Slave to the Rhythm (21 page)

Three hours later, I sat alone in the interview room. I was wrung out, utterly devoid of any feeling other than the dull ache of shame, too exhausted to care any longer.

The questions had gone on and on: who had I seen, what had been said, who was the biker, had I seen drugs, had I been given drugs, what had Volkov said, where was Marta when I saw her, what had she said, where was the brothel where she was being kept, where was I going to get the money to pay Sergei, how many times had I sold myself to women, why hadn’t I gone to the police when I had the chance? And then reliving the horror of the night they’d caught me and the evil bastard Oleg had flogged me with his own belt while Sergei jerked off.

Then the policemen had photographed my back and ass, commenting quietly to themselves on the marks.

Somehow it was worse that all of this was in front of Laney’s friend. It was a mistake having her there. She’d been professional, kind even, but now she
knew
things about me. She knew and she judged me, whether she meant to or not.

But I guess Laney would find out one way or another. If not from Angela, then from her father.

Angela walked back into the room, pushing a cup of black coffee in front of me as she sat opposite. I couldn’t drink it without cream and sugar, but I enjoyed holding the warm cup.

“How are you doing?”

I almost laughed and Angela gave me a rueful smile.

“That’s understandable, but you did well. They’ve got a lot of information to work with and pass on to the Las Vegas police.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I know what you were told, but there
are
good officers there who will investigate. This won’t be swept under the carpet.”

I was silent. I’d wanted justice for the girl, for Marta and the others. But the justice Sergei and Oleg deserved was at the end of a gun or a rope, not through Courtrooms and police and polite pieces of paper.

“Your Embassy has been contacted and they’re going to expedite a new passport, but it could take a while, bearing in mind that the current one has been used illegally. They’re prepared to issue temporary ID so you can access your bank account in Slovenia and have your credit cards re-issued. But don’t be surprised if it takes a couple of weeks. I’ll do my best to hurry them along . . . unfortunately this means that they won’t be able to arrange a flight home for you just yet, and with the ongoing police investigation, well, they’d like you to be around for the time being. However, your Embassy has authorized me to issue you $200 hardship money and arrange a hotel for you.” She smiled at me. “But Laney says you’re welcome to stay with her.”

I looked up, stunned.

“She’ll let me stay?”

“Yes.”

I met Angela’s eyes, reading the unspoken message.

Then I shook my head. “Her father won’t let that happen.”

Angela laughed lightly. “If you think her father could stop Laney when she’s made up her mind, you don’t know her very well.”

“What about the pri—what about her boyfriend?”

“Same answer,” Angela smiled at me, not missing my near slip, as she pulled out some dollar bills and handed them to me. “She’s outside now.”

I stood up slowly. Laney was waiting for me. Until that moment, I’d had no clue how much I needed to hear those words—just knowing that someone was here for me, that I wasn’t alone.

I pulled the door open and she saw me immediately, throwing herself into my arms.

The surprise attack made me stagger, my back thudding painfully against the wall as Laney hugged the ever-living crap out of me.

As the surprise seeped out of me, I allowed myself to enjoy the warmth and softness of her small body pressed against mine. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her carefully as my head sank forwards, burying my face in her hair as if I’d been doing it my whole life.

Laney’s face was pink when she pulled away. I thought she’d start asking questions, but she didn’t. Thank God, she didn’t.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

I nodded my agreement as Laney tugged on my arm.

“I know the perfect place to celebrate.”

I frowned at her.

“What are we celebrating?”

Laney threw her hands in the air.

“Life. We’re celebrating life.”

Laney

ANGELA JOINED US
for drinks at a bar I knew, half a block from the police station.

Ash insisted on paying since he had money, although neither of us wanted him to, but arguing about it would only have made things more awkward.

It was a muted celebration with a silent Ash, speaking only when I asked him a direct question.

I knew it must have been traumatic reliving everything that happened to him, but I’d meant it when I said we should be celebrating life. And he had so much to live for.

It didn’t help that Angela seemed on edge, too, throwing worried glances at Ash while he was engrossed by his beer, staring unseeingly as he shred the label.

“Well,” said Angela, “I really need to get going. Laney, walk me out, hon?”

Ash stood politely as we left the table, nodding once at Angela and muttering a curt ‘thank you’. He couldn’t meet her eyes, and I wondered if they’d had some sort of fight.

“Laney,” said Angela when we were outside in the chilly air, “I love you like a sister so I’m going to be totally unprofessional and tell you that guy worries me.”

“Ash? Why?”

“Look, you know I can’t tell you, I’m just saying . . . stay away from him. I mean it. The packaging is gorgeous, I admit, but he’s damaged. You get any more involved with a guy like that, and he’ll drag you down with him. I’ve seen it happen. I know you have this thing about ‘saving’ people, but you have to let this one go.”

“What do you mean, I have a thing about ‘saving’ people?” I bristled.

“Come on, Laney! You know you do. You’ve been trying to save Collin from being a boring asshole for ten years, and look how well that’s gone.”

“You don’t understand!” I said, frustration sharpening my voice.

“Then explain it to me.
Make
me understand! Because what you’re doing is way beyond what anyone else would do.”

I wanted to be angry, but I saw only concern in Angie’s face.

“I . . . it’s hard to explain. But if you’d been there . . . when you walk into that kind of scene, it’s just something you can’t help. He was so broken—there was no other choice.”

I could tell that I hadn’t convinced her. Maybe because she was a lawyer and dealt in facts and what could be proved. Or maybe because we’d been friends for ten years and she’d never seen me like this before.

She sighed then swept me into a hug.

“Just think about it, okay?”

And she vanished into the night before I could reply.

I was irritated on so many levels. Her assumption that there was something going on with Ash was
way
off. And Collin had apologized for his behavior before I went to Vegas.

I think that knowing how close I’d come to getting hurt or even killed had been a wake-up call for both of us. We weren’t going to throw away ten years on a single argument.

He wasn’t happy that Ash would be sleeping on my couch for the foreseeable future, but that wasn’t negotiable. I wasn’t trying to
save
Ash, whatever Angela thought. He was a man who’d been through something traumatic, but I’d already seen flashes of the sweet, funny, sexy guy he’d been before.

In a couple of weeks, he’d get his passport and he could go home. I wasn’t going to make him stay in some anonymous hotel where he didn’t know anyone.

I turned to walk back inside, but I was surprised to see that Ash had followed me out and was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette.

I hated smoking. I’d made Collin quit on our second date, although I’m not sure I’d have that sort of influence now.

“How can you smoke?” I glared at him. “You’re a dancer for God’s sake!”

He shrugged and winked at me.

“Isn’t there anything you like that isn’t good for you?”

Playful Ash was back in the building. I was happy to see him, but he wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.

“Where did you get it?” I frowned.

“Some woman,” he mumbled around the cigarette, sucking hard then blowing a long plume of smoke into the night air.

“Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Why ‘of course’?” he asked, grinning at me.

“Like you don’t know!” I scoffed. “One smile and I bet she was putty in your hands.”

He smiled and leaned closer, holding the cigarette away from me.

“Does it work on you?”

Oh boy, did it ever!

“I’m immune,” I said, lifting my chin. “I have a boyfriend.”

Ash scowled. “You’re back with the prick.”

“Stop calling him that!”

“Douche? Asshole? Fucktard? Hey, do you know any words starting with ‘q’?”

He danced away as I tried to punch his shoulder.

“Stop being a jerk!”

“I already did ‘j’,” he grinned at me.

Happy Ash was adorable, even if he was being a pain in the butt.

I put my hands on my hips.

“Apologize! Right now!”

Ash put his hands together in a prayer, the cigarette dangling from his pouty lips.

“Sorry,” he grinned.

I stomped inside and took a much needed drink of beer, letting it cool me down. Ash stopped to talk to a woman with dyed red hair. He seemed to be thanking her, so I guessed that she was the one who’d given him the cigarette.

I really didn’t need to worry about him—he could probably get everything he needed from random women. But then I remembered the broken look on his face, blood on his back, when he’d yelled at me to get out of that bathroom in Vegas. The dread on his face as we drove up to the police station, the despair and exhaustion when he’d finished.

Ash caught up with me and grabbed my hand.

“Dance with me, Laney.”

“What? Here?”

I glanced around, panicked, and noticed that two couples had edged onto the tiny dance floor and were gyrating to the fast music.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, hauling me toward the dance floor.

“I . . . I . . . I don’t like dancing.”

Ash stared at me.

“But . . . everyone likes to dance.”

I chuckled at his shocked expression. “Um, nope. Not me.”

He gave me a knowing look and pulled both my hands around his neck until our bodies were pressing together. He pushed one firm thigh between my legs, then leaned down, his smoky breath warm against my cheek.

“Don’t worry. Even if you can’t dance, when you’re with me, you won’t look bad.”

Conceited ass!
He’d totally called me on my complete inability to clap my hands in rhythm, let alone dance.

His wrists rested on my hips, and he used his whole body to control my movements. The beat of the music pulled me under, the warmth of his hands, the glow of contentment in his eyes as we moved together. For the first time in my life, I was dancing and enjoying it.

“Relax,” he whispered. “You’re dancing like you have a broom up your ass.”

A laugh exploded out of me. “You’re so rude!”

He grinned. “Yeah? But it worked, see?” And he rotated his hips, forcing me to move with him.

I glanced down at our joined bodies and saw the crotch of his pants jump—just enough that I noticed.

My cheeks heated up and I couldn’t look him in the face, but I danced. I danced my uptight little ass off. And I loved it.

But then I thought of Collin and what he’d say if he saw us like this, my breasts pushing in Ash’s chest, his hands low on my hips. My movements slowed and I rubbed my forehead: it was going to be a long few weeks.

Ash pushed my hands from my head and started massaging my temples, his long fingers sweeping gentle circles over my flushed skin. Then he spun me around so my back was pressed against his hard chest, and his hands slid down my neck, his strong thumbs digging into tight muscles, making me groan.

“Oh my God! You have great hands.”

The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said. I thought Ash would make some joke, saying he already knew, but when I squinted up at him, his face was serious, a small crease between his eyebrows as he concentrated on his work.

“Your muscles are really tight,” he said, a chastising tone in his voice. “You should get a massage. I think it would help you.”

I sighed as his thumbs dug in deeper, just this side of painful.

“I do sometimes, but I can’t as often as I’d like on my income.”

Ash pulled out all the money Angela had given him and tucked it into my purse.

“Enough for a massage,” he murmured.

“Ash, no!”

He pretended not to hear me, so I pulled the money out of my purse and stuffed it into his hands, stepping back so he had to accept it.

“That’s emergency money for you! Not so I can schlep off and get massages!”

“Then I’ll do it,” he offered. “I’ve learned a lot about sore muscles over the years,” and he laughed lightly. “More than I want.”

It sounded wonderful, but . . .

“Let me, Laney,” he said, his voice low and full of emotion. “I have nothing else to give you.”

“Ash . . .”