Page 4 of Refrain

Not anymore. The night air sinks into my lungs, acting as an anchor against the memories, and I blink, focusing on the club once again. The bouncers guarding the doors are alert tonight, but it’s not the girls they’re watching. The road has their sole attention. They don’t even trade a joke like they would have in the old days. It’s as if they’re waiting for someone.

Or something.

“They’ll beat your ass if they know you don’t belong here,” my newfound shadow snarls into my ear, following my gaze. “I suggest you leave, or—”

“Have you seen this girl?”

The change of subject throws her off, and she steps back.

“She’s fifteen. Red hair. Her name…” I reach into my bra and withdraw a crumpled photograph I printed from a police database what feels like a lifetime ago. The edges flutter in the wind as I shove it beneath the girl’s nose without looking at it myself. “Her name is Anna.”

The girl raises an eyebrow, cutting her gaze to the photo and then away. “No.”

Disappointment claws through my chest, but I swallow hard and return the picture to its place nestled against my rib cage. This could be a blessing in disguise. After all, there’s a reason Grey wanted to focus his operation here. More girls than usual have been washing up in rivers or winding up dead in alleyways. All of them sport the same infamous indigo tattoo.

The syndicate is getting sloppy.

Or fearless.

“You said Piotr owns this block?” Somehow, I don’t choke on the name.

“Yes, Piotr. He runs the entire strip. And you don’twanthim to see you,” the girl whispers. “You’re pretty. He likes that.”

“Is he here?” My voice shakes this time. But I’m here for Anna, not him. I’m here for Anna…

“No, he isn’t,” the girl says.

“What?” My confusion is genuine. Piotr’s absence is a new development. An alarming one.

The brunette blinks, her gaze a fraction sharper as she hones in on my ill-fitting wig and then my thigh as if sensing the holster strapped to it.

“I need to work.” Her gaze flickers away, and she’s already backing out of my reach. “I’m not sleeping in the alley again, and Vlad said he’d break my jaw next time I—”

“Vlad’s in charge now?” Old fear seeps into my tone, impossible to smother.

Suddenly, the microphone hidden against my chest weighs a ton. I don’t even have to picture Grey’s reaction to know I’ve gone too far.Focus, girl,he’d snarl. If you can’t keep your shit together, then cut and run.

“Thanks,” I croak, turning on my heel. “I’ll take my chances on another corner—”

“Wait.” The girl grabs my wrist, stopping me mid-step. “Oleg,”she calls to one of the bouncers. “New girl feels sick. I’ll show her where to wash up.”

Oleg, a beefy man with a bald head and a beer gut, grunts. “Five minutes.”

The girl pulls me along, and I do my best to stagger, keeping up the act.

“Where are we going?” I ask when we reach the back of the club.

A bony hand slams into my lower back, shoving me forward.Shit!I stagger into the wall, helpless as my wig is yanked from behind. Not off, butup, revealing the nape of my neck.

“Let go!” I twist, swatting her hand away, but it’s too fucking late.

Without resistance, the brunette takes two steps back, a smug smile tugging at her mouth. “Everyone’s heard of Piotr,” she says. “Everyone—”

“So what if I have?” I can’t stop myself from rubbing the back of my neck, where my own tattoo lurks.

“Listen.” With a wary glance at the mouth of the alley, the girl steps closer. “I’ve been here six months, and I’ve seen six number tens come and go since then. It’s like he hates the number more than the girl who wears it—wait!” She looks back as a fire door opens from the inside of the club.

A man is standing behind it. He’s tall, with a buzz cut, a tailored suit, and a cold expression. A bouncer. “You two,” he snarls in Russian. “Get back to the fucking road—” He breaks off, cocking his head as someone shouts something from within. “Wait. Come. You dance tonight.”

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