Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (20 page)

But still, Michael was a little bit jealous. Only the crazy bitches fell for him. Never the normal girls. And the closest he'd ever come to a dancer was that one stripper. He did
not
have pleasant memories of that time.

Although, the positions she could get herself in?

Da-
yum
.

Two minutes later, he was finally in position, crouched in the bushes a few yards from the door—with a branch trying to shove itself up his ass—like some creepy stalker. Definitely not one of his finer moments.

Teamwork fucking sucked. Hard.

Lillian's heart was in her throat as she wound cautiously through the crowd and slipped into the short hallway leading to the bathrooms. She wanted to turn around and flee to the safety of Tristan's arms. She knew if she did, however, there wouldn't be another chance. In three days, he, Jason, and their team were raiding
Teplo
with or without the information necessary to connect Vetrov to Francisco.

Even though she'd traveled the world, performing in front of thousands, she'd never really considered herself particularly brave. She damn sure didn't feel that way now. But this had been
her
idea. Not Tristan's. Not Jason's.
Hers
. The least she could do was suck it up and pretend she wasn't a complete coward.

All she had to do was speak to a guy in a crowded club.

She wasn't breaking into the storage room.

She wasn't raiding the club.

Sure, the guy in question might have been a deadly cartel member, but he couldn't very well murder her in the middle of the
Teplo
. She had a panic button in hand. She had Tristan, Jason, and a team of DEA agents in positions all around the place, there specifically to keep her safe. There were at least two hundred witnesses. He couldn't do anything to her here.

She still wanted to turn and flee.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself as she limped down the hall to the bathroom.

A pretty redhead stumbled out of the bathroom, her skirt hiked up far higher than it should have been as she stepped through the door. Her eyes flickered in Lillian's direction, widened, and then flickered away. Her body twitched as she stumbled past Lillian.

The sight made her stomach turn.

Why did people do that to themselves?

She could understand wanting to escape reality, but God, nothing was worth what they did inside these walls.
Nothing.
The hopelessness and sheer horror of this place, the drug abuse and casual sex, killed a little piece of her every time she walked through the doors. That anyone could become desensitized to so much suffering boggled her mind. All these weeks later, she still couldn't even begin to process it, let alone wrap her mind around the fact that people like Anton Vetrov capitalized on that suffering for their own personal greed.

The bathroom door swung open a second time. A group of girls in no better shape than the redhead spilled out amidst loud laughter and a cloud of cigarette smoke. Lillian pressed herself against the wall and waited for them to pass before slipping inside.

She halted right inside the door, stunned at the disaster within. Someone had discarded a used needle in the middle of the floor. Another stuck out of the trashcan, needle-side up, just waiting for someone to stumble and stick themselves. Paper towels, cigarette butts and Kotex wrappers littered the floor around the overflowing trashcan. Names, dates, and lewd comments had been scrawled across the walls. Something unintelligible about sex and rock'n'roll adorned the mirror in bright red lipstick. A pair of panties had been discarded beneath one of the sinks.

She shuddered at the mess and hurried into a stall, her hands shaking as she latched the door and reached into her bra for the tiny bottle of chemical spray Jason had given her. Unable to juggle her cup, the bottle, and the cap, she dropped the cap to the floor, watching as it rolled into the stall next to her.

Deciding there was no way she was picking it up, she turn to the task at hand. Within a matter of seconds, she'd coated the outside of her plastic cup with the chemical compound. Even though Jason had told her the spray was undetectable, she still stared at the plastic cup, expecting something to happen.

Satisfied when it didn't, she slipped the little bottle back into her bra.

For several long minutes afterward, she stood there, trying not to think about what she had to do when she left the relative safety of the bathroom stall. If she thought about it, she wasn't sure she'd be able to follow through. Being here alone didn't feel right.

The feeling wasn't like the other night she'd found out Emma had been murdered, when something had just been
off,
but it came close. Her stomach was a leaden weight. Her ears buzzed. Fear refused to loosen its grip on her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to convince herself that things were going to work out fine. She
wanted
to believe tonight would go off without a hitch, she really did. But she didn't believe it.

The sad truth was that she was a coward. That's what it boiled down to. She was a huge coward.

But she didn't get to back out now. She didn't get to let fear rule her or give in to the panic beating at her breasts. If she didn't do what she'd come here for, all the work and worrying and stressing that Tristan had done would be for nothing. Emma Buford might never get justice, and countless others would die like all the rest of Anton and Paulo Vetrov's other victims.

How would she ever make that up to Tristan?

How would she ever forget the look on his face—like letting her leave tonight tortured him—out of her head if she chickened out now?

The door to the bathroom opened as she tried to work up the nerve to leave the safety of the filthy stall. The techno-beats pumping through the club grew louder for a moment before fading when the door swung closed.

Heels clicked across the dirty floor.

Lillian took a deep breath as she reached for the lock on the stall and slid it open, ready to do this and get it over with. She froze when her gaze landed on the tall blonde standing at the sink in heavy makeup, a tiny skirt, and a see-through handkerchief shirt.

Hannah Ramone. One of Anton Vetrov's people.

Fear raced through Lillian as her heart took a swan dive into her stomach. She bit her lip hard, silently reminding herself that she had to keep it together. She could not panic simply because one of Anton Vetrov's people had to use the restroom. Taking a deep breath, she shuffled toward the sink, stepping carefully to avoid the pile of trash overflowing into the floor.

Hannah glanced over, coldly assessing Lillian as she limped toward the sink. With her choice of attire, it would have been so easy to mistake Hannah for some poor woman who'd turned to Vetrov because she had nowhere else to go. But the hard glint in her green eyes, the malevolence, sent a chill up Lillian's spine. The woman was dangerous, as greedy and violent as anyone else on Vetrov's payroll.

Lillian had seen her rap sheet. The woman was a sadistic psycho.

"What are you staring at?" she snapped, her eyes narrowing on Lillian.

"Sorry," Lillian mumbled, flushing.

Hannah rolled her eyes and turned back toward the mirror, pulling a tube of lip-gloss from the tiniest pocket ever. Stepping up to the sink, Lillian washed her hands, trying to avoid looking at the woman. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure the other woman could hear it. Thank God her eyes were still dilated from fear and adrenaline. She looked a lot like the other women here, all flushed and jittery.

She spun toward the paper towel dispenser, eager to get out of here. As usual when she tried to pivot on her bad leg, it buckled, pitching her forward. "Oh shit," she cursed, grabbed for the grimy plastic dispenser to keep herself upright. Her shoulder slammed hard into the edge of the dented metal. Biting back a groan, she righted herself as Hannah pulled the phone from the same tiny pocket as her lip gloss and peered at it.

"Huh," she said, her green eyes flickering to Lillian and then away. "You okay?"

"Excuse me?"

Hannah typed something into the phone, and then tucked it away. "You nearly fell," she said then, looking Lillian up and down.

"I'm fine," she muttered.

"You always limp?" Hannah fluffed her hair.

"Yes." Lillian tossed the paper towels into the trashcan, careful to avoid the needle sticking up. Careful to avoid Hannah's gaze, too. She didn't want to know if the woman found any pleasure in her physical limitations. She kind of had the feeling the blonde would enjoy it though.

"Why?"

She glanced reluctantly at the woman. "Dancing accident."

Hannah grimaced and smacked her lips, but didn't comment or pry for more information about her accident. "Have you been here before?"

"A few times," she answered carefully.

"I thought you looked familiar. You come here with the hottie, right? Tall, dark, and fuckable?" Hannah turned away from the mirror and leaned up against the sink.

Lillian watched her, alarm bells ringing in her head. Hannah's faux-friendliness didn't reflect in her eyes, making her skin crawl. The fact that the woman recognized her well enough to ask about Tristan made her hands shake. The fact that Hannah found Tristan fuckable made her want to scratch the woman's eyes out.

"I used to," she answered instead, being careful to stick to their concocted story.

"That man is something else," the statuesque blonde said, shooting her a fake smile. "I've seen him around a few times. Hard to miss someone that gorgeous. Lucky girl."

"Not that lucky," Lillian lied. Her voice trembled. Shit. She was supposed to hate Tristan, not want to cry over him. She had to sell the lie or all of this would be for nothing. Fixing her expression into a scowl, she tried again. "He's a lying asshole with an ego far larger than his dick. Getting involved with him was the biggest mistake of my life."

"Really?" Hannah smirked. "What a pity."

Lillian shrugged instead of answering.

The blonde watched her for another minute and then started toward the door. "Well, I'm sure you'll find someone out there to replace him with. It looks like the weekend came early. It's pretty wild. Have fun."

"Thanks."

Hannah gave her another fake smile before pushing her way out of the bathroom.

"Oh my God," Lillian whispered as soon as the door swung closed behind the woman. She took a deep breath and then another, her hands shaking so hard she felt like her arms vibrated. In the thousands of scenarios that had play through her head about what might happen tonight, having a chat in the bathroom with one of the guards hadn't made the list.

The entire conversation freaked her out. Hannah had looked at her one minute like she was scum, and then chatted her up like they were old friends the next. Who did that? And why had she brought up Tristan? Did she know him and Lillian were still together?

How
could
she know?

They'd been so careful since her fake arrest. There was no way Hannah knew he waited across the street right this minute. She'd been testing Lillian, feeling her out. That's all. She needed to get it together. Women struck up conversations in bathrooms all the time.

Why wouldn't Hannah notice Tristan? He was sexy as hell, with those gorgeous blue eyes and olive skin. Not to mention that hard body of his and the confident, dominant way he moved. It was hard
not
to notice or want him. Too bad Lillian didn't really believe that's why Hannah had mentioned him. She'd been after something, and Lillian didn't like that thought at all.

They will kill you for the most benign reason.

Tristan's warning echoed in her mind as she tried to get herself together. She couldn't give them a reason. His safety depended on her not giving them a reason to doubt her or wonder why she'd really come here tonight.

"You can do this," she chanted to herself. "You have to do this for Tristan."

It took a couple of minutes, but by some miracle the mantra began to work. She pulled together the frayed ends of her nerves as best she could. She wouldn't jeopardize him. She wouldn't.