EIGHT: Hell from One to Another

“Hi, I’m Lisa’s manager,” The blonde man in his tight suit, flushed red face probably from the booze he’s been drinking all night and that oddly—probably fake gold watch, introduced himself.

If I was sober and not in the utmost need of help, I would definitely laugh thinking how someone like him would be a believable manager. But no, this is a slut dancer group we’re talking about. So perhaps an alcoholic would be a fit guardian of all those sick girls.

I subtly took a peek at Konstantin Morozov’s reaction. He still doesn’t know who I am, just that I’m a dancer and he’s at a party, so he’s getting what he was invited for. A lap dance is not a big deal when it comes to experienced sluts and I should be appearing as one.

“I need you backstage right now.” He orders. My brows raised from how much command was in his tone. Probably from trying so hard to be ‘my manager’ but I did ask him for help so however this situation should turn out, it’s going to be my fault.

It was quick but it didn’t slip past my gaze how Konstantin’s jaw clenched and his grip on my hips tightened. I forced the lump back in my throat, now afraid of ‘my manager’s’ future.

I feel his cold breath against my ear before his presence as he leaned towards me with a predatory gaze on those bloody orbs.“Lisa, huh?” he murmurs.

“Are you sure that’s your name?” He purrs and the blood on my face drains into nothing but a pale mess. I shivered on his lap and forced a crooked smile on my face.

“Of course, Sir. We’re called the kitties! We’re a group of women doing this service for ages. I’m pretty sure the name’s Lisa.” I chuckle, trying to make something up. Kitties? Really? The dancer in the policewoman costume would cringe at the name I suddenly gave their group.

I pulled myself back from the lips of the hot mess of a Greek God I got tangled with and turned to the manager still in front of us. How she’s not taking any hint of danger Konstantin Morozov was emanating was truly astounding. I bet my money he’s new here in Russia to not even know him.

Please, just let me go home.

“Really?” Morozov smirks as amusement danced in his eyes. “What’s your signature tagline then?” he raises his brows.

My brows furrowed as I stared right back at him as he patiently awaits my answer. Tagline? What would be our tagline? If the group’s called kitties, then I guess the tagline should be . . .

“M-meow?” I purred, biting my lips as shame and embarrassment dropped down on me like hard bricks trying to wake me up from this madness. Konstantin’s brows shot up as his eyes roamed every corner of my face.

Just when I thought things were going downhill, what he did next made my hope in being able to come out of here alive, shoot up the roofs.

He laughed.

Konstantin Morozov laughed.

The corners of his eyes pinched with fascination, those crimson, bloodshot orbs looking less frightening when they are filled with humor. I frowned at the sight, annoyed at how he’s finding this extremely funny.

“From what I remember, the dancers the Mayor’s daughter paid for runs with the name Sensual Sisters.” He aired and the next thing I knew, all signs of amusement drained his face and his eyes darkened.

The short, fleeting sign of joy that made those crimson eyes almost human was gone, replaced by an unsettling, cold interest.

Shit. I should have double-checked before making something up.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but it seems to me that you’re taking up too much of my employee’s time. I advise you to hand her over as she has some dancing to do.” I jolted at the sound of another voice coming from in front of us. I almost forgot he was there.

The predator I’m sitting onto has dominated all my senses. It’s scary.

“Alright, then.” Konstantin murmurs, leaning back the chair and picking up his glass of scotch from the table. Slowly, and as hesitant as I could, I slipped out of his lap and followed the “manager” out of the club.

Relief washed over me with every step I was taking further and further away from the front-row seat where the cold-blood Russian was. I wonder if he knew who I was underneath the mask. It’s not just anyone we’re talking about here, it’s the goddamn Konstantin Morozov.

I’m sure he’s seen better disguises than a nurse costume and a simple mask.

“So, your name was?” I was pulled out of my thoughts and turned to the man walking beside me. I smiled and came to a halt before offering my hand towards him.

“E . . . ve.” I hesitated. ‘Eva’ would be busted as it easily leads to Evangeline, and the only person with such a fancy name would be a daughter of the Burroughs.

“Eve?” He tilted his head in confusion.

“Yeah.” I reply. We were out the mansion’s patio, just outside the entrance door. Fog was blooming in the large lawn. I didn’t notice it was already this late, I should go home.

Maybe make some stupid information up about the Mayor’s casino. I could handle the punishment of false news later on, just until my Mom could survive from starvation right now.

“Well, Eve. Guess you bit the wrong apple. What kind of thoughts ran through your head trying to lap dance with someone like that?” he chuckles and I joined in on the laughter, although mine’s a tad bit sarcastic.

“Well clearly, thoughts of fear considering I was almost forced at gunpoint.” I bite the inside of my cheeks to stop any bitter tone from coming out.

He seems like a nice guy, but a dumb one. At least nice enough to actually help me out of there despite Konstantin emanating a ‘fuck with me or I’ll fuck you up’ energy. That’s very applauding. I would have drowned under all that sexual appeal and my own arousal had he not reminded me who’s lap I’m sitting on—a murderer’s.

“Josh,” he introduces himself.

“At gunpoint? Yeah, funny. I wonder what else you’re good at.” He smirks and glances down at my nurse costume, particularly the parts where the fabric doesn’t cover.

I take it back, he’s not nice.

“Alright, that’s enough. Thank you for helping me out of there, Josh.” I smiled and was about to head out the back when I staggered back as a force on my arm dragged me to his chest.

“Oh, come on. You didn’t think I’d only accept ‘thanks’ for helping you out, right?” His hand began to travel down my exposed back and I instantly shoved him off of me.

However, as strong-minded as he was trying to face Konstantin Morozov head-on, his body was just as stubborn. The blonde asshole pushed me to the wall beside the large entrance door and I struggled as he pinned my arm against it.

“Let go of me, you motherfucker!” I screamed at him, trying to wriggle out of his tight grasp. This is how you should Never Ask For Help From Men in Clubs 101 Tutorial.

“Oh don’t worry, we’ll be really quick.” He mutters and slowly unbuttons my costume. “No, no, no!” I yell once again as those disgusting hands roam around my body.

No one would hear me from the inside. They’re dancing to party, and I’m sure he won’t last long undressing me with almost nothing to take off of my body from how short this costume is

Please, can’t this day get any worse?

Someone, please help!