Slave to the Rhythm (12 page)

But her eyes were not quite hopeless, and they stared into mine, begging me to save her.

“Where are you staying?”

She bit her lip, her eyes darting restlessly toward the alley’s entrance.

“They keep me at a trailer, about 30 minutes out of town. It’s horrible. There are four of us. I’m supposed to meet men and take them to a hotel. I don’t have long—they’re watching.”

“Give me the address and . . .”

And you’ll what? What the fuck are you going to do to help her?

Marta’s expression grew more desperate.

“You’ll help me?”

“I’ll try. Give me the address.”

“The hotel is across the road there, but after the men . . . they take me back to this awful place. I’m not sure where it is. It’s dry and dusty, very hot. It’s near a ranch, I think. I can hear cows at night. And the road is close—maybe half a mile.”

It wasn’t much to go on, but I soaked up every detail.

“When they take me there, they head out of town in that direction,” and she pointed west. “Toward the sunset, but a bit north. And they drive straight for 20 minutes.”

She glanced out at the street again.

“Promise you’ll help me. I can’t take any more.”

I grimaced as her nails bit into my forearm.

“I promise.”

“
Please!
” she cried, her eyes glossing with tears. “
Please!
”

And then she darted out of the alley and disappeared into the crowds.

I leaned back, the rough texture of the wall digging through my shirt.

I couldn’t stand by any longer. My heart began to race and my palms were sweating. I dragged them over my pants and took a deep breath. Then I stepped out into the stream of people sauntering along the Strip, my eyes searching for a police officer.

I began walking faster, dodging the dawdling tourists. Weeks ago, I’d memorized the location of the nearest police station, just over a mile away. Ready for this moment—the moment I dared to risk it.

I strode down the street, eyes darting left and right, my heart thudding.

I was close, so close, when a limousine with tinted windows pulled up next to me, and the window slid open with a soft hiss.

“There you are! I was beginning to think you didn’t want to talk to me. You hurt my feelings.”

Sergei was grinning at me and I could see Oleg sitting in the driver’s seat.

“I have $430,” I said, knowing it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Oh, Aljaž!” he laughed. “I want so much more than that. Besides, you owe me $4,000.”

“There’s no way the clothes cost that much!” I snapped back furiously.

“Compound interest,” he said mockingly. “And Daddy is tired of waiting.”

“I’ll have the rest tomorrow,” I grit out.

I’d borrow it from Gary—I was out of choices, even though I didn’t want to involve him.

Sergei sighed and drummed his fingers on the window’s edge.

“Get in the car.”

I swore in Slovenian and stuck up the middle finger from the hand that he’d broken.

Then I turned and started jogging in the opposite direction, knowing that I’d just pissed off a really fucking dangerous man.

I heard cars honking, and I glanced over my shoulder to see the limo forcing its way through a line of traffic as Oleg made a U-turn.

I broke into a run, weaving through the evening crowds. I was being herded away from the police station and back toward the hotel. I calculated how long it would take me to change direction again and reach the police, but swore when I saw the limo wrench free of the traffic and start to speed up.

I was full out sprinting by the time I reached the hotel, racing up the fire escape stairs and slamming into my room.

Gary jumped, startled when he saw me.

“You just about scared me out of my skin, dreamboat!” Then he saw my expression. “What happened?”

“Sergei.”

I only had to gasp out that one word for all the color to leech out of Gary’s face.

“Now he’s saying he wants $4,000. I tried to make it to the police station, but he blocked me off. What the fuck do I do now?”

I was pacing up and down the tiny room, fisting my hair, frustration and fear pouring out of me.

“God, don’t go there!” Gary blanched even further.

“Then what? Wait here until he catches me and kills me? Fuck that! I’m going to get away—tonight. I have to. I’ll . . . buy a bus ticket . . . hitch out of town . . . something.”

Gary shook his head. “That won’t work. But I’m going to call Elaine.”

“Elaine?”

“Sure! She’s busted her ass to get the new show off the ground—she won’t stand for Sergei messing with her rising star.”

“He won’t listen to her—the guy is crazy,” I protested.

“I know, but Elaine has Volkov’s ear. He’s sunk a lot of money into the theater and this show. Don’t freak yet, Ash. Let me call her.”

I nodded tersely but carried on pacing while Gary pulled out his phone.

I listened to the hurried conversation, my chest tightening with every second that passed, expecting Oleg to come busting down the door. Eventually, Gary ended the call.

“She’s going to speak to Volkov now. She says to sit tight and don’t leave the room again tonight.”

“That’s it? She’ll
talk
to him?”

“What did you expect? You thought she’d put a gun to his head?”

“Someone should.”

Gary sighed but didn’t disagree.

Laney

The next morning, it took me nearly two hours to get ready and meet the others for breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant. The first 45 minutes were spent uploading yesterday’s photos to my Facebook page and checking emails while I sat in bed and waited for the meds to kick in.

When I judged that enough time had passed, I eased my stiff, aching body out of bed and into the wheelchair.

It really sucked waking up with a full bladder but having to wait forever to pee.

If Collin was here, he would have lifted me into my chair
.

But my regret was short lived. If Collin had been here, he would have insisted that I go back to my room after dinner last night. And I would have missed seeing Vanessa and Jo dancing their asses off.

And meeting that gorgeous guy. What was his name? Ash?

He’d been so shocked when he saw my wheelchair. I had to admit that a part of me was pleased that he’d hit on me without knowing about the chair, even if he was one of
those
men. It had been a long time since something like that had happened.

Even Collin hadn’t really flirted with me. We’d met in college and been in the same study group. Having coffee together turned into having dinner together, and before I realized what was happening, everyone assumed that we were a couple—including Collin.

He was a good man. He could be incredibly thoughtful, but at the same time he could be totally inconsiderate, talking about my job as if it was a hobby, just because I worked from home. And he always had to be right. Which meant that I was inevitably always wrong. Which meant another fight.

And when I had a flare-up, he was suffocating. I hadn’t realized how much, but being in Vegas without him, it put a few things in perspective.

Living with chronic pain is a study in acceptance, but of understanding, too. What is too little, what is too much or too often. What is necessary, what should be forgotten. And I gradually learned to forgive my body for being flawed, for being imperfect. Ultimately, I had to forgive myself, although sometimes I struggled with that part.

Collin hadn’t texted back so I guessed we really had broken up.

The thought made me sad—we’d been friends for nearly 10 years. At one time, I thought we’d marry, but Collin had never asked, and I’d stopped wishing that he would.

I made my way down to breakfast and saw Vanessa flirting with the server in the restaurant. He was cute and definitely interested. I smiled to myself and raised my eyebrows at Jo who was watching with amusement.

The waiter suddenly noticed my arrival and his eyes widened.

I caught the tail end of Vanessa’s conversation.

“So, you and your friends and me and my friends? Sounds good to me.”

But the server was shaking his head, his eyes darting away from me.

“Ah, you know what? I forgot that we have a thing and I can’t get out of it. Sorry.” He smiled weakly at me. “What beverage can I get you, ma’am?”

Whatever plans had been in the works, it was obvious that they didn’t include a woman in a wheelchair.

My throat tightened, but I held my head up and ordered coffee while the server slunk away.

“Asshole!” Vanessa said loudly. “You okay?”

“Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

“So,” said Jo, deliberately changing the subject. “I’m thinking spa day, lounging by the pool, hitting on cabana boys, dinner and a show. I’ve scored us tickets to the theater here—half price if you’re staying at the hotel, and front row as we have a wheelchair user,” and she winked at me. “Sounds like it’ll be amazing. Real Las Vegas showgirls. We might pick up some useful tips.”

I laughed. “I am
not
wearing tassels on my nipples!”

“Me either,” groaned Vanessa. “Last time I tried it, I had to peel off the glue. I had sore nips for days!”

“Ouch!”

“You said it, sista!”

Ash

I was a mess. Completely wired and I’d hardly slept. After we’d had a full rehearsal, I was sitting in a chair while Yveta applied a fake tan to my face and chest, turning the palms of her hands orange.

I could tell that she was annoyed with me because I wasn’t returning her flirting and I hadn’t agreed to meet her after the show.

Elaine had pleaded my case with Volkov and got the boss-man to agree that I was off limits. I hoped that was enough to keep Sergei away. I’d also swallowed my pride and arranged to borrow the money from Gary.

Fuck, I hoped that Volkov’s word could be trusted. Elaine said he was going to be in the audience tonight—that was the rumor. I was holding onto that. With the big boss around, Sergei wouldn’t try anything.

My nerves were kicking into overdrive. I always got a little angsty before a performance—those were good nerves, adrenaline that gave me an edge. But tonight, my stomach felt like it was trying to climb through my throat.

Yveta added some rouge, a little eyeliner, and then dusted my face and chest with shimmery powder.

“Are we done?” I ground out, knowing I sounded like an ungrateful prick.

Yveta stalked away to finish her own makeup.

The changing room was tiny, and there was nowhere separate for me and Gary. We were crammed into a corner and told not to look when the girls were naked. Not that Gary cared, and I’d seen more tits in changing rooms than most men ever saw in a lifetime. I wasn’t immune, but tonight I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if they glued rhinestones onto their bare pussies.

My nerves were jumping all over the place and my fingers drummed on my thighs restlessly.

“Oh my God, calm the freak down, will you?” Gary hissed. “You’re making me nervous. Crapaloosa! Do I shift weight on the one?”

“What?”

“In the contra botafogo—do I shift weight on the one?”

I gave a distracted nod. “Yes, two changes of weight in one beat of music.”

Gary sighed. “Did you hear that Elaine is talking about including a West Coast Swing number?” He paused then tossed a feather boa at my head. “Are you listening to me?”

My eyes flashed with anger and Gary jerked back.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Jee-zus! Just chill, will you? Do some stretches or something!”

It was good advice and I knew that I was too close to doing something stupid like running. But maybe Elaine was right. Maybe the worst was over.

I started stretching out my body, working through the warm-ups that we all used.

“You have really good extension,” Gary said, gazing critically.

I grunted, trying to tune out all the static in my brain and get into the zone while I loosened my shoulders and back muscles.

“Five minutes, people!” Neal yelled.

There was a rush of activity and the sharp smell of fake tan, sweat and perfume thickened as the girls lined up. With their headdresses of ostrich feathers, they towered over us—all fake lashes, sequins and thousands of crystals glued to their skimpy costumes.

Yveta still looked pissed and it was my fault.

“You’re beautiful,” I said honestly.

She beamed at me.

The music started and something inside ignited even as the pulsing beat calmed me. And then I was there, strutting onto the stage, owning it, lighting up from the inside as the audience clapped and cheered. I presented girl after girl until the dance-off with Yveta as my partner, and Gary and Galina as our competition.

The audience lifted us, made us fly.

This
was my moment!

Laney

I gasped. “It’s him!”

“Him who?” Vanessa asked, peering up at the dancers cavorting on the stage in front of us.

“The guy from last night—at the club. Wow! He’s just . . . wow!”

“I think you’re right,” Jo said excitedly. “I guess he wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to dance. He’s h-o-t!”

He wasn’t lying
. The thought brought a warm pulse of pleasure to my chest. He really was a dancer, not a gigolo. So if he hadn’t lied about that, maybe he really thought that I was pretty.

He was even dressed similarly to last night in tight black pants and black shirt, except that this one was slashed to his waist and glittered under the stage lights with sequins sewn onto the silky material.

I smiled happily and sat back to enjoy the show.

His name was Ash
.

When he was on stage, the lights seemed brighter, the dancing hotter, the atmosphere electric. The dance-off with the other guy had been phenomenal, each of them trying to one-up the other. But there had never been any competition, not in my mind. Ash oozed sexiness, his muscled chest gleaming under the spotlights, testosterone pumping through him, obvious in the swagger of his hips and caress of his fingers along the arms of the dancers.

A twinge of jealousy surprised me. Why on earth did I feel possessive about a man I’d spoken to once?