Page 13 of Held Captive

“You’ve been requested to work the center balcony.” There is no emotion in her voice.

“Oh, who is taking over for us here?” I ask.

“No, babe.Weweren’t requested,youwere requested. I’ll stay here and hold down the fort.”

I stare blankly at her. I don’t move.

“Rebecca, this is a now kinda thing. They aren’t exactly patient men.”

Right. Ok. Crap. Looking over, I see the balcony has become crowded with men in dark suits. On shaky legs, I start walking.

When I approach the velvet rope blocking off the individual balcony, a large man I don’t recognize unclips the rope and lets me pass, clipping it back behind me. A girl I’m not familiar with has been serving up here. She looks relieved to see me, and ushers me over to the man himself.

Seated on a loveseat on a slightly raised platform is Dimitri Popov. I feel his black eyes on my body, looking me up and down. It’s like a caress. I shiver. For all the evil he is, Popov is a handsome man. It’s not right that the devil would be so beautiful. In other circumstances, a man as attractive as him looking at me like I’m his next meal would be more than welcome. But here, now, I’m terrified. I am acutely aware that I am in his world right now, surrounded by his men. A fly in his web.

“Thank you, Anna,” he says to the girl, his gaze never leaving mine. “Please explain our preferences to Rebecca before you go.”

Anna touches my elbow and lightly guides me to the bar. She explains the various vodkas, but that Popov only drinks Stoli Elit, with a single ice sphere in it. Because that’s what he drinks, that’s what they all drink. I’m to keep bottles on ice at the table and make sure to fill glasses anytime I see they are low. For Popov, try to swap his glass to a fresh one if the vodka gets to one-third of the glass. She shows me, and sends me in his direction with the vodka.

I return to Popov and hand him the glass. I’m exceedingly proud of myself that my hand isn’t shaking. He takes it, his fingers brushing over mine. I reach to remove his old drink from the table next to him. He grips my wrist with his hand and tugs gently, pulling me off balance in my heels. Reflexively, I put my hand out to keep from falling, which means I’m suddenly pressing my hand against his firm chest. His eyes flare.

“Please, sit.” He releases my wrist and gestures to the small portion of the loveseat next to him.

My mouth is so dry it’s hard to speak to acknowledge him. He seems to take this as a challenge.

“Sit. Down.”

So I sit down. I fold my hands in my lap and cross my ankles. He remains silent, so I tentatively look up at him. He smiles at me. It’s not a sinister smile; it actually manages to appear genuine.

“Tell me about yourself, Rebecca Jackson.” He uses my last name to show that he knows things about me. Translation:I’ll know if you lie to me.

“What would you like to know, sir?”

He drapes his arm along the back of the sofa, behind my shoulders. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Why did you come to work for me?” He drums his fingers on the sofa.

“I’m morally opposed to starving and dislike being homeless,” I deadpan.

He throws his head back and laughs. I’m not sure if anyone has ever sassed him before. His laughter disappears almost as quickly as it came on. He sips the vodka and watches me intently. Staring at my folded hands, I try not to falter under his inky gaze, but the pace of my breathing and the slight tremor in my hands belies any attempt at appearing calm.

“Are you afraid of me?”

I pause. I feel him shift on the sofa. Ever so slowly, he reaches a finger under my chin and turns my head to face him. His eyes glitter, his gaze intense.

“Yes,” I answer honestly.

“You’re a very smart girl, Rebecca.” He smiles again, but this time the warmth has evaporated from it. It’s cold and eerie, predatory. I don’t say anything. I don’t imagine he wants a response.

He pulls a card from his wallet and writes something on the back of it. Looking at me, he says, “You’re fired.”

I inhale a small gasp and blink.What the hell?

He holds the card out to me. “You’ll be at this address tomorrow at one p.m. Text this number when you are on the way.”

My confusion must show on my face, because he leans toward me, rubbing a thumb over my cheek. “You still work for me, you just don’t work at Glisten anymore. Go home, Rebecca. Sleep well.”

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