soft peach French acrylic.

Liam encircles his hand in mine. His hand is clammy from the Spanish heat. His allergies have subsided, but not for long. I’d brought some fur in my suitcase to stuff under his pillow.

“Ignore the name of the ship,” Liam says. “I haven’t had it renamed yet.”

I walked up the wooden ramp and onto the ship that would be my home for the next two days. The ship was named after Liam’s da. Above it, a huge Irish flag fluttered in the wind.

“If you stop dancing, maybe I’ll even call it Ciara,” he says, winking at me.

“Lucky is a better name for a ship,” I say defiantly.

“Don’t be cheeky,” he cautions. “I don’t want everyone to hear your screams.”

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