Page 12 of Whispers in the Dark
I squint, peering to my right at the man closest to the stage. I can just make out his blond hair and his grimy smile. He reaches out his hand, holding something in it, and says, “Let me see that pussy, gorgeous. I’ll pay top dollar for a private ride.”
Shame washes over me from head to toe, accompanied by deep-rooted embarrassment.
I hate this.
My throat burns as I fight back tears, while the music intensifies over the speakers.
Men’s voices grow louder, demanding that I do things I never imagined myself doing.
“Take it off!” they chant, their eyes grazing ravenously over every inch of me.
I have to do this. I don’t have a choice.
Dropping my hand from the bar, I reach for the knot resting against my back and close my eyes as insecurity rolls through me tenfold. My fingers shake as I wrap them around the strings, ready to pull the loop loose.
Here goes nothing…
Suddenly, an explosive thud sounds before me, the vibration on the stage almost knocking me over.
My eyes pop open, and if I thought there was no way this night could get any worse, well, I was undoubtedly wrong.
“M-Mauro,” I breathe out shakily, lowering my hands as I unconsciously encircle them around myself.
The one man I would never want to see me like this is standing in front of me, fury blazing in his deep, whiskey-colored eyes that are fixed on me.
And only me.
The universe certainly has a cruel sense of humor.
Chapter four
Mauro
Idon’t like people.
I’m not one for loud noises or small spaces either. In fact, the only time I truly enjoy myself is when I’m alone. Preferably home with a drink in my hand and a fire roaring as I look out over the mountains that surround my home, isolating me from everyone and everything.
It’s what makes me…content.
Which is why I’m extra irritated at the man in my clutches, struggling for air, as I waste my night in a loud, overcrowded club instead of the comfort of my own home. My gaze sweeps the room, noting the women who walk around wearing practically nothing as they serve drinks to men who should most likely be home with their families. One woman appears from behind a curtain, walking onto the stage in six-inch heels, her bare breasts bouncing with each step she takes, causing men to howl and drool like prepubescent teenage boys who’ve never seen a pair of tits before.
I fucking hate strip clubs.
“Johnny, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Leo drags a hand through his short hair. “And if I were you, I would choose the easy way.” He shrugs. “Just a personal preference.”
My fingers loosen their hold enough to let Johnny speak.
“I swear, I don’t know anything!” Johnny’s eyes widen like saucers, darting frantically between us.
Leo tilts his head to the side. “Are you questioning my intelligence?”
Johnny pales, and my grasp tightens. He struggles beneath my touch, his hands clawing at my own as he tries but fails to remove my hold. It’s pathetic, really.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Leo crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re going to tell us when the Vasilievs’ shipment is expected, and then Mauro and I will be on our way home, or you can drag this out all night and suffer a slow and painful death at the hands of Mauro.” Leo checks his watch. “But I will warn you, every minute away from my wife will only make matters worse for you.”
Johnny swallows hard as a tremble rolls through him.
I merely tip my head to the side, observing him.
