Page 24 of Marked By His Touch

I gasp, a breath catching in my throat. A cold prickle runs down my neck, a wave of icy dread washing over me.It’s him.The man from the car, the one who’s been following us.

“My name isNikolai Romanov,” he says, his voice a low rumble. He kisses my hand, a gesture that feels—intimate. His thick Russian accent rolls off his tongue like a caress. His piercing dark eyes seem to see right through me, piercing through my defenses, a gaze that makes my skin crawl.

Does he know who I am? There’s no flicker of recognition in his eyes, just a cold, analytical gaze. He’s not here to make small talk.

“And?” he says like he’s repeating something he’s said a thousand times before.

“Sorry?” I say, my eyes widening. Did he say something?Shit, I missed it.

“What is your name?”

“Daisy,” I say, my voice a touch too fast, a touch too overconfident. My heart hammers in my chest.

He’s ruggedly handsome, a dangerous mix of rough edges and raw energy that radiates off him like heat. But his eyes hold a—coldness. They seem to see right through me into the deepest, darkest parts of my soul.

“Sit down,” he commands.

I can do nothing but comply. His presence is overwhelming. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, even for a second. His gaze runs over my body, taking in my tight dress. I feel vulnerable, exposed, utterly misplaced.

Come on, Ava, you have to play the game.

He slides into the seat beside me, and his body is warm.

“Don’t afraid,da,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing baritone. “I don’t bite. You too beautiful to work in shop up,right? You don’t need make-up.” He brushes my cheek with his calloused hand.

“So what can you offer me instead?” I ask, my voice trying to hold its own.

“Let’s see if you like down here,da? Not everyone like—the music,” he says, nodding towards a doorway. “At the end of night, you answer me if you work here in my—club.”

I nod feverishly. This is my chance to see what this place is, what this world is really about.

Nikolai holds my gaze, his dark eyes fixed on mine, a silent command, a promise of a thrilling and terrifying world.

“You do not like it, do not come back,khorosho?”

“Da,” I whisper, my throat dry.

He steps back, letting me walk towards the door. “I’ll teach you the Russian language. Easier.”

“Da,” I mutter like a record on repeat, hurrying down the hallway, my pulse rising and my mind racing. I have a lot to learn.

The moment I am alone, I let out a deep breath, my chest constricting. I find a small restroom and splash cold water on my face. “Easy, steady, Ava,” I whisper to myself. “You’ve got this.”

The music pulsates through the hallway, a dark current that pulls me toward the unknown. I take a deep breath and step into a large room or hall at the end of the corridor.

The scene before me is a sensory overload. Flashing lights, a haze of smoke, and a pulsating beat vibrating through the floor beneath my feet meet me. I see women dancing with feral energy, some wearing barely anything, others draped in expensive silky underwear. One woman, her breasts exposed,is being kissed passionately by a man who is sucking on her nipples. She throws her head back, laughing. Her eyes are clouded, her smile is seductive, and she pushes him down between her legs.

What is this place?A sex club? My stomach clenches, I have a feeling it’s so much more than that.

The door suddenly closes behind me, barring me from the safety of the corridor. I glance back over my shoulder. Nikolai is standing behind me, his eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. “You beautiful woman. You make good money here, beautiful. We take only thirty percent–-cut as Americans say.”

I nod, my gaze sweeping the room, taking in the red-lit atmosphere. I notice a dimly lit corridor with doors at the back of the dance floor. It’s a chaotic scene, a blur of bodies, a symphony of movement. So many women and men are dancing, moving close, their bodies entangled. Some are on couches, others on the floor. I shiver, suddenly feeling overdressed and out of place.

My eyes scan the room. I spot the pale girl from the beauty parlor in this swirling vortex of bodies. Nida? Nita was it? She’s the one who sent me the note, a warning to stay away. She doesn’t see me. She’s talking to a tall, broad-shouldered man with sandy hair, an imposing figure who’s easily recognizable. Goosebumps run up my arm. It is Cole Cohan.

I hold my breath, my heart thudding in my chest. This isn’t a coincidence. Cole’s gaze hasn’t landed on me, and I don’t intend for it to. I’m shaking like a leaf; a sudden wave of adrenaline runs through my body.

Nikolai brushes against me, and I feel the rugged outline of a gun pressed against my hip. “Relax. Take your time, Daisy?” he murmurs. “Most of the girls need a little—time. To get used to—the arts, down here.”

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