Page 42 of Refrain

She’s pretty. Piotr would have put her on his stage as well, but not because of her looks. I saw the way she counted the stash kept inside her sparkly, pink bra.

This isn’t a game to her. This isbusiness.

“That’s all I can tell you for now,” she says as she shoves the remainder of the approved clothing into a duffel bag. “The rest, you just have to learn as you go along. I guess you can enjoy the rest of the show. Tomorrow, the fun begins. Anyway, I’m on in five.”

She flashes a grin before running a hand through her loose hair and prancing down the hallway that leads to the stage. I hear the usher announcing her arrival from here.Bunny.

Left alone, I don’t know whether or not to take her advice. Enjoy the show. From what little I’ve already seen, there isn’t muchtoenjoy. The girls are pretty. They’re shapely. They’re harmless.

They’ve never learned to swing on a pole while Piotr watched from his throne and cracked each knuckle in warning. They’ve never had Vlad to contend with should they bore their audience.

They’ve never had tocravethe safety of the stage.

Is this the life Anna’s been forced to lead? I picture her swaying against a metal pole, and my throat becomes painfully tight.

Desperate to clear my head, I leave the dressing room with the bag of clothing and hunt for a familiar face.

The bar is packed nearly wall to wall, but I still don’t havetrouble differentiating one haunting scent from that of booze and vomit. I follow it over to the bar counter, where I find Espi watching Domi serve up liquor.

Noticing my approach, he lifts a bottle of beer in salute. At least he isn’t holding a grudge for earlier. “How do you like the place so far?”

It’s a rhetorical question. I think he’s just hunting for anything to say at all. Despite the noise and our raucous surroundings, it’s easy to sense the tension lying underneath. Arno may hide his emotions well when there isn’t a gun to wave around, but at the heart, he’s no better than Vlad. They emit their poison subconsciously, infecting everyone around them.

He’s anxious. He’s worried. Unsurprisingly, Espi seems to be of the same mind. He indicates for me to follow before stepping away from the bar and down a narrow hallway that opens up to a rickety stairwell.

“I got you a place,” he announces, turning to face me directly. “If you wanted to stick around here. You and Domi can share it for now. It’s above the club.” He looks pointedly at the steps.

“Oh.” I let the offer sink in, digesting what it really means without him having to explain it out loud—He’ll get his house back, at least. “You think she’ll be safe here?” I can’t hide my skepticism if I tried.

As if to punctuate my words, the sound of shouting followed by glass breaking reaches our corner. A second later, we hear Arno bellow out, “Let ’em fight!”

“Trust me,”Espisays. “This place may look rough, but it’s safe. But just in case”—he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small object—“there’s always this…”

He slides something across my palm, and my hand instinctively cradles it. It’s heavy. Familiar. I relish the weight as my forefinger seeks the trigger out. It’s a gun. Espi’s expression never wavers, and it takes my tongue three attempts to spit out any words at all.

“Why…why would you give me this?”

“If you don’t want it, I can teach Domi to use it—”

“No. It’s fine.” It’s better than fine. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed the familiarity of the weapon, but I do now that I’m holding one in my hands again.

The memory of Piotr feels a little further away. Not by much, but it helps.

Still, the bigger question springs to my lips. “You would trust me with this?”

He shrugs casually. “Why not?” He makes it seem so spur of the moment.

But it’s not like that. I can see it in his eyes, which attempt to avoid mine for once. He’s thought about this long and hard. He knows it’s not his only option—but he also knows that I could kill a man with an ashtray or attackhimwith a whiskey bottle unprovoked. He’s already seen the truth—I’m much safer with a gun.

“I’ve got some stuff to take care of tomorrow,” he tells me, shifting his weight from side to side.

“Is something wrong?” Cotton and warmth tickle my fingertips. I’ve touched his shoulder without realizing it.

“I’m fine,” he says, gingerly shrugging me off. “You and Domi can settle in. I’ll be around tomorrow night to check in on you.”

“And that’s it?” I find myself asking. “You take in two women you barely know. You set them up in your ‘friend’s’ bar—a man I just saw torture someone into a game of Russian roulette. Then you leave, and that’s it?”

If he were attracted to me, that would be one thing—but he maintains a healthy distance between us andjust offers up another halfhearted shrug. “That’s it.” He heads back toward the bar but hesitates over the threshold of the hallway. “You can head on up and check out the place if you’re sick of hanging out around here. Francisco will watch over Domi. It’s the last door on the left. Key’s under the mat.”

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