Page 1 of Devious Obsession
A cold drip of sweat rolls down my back as I make my way through the crowd. Hot pink strobe lights momentarily blind me when I turn toward the DJ stage.
An elbow, then a shoulder, bump into my back, but I keep pushing my way through the dense sea of bodies.
I stop, a statue in the middle of the dancers, and check over my shoulder. No one takes any notice of me.
The hard beat of the music drowns out everything. Someone could yell into my ear, and I wouldn’t hear them. Another shove and I’m knocked to the ground. I scramble back up to my feet just as I’m pushed again.
The DJ yells something unintelligible into the microphone that sends the crowd into another frenzied shriek fest. There’sno way anyone around me understood him. This mosh pit of ravers react solely on the vibes of others around them.
Then the music starts up again. Louder. Harder beats. And the dancing starts up again.
I shove my way to the edge, getting spit out like an unwanted parasite. If that isn’t the perfect analogy of my current life status, I’m not sure what is.
Here I’m a ghost. No one sees me, knows me, cares about who I am. Back home, I’m a lead ball strapped to the ankle of my family’s name.
Guilt grips me. Another tingle dances across the back of my neck, and I spin around, half expecting to find one of my brothers’ security goons standing there.
No one.
Other than the hundreds of other people crammed into this abandoned warehouse turned dance club. But none of them are looking at me.
I shake off the feeling. While I’m sure my brothers haven’t accepted I need to be alone right now, if they’ve sent any of their security team to track me down, they’d probably make themselves known.
Unless Kaz had something to do with it. The youngest of my older brothers, he understands how much I hate the constraints of the Volkov name. So it’s possible whoever he sent would stay in the shadows.
“Hey, have you seen a pisser anywhere?” A guy reeking of cigarette smoke grabs my arm while yelling into my ear.
“No.” I jerk free of his grasp. “Maybe outside.” I jerk my thumb toward the double doors along the wall behind me.
He pushes past me and rushes toward the doors. Just as he reaches them, two overgrown men stop him. I can’t hear their conversation but it’s obvious those doors don’t lead to the restrooms.
Once they get him moving again, they take their positions in front of the doors. With their hands clasped in front of them, they glare out at the mob behind me.
Maybe the doors don’t lead out into a piss-filled alley. Maybe the man I’m looking for is hidden behind them. I haven’t been able to find anything around here other than the party. No staircases that lead up to a second level where secret meetings are being held, no hidden rooms.
This entire night might be a waste of time. The information I thought I had could be wrong.
But the longer I stare at the apes in the overpriced suits, the more I sense what I want is behind those doors. Throwing my shoulders back, my chin up, and plastering on my best stone-cold expression, I march toward the doors.
The monkey men see me coming right away and take a small step toward each other, as though to build a wall with their overgrown muscles.
“Nothing over here.” The one with the freshly shaved head shakes his head at me. “The pisser is out back.”
“I’m not looking for the bathroom.” I’m not sure how I manage it, but somehow I keep my voice from shaking when I meet his eyes. His dead eyes. “I’m looking for Janis.”
Not even a flinch before he says, “Don’t know who that is. You need to move.”
He folds his hands in front of himself and fluffs up his chest. He looks like one of those birds on animal planet that gets bigger when predators are around, but it’s all fluffy feathers.
“Sure you do. He’s the guy behind these doors you’re guarding.” I turn to the second man. He’s got a full head of hair, but his chin is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. And it shouldn’t be. Some men really do need to cover up their jawline.
“Look, you should just go.” Mr. Cleanshave touches my shoulder, giving me a little shove.
“I’m not a cop. I’m not a journalist. I’m just a girl looking for answers, and Janis has them.” I’ve come this far, no reason to back down now.
Except for my safety.
A flash of leather catches my attention from my left, and a warm sensation—like a comforting memory—skitters through me. A man walks past me, and the soft scent of cigars and spice hits me. I know that smell.
