Shadow of a Doubt (Tangled Ivy Book 2) (30 page)

I looked down at myself. I wore a filmy tank that was see-through, but it was dark enough to conceal the cuts on my skin. I had on the strappy heels instead of boots like her. I automatically raised my arms to cover my breasts, but she grimaced and pulled my arms down again.

“Modesty will win you no customers, Ivy,” she said. “And Lucas enjoys his punishments. Do not give him a reason.” She fluffed my hair to help cover the bruises on my face.

“But I’m not supposed to be here,” I said.

Angelina just shook her head sadly. “None of us are.”

Taking my hand she led me to the front of the room where another curtain hung. Pulling it aside a little, she motioned to the platform in front of the window. Red light filled the small space and I could hear the music from the club.

“What do I do?”

“You dance,” she said. “The men will come inside if they want time with you. Open your mouth.”

Obediently, I opened my mouth and she slipped some kind of pill onto my tongue. “This will make it easier,” she said.

I swallowed the tiny pill even as fear made my limbs tremble. I
wanted to run screaming from the room and only Angelina’s tight grip on my arm kept me in place.

“Look at me, Ivy,” she said, so I did.

She was pretty and young, very young, with too much makeup for her age. Petite with long brown hair and dark eyes, she had a lush figure that made me feel like a scrawny giraffe. A beat-up scrawny giraffe.

“It will be okay,” she said. “Just give the drug a few minutes to work, and it will be easier for you.”

I don’t know how much time passed with me staring into her eyes, but gradually I began to relax. My thoughts grew lethargic, then melted away altogether, and there was only sensation. The too-warm heat of the room combined with the chill emanating from the window. Rancid odors of stale alcohol, sweat, and sex, overlaid with the sickly sweet smell of marijuana. The music pulsed in time with my heartbeat, pounding in my ears.

“There,” Angelina said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Better for you.” Stretching up, she kissed me on one cheek, then the other. “
Na vse dobre
, Ivy. Dance.”

Before I could process her words or ask what she’d said, she was gone.

I stood, staring out the window. The platform looked inviting now, not nearly as terrifying as it had a few minutes ago, though it seemed to be moving. Knowing it wasn’t, I climbed up onto it, the heels I wore making it awkward and more difficult, but I succeeded.

Faces loomed out of the darkness at me, their visages lit in the reflected red glow from the windows. Some were smiling. Some were not. All were watching me.

The music was loud like a living thing, twisting inside my head, demanding that I move. The eyes watching through the window were calculating and harsh. I closed my eyes to block them out.

It felt as though the platform was slowly turning, the music pushing my blood through my veins.
Dance
, Angelina had said. I started to move. Lifting my arms, I buried my fingers in my hair, combing the long strands as I bent and swayed. My skin was hypersensitive and I dragged my palms down my sides to my hips. That felt good, so I retraced the path up my abdomen to my breasts, then to my neck and throat, tipping my head back so the long strands of my hair brushed my lower back.

A persistent knock on the window made my eyes flutter open. I stared in confusion at the man gesturing to me. He was smiling and when he caught my eye, I saw him step away through a doorway.

I closed my eyes again. The music had changed, the pulsing more rhythmic, but I’d only just started moving again when I felt a rush of warm air.

“C’mon, doll. You have a customer.”

The voice was male as was the hand that took mine. He wanted me to get out of the window, but I liked the music and tugged against him.

“What’ll it be?” he asked. “Fifty? Nah, probably a hundred for you, right? Pricey, but totally worth it.” He pulled harder and I had to step down or I’d fall. As it was, I lost my balance when the floor tilted and I fell against him. He didn’t seem to mind, though, his arms catching me.

“Wow,” he said, sounding awestruck. “You are really beautiful.”

The room was spinning and it was hard to concentrate on what he was saying.

“Can you understand me?” he asked. “You know English, right?”

It was too much effort to speak—my tongue felt like lead—so I just nodded.

His hands drifted from my waist to my ass, skin against skin. Leaning down, his mouth skated down my neck.

“I’m guessing money first, right, sweetheart?”

Taking my hand, he pressed a folded bill into it. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I just held it. From the way he was looking at me, it seemed like I should do something, but I had no clue what.

“I’m Rick. What’s your name?” he asked.

His fingers threaded through my hair, which felt nice, and I closed my eyes. The room was tilting and spinning even harder now and I immediately forgot what question he’d asked me.

“I guess names aren’t necessary,” he muttered, then I felt his mouth on my breast. The G-string scraped the sides of my thighs as he pushed it down my legs to my ankles. “Keep the shoes on,” he said. “Those are fuckin’ hot.”

I heard the sound of a zipper, then felt a prodding between my thighs. I frowned, mumbled something, and tried to step back. But his arm held me tight.

“Don’t try to tell me I didn’t pay enough,” he said. “Because I know that’s bullshit.”

Forcing my eyes open, I saw someone looming behind the man who called himself Rick. Blue eyes glittered in the darkness. Then Rick was gone, crumpled at my feet.

I stared down at his body, shock echoing through me. Black liquid pooled underneath him, lapping at the toes of my shoes.

Rick was dead.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

M
y mind was telling me things my body couldn’t comprehend or react to. Such as who the man staring at me was. His face was a cold mask and his eyes burned with fury, menace rolling off him like oil from water. Danger whispered in my ear, but I wasn’t afraid. A name slipped inside my head.

“Devon?”

He didn’t answer. Glancing away from me, he tore a sheet from the makeshift bed and wrapped it around me. A moment later, he’d lifted me in his arms. My head lolled against his shoulder and I relaxed, watching in detachment as he stepped outside the room.

Lucas was lying on the floor, and he didn’t move as we walked by. Instead of going out the back of the club, we went out the front to the street.

Catcalls and shouts followed us, but he didn’t slow down. A car screeched to a stop and I was bundled inside the back. Devon climbed in behind me.

“Go,” he ordered, and the car sped off.

I was pulled back onto his lap, my body lethargic and boneless. Lights went by the tinted window at a dizzying speed.

“Is she okay?” This came from the front seat and whoever was driving.

“Just drive,” Devon said curtly.

Devon’s hand cupped my cheek, turning my face toward him. “Ivy darling, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

My eyes drifted shut.

“Ivy, please . . .”

The note of desperation in his words made me go to the effort of opening and focusing my gaze on Devon.

The long lashes framing his ice-blue eyes were wet. I lifted my hand, which felt as though it were weighted down with stones, and touched his cheek. My fingers came away damp.

“I’m okay,” I managed to say.

He turned his face into my hand and pressed his lips to the center of my palm.

Then I couldn’t fight it any longer. The lethargy overcame me and I knew nothing.

A burning sensation on my stomach woke me and I tried to push it away.

“I know it hurts, darling, but I have to.”

Opening my eyes, I saw Devon above me. Glancing down, I saw I was wearing a T-shirt that had been pushed up. He was rubbing some kind of ointment into the cuts on my stomach.

I was disoriented, my last memory one of hazy red lights, throbbing music, and swirling faces.

“Where am I?” I asked, my voice a hoarse croak.

“Safe,” was his succinct response.

Looking around, I saw we were back at the hotel, back in our suite. I relaxed a little. I was safe, just like he’d said. My focus shifted to him, and memory returned.

“Oh my God, Devon . . . it’s really you.” I couldn’t believe my eyes. I struggled to sit up.

“Take it easy,” he said gently.

Then I was in his arms and I was crying and he was holding me tight enough to hurt, but I didn’t care.

“They said you were dead, and then you weren’t, and . . . oh God, I’d thought I’d lost you,” I sobbed into his neck.

“Shh, I’m all right,” he whispered in my ear.

I couldn’t speak anything else. I was too overwhelmed with emotions, hardly able to believe he was really there.

I kissed his neck and his cheek, and then he was kissing me, his lips pressing hard against mine. We were overcome by desperation and longing and the feeling of disaster barely averted for both of us. It was only by sheer luck that we were both still alive.

Tearing his mouth from mine, he pulled me close, cradling my head between his neck and shoulder. “I was afraid to hope you might still be alive,” he said.

“How did you find me?” I asked, breathless and sniffling.

“I’m not the only agent in Amsterdam keeping an eye on Levin. Other countries have an interest in him as well. I got lucky when they knew where he was tonight.”

I leaned back so I could see him. “How did you know I’d be with him? Did Vega tell you?”

There was a tentative knock on the door, interrupting us, and Devon got up to answer it. When he opened the door, I glanced over.

Ezabell stood there. She gazed up at Devon, fear obvious on her face.

“Ezabell,” I said. “What are you doing here, honey? Didn’t you find anyone to help you?”

Both she and Devon looked over at me. Devon moved aside and she scampered past him to the bed, scrambling onto it with me.

“I was afraid,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do or where to go. So I came here and waited.” She glanced sideways at Devon and sidled closer.

“He’s okay,” I told her with a weak smile. “He rescued me.”

“He saved you? Like you saved me?”

I nodded.

I guess that was enough for her because she lay down next to me. I wrapped my arm around her and drew her closer.

Devon had his hands in his pockets as he stood, watching us. I gave him a smile.

“I’m so tired,” I said. Now that the surge of emotion and adrenaline from seeing Devon had passed, I was even more exhausted than before.

“Then go to sleep,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

So I did.

I stood in the bathroom, hours later, taking stock of my body in the mirror. I was famished, lightheaded from not eating. There was a livid bruise on my cheek, courtesy of Levin’s temper the other night, and the knife marks on my stomach. They’d scabbed over to some extent and Devon cleaning them had helped.

Devon was waiting when I came out of the bathroom.

“How badly were you hurt?” I asked him. “I saw the wound . . .”

“They dug it out and patched me up,” he said. “I didn’t care about that. All I wanted was you. I could have sworn I’d gotten you into the helicopter, but you were gone.”