Slave to the Rhythm (The Rhythm #1)

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “I know, but Elaine has Volkov’s ear. He’s sunk a lot of money into the theater and this show. Don’t freak yet, Ash. Let me call her.”

  I nodded tersely but carried on pacing while Gary pulled out his phone.

  I listened to the hurried conversation, my chest tightening with every second that passed, expecting Oleg to come busting down the door. Eventually, Gary ended the call.

  “She’s going to speak to Volkov now. She says to sit tight and don’t leave the room again tonight.”

  “That’s it? She’ll talk to him?”

  “What did you expect? You thought she’d put a gun to his head?”

  “Someone should.”

  Gary sighed but didn’t disagree.

  Laney

  The next morning, it took me nearly two hours to get ready and meet the others for breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant. The first 45 minutes were spent uploading yesterday’s photos to my Facebook page and checking emails while I sat in bed and waited for the meds to kick in.

  When I judged that enough time had passed, I eased my stiff, aching body out of bed and into the wheelchair.

  It really sucked waking up with a full bladder but having to wait forever to pee.

  If Collin was here, he would have lifted me into my chair.

  But my regret was short lived. If Collin had been here, he would have insisted that I go back to my room after dinner last night. And I would have missed seeing Vanessa and Jo dancing their asses off.

  And meeting that gorgeous guy. What was his name? Ash?

  He’d been so shocked when he saw my wheelchair. I had to admit that a part of me was pleased that he’d hit on me without knowing about the chair, even if he was one of those men. It had been a long time since something like that had happened.

  Even Collin hadn’t really flirted with me. We’d met in college and been in the same study group. Having coffee together turned into having dinner together, and before I realized what was happening, everyone assumed that we were a couple—including Collin.

  He was a good man. He could be incredibly thoughtful, but at the same time he could be totally inconsiderate, talking about my job as if it was a hobby, just because I worked from home. And he always had to be right. Which meant that I was inevitably always wrong. Which meant another fight.

  And when I had a flare-up, he was suffocating. I hadn’t realized how much, but being in Vegas without him, it put a few things in perspective.

  Living with chronic pain is a study in acceptance, but of understanding, too. What is too little, what is too much or too often. What is necessary, what should be forgotten. And I gradually learned to forgive my body for being flawed, for being imperfect. Ultimately, I had to forgive myself, although sometimes I struggled with that part.

  Collin hadn’t texted back so I guessed we really had broken up.

  The thought made me sad—we’d been friends for nearly 10 years. At one time, I thought we’d marry, but Collin had never asked, and I’d stopped wishing that he would.

  I made my way down to breakfast and saw Vanessa flirting with the server in the restaurant. He was cute and definitely interested. I smiled to myself and raised my eyebrows at Jo who was watching with amusement.

  The waiter suddenly noticed my arrival and his eyes widened.

  I caught the tail end of Vanessa’s conversation.

  “So, you and your friends and me and my friends? Sounds good to me.”

  But the server was shaking his head, his eyes darting away from me.

  “Ah, you know what? I forgot that we have a thing and I can’t get out of it. Sorry.” He smiled weakly at me. “What beverage can I get you, ma’am?”

  Whatever plans had been in the works, it was obvious that they didn’t include a woman in a wheelchair.

  My throat tightened, but I held my head up and ordered coffee while the server slunk away.

  “Asshole!” Vanessa said loudly. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

  “So,” said Jo, deliberately changing the subject. “I’m thinking spa day, lounging by the pool, hitting on cabana boys, dinner and a show. I’ve scored us tickets to the theater here—half price if you’re staying at the hotel, and front row as we have a wheelchair user,” and she winked at me. “Sounds like it’ll be amazing. Real Las Vegas showgirls. We might pick up some useful tips.”

  I laughed. “I am not wearing tassels on my nipples!”

  “Me either,” groaned Vanessa. “Last time I tried it, I had to peel off the glue. I had sore nips for days!”

  “Ouch!”

  “You said it, sista!”

  Ash

  I was a mess. Completely wired and I’d hardly slept. After we’d had a full rehearsal, I was sitting in a chair while Yveta applied a fake tan to my face and chest, turning the palms of her hands orange.

  I could tell that she was annoyed with me because I wasn’t returning her flirting and I hadn’t agreed to meet her after the show.

  Elaine had pleaded my case with Volkov and got the boss-man to agree that I was off limits. I hoped that was enough to keep Sergei away. I’d also swallowed my pride and arranged to borrow the money from Gary.

  Fuck, I hoped that Volkov’s word could be trusted. Elaine said he was going to be in the audience tonight—that was the rumor. I was holding onto that. With the big boss around, Sergei wouldn’t try anything.

  My nerves were kicking into overdrive. I always got a little angsty before a performance—those were good nerves, adrenaline that gave me an edge. But tonight, my stomach felt like it was trying to climb through my throat.

  Yveta added some rouge, a little eyeliner, and then dusted my face and chest with shimmery powder.

  “Are we done?” I ground out, knowing I sounded like an ungrateful prick.

  Yveta stalked away to finish her own makeup.

  The changing room was tiny, and there was nowhere separate for me and Gary. We were crammed into a corner and told not to look when the girls were naked. Not that Gary cared, and I’d seen more tits in changing rooms than most men ever saw in a lifetime. I wasn’t immune, but tonight I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if they glued rhinestones onto their bare pussies.

  My nerves were jumping all over the place and my fingers drummed on my thighs restlessly.

  “Oh my God, calm the freak down, will you?” Gary hissed. “You’re making me nervous. Crapaloosa! Do I shift weight on the one?”

  “What?”

  “In the contra botafogo—do I shift weight on the one?”

  I gave a distracted nod. “Yes, two changes of weight in one beat of music.”

  Gary sighed. “Did you hear that Elaine is talking about including a West Coast Swing number?” He paused then tossed a feather boa at my head. “Are you listening to me?”

  My eyes flashed with anger and Gary jerked back.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Jee-zus! Just chill, will you? Do some stretches or something!”

  It was good advice and I knew that I was too close to doing something stupid like running. But maybe Elaine was right. Maybe the worst was over.

  I started stretching out my body, working through the warm-ups that we all used.

  “You have really good extension,” Gary said, gazing critically.

  I grunted, trying to tune out all the static in my brain and get into the zone while I loosened my shoulders and back muscles.

  “Five minutes, people!” Neal yelled.

  There was a rush of activity and the sharp smell of fake tan, sweat and perfume thickened as the girls lined up. With their headdresses of ostrich feathers, they towered over us—all fake lashes, sequins and thousands of crystals glued to their skimpy costumes.

  Yveta still looked pissed and it was my fault.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said honestly.

  She beamed at me.

  The music started and something inside ignited even as the pulsing beat calmed me. And then I was there, strutting onto the
stage, owning it, lighting up from the inside as the audience clapped and cheered. I presented girl after girl until the dance-off with Yveta as my partner, and Gary and Galina as our competition.

  The audience lifted us, made us fly.

  This was my moment!

  Laney

  I gasped. “It’s him!”

  “Him who?” Vanessa asked, peering up at the dancers cavorting on the stage in front of us.

  “The guy from last night—at the club. Wow! He’s just . . . wow!”

  “I think you’re right,” Jo said excitedly. “I guess he wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to dance. He’s h-o-t!”

  He wasn’t lying. The thought brought a warm pulse of pleasure to my chest. He really was a dancer, not a gigolo. So if he hadn’t lied about that, maybe he really thought that I was pretty.

  He was even dressed similarly to last night in tight black pants and black shirt, except that this one was slashed to his waist and glittered under the stage lights with sequins sewn onto the silky material.

  I smiled happily and sat back to enjoy the show.

  His name was Ash.

  When he was on stage, the lights seemed brighter, the dancing hotter, the atmosphere electric. The dance-off with the other guy had been phenomenal, each of them trying to one-up the other. But there had never been any competition, not in my mind. Ash oozed sexiness, his muscled chest gleaming under the spotlights, testosterone pumping through him, obvious in the swagger of his hips and caress of his fingers along the arms of the dancers.

  A twinge of jealousy surprised me. Why on earth did I feel possessive about a man I’d spoken to once?

  Looking around covertly, I pulled out my phone, turned off the flash, and snapped a photograph. Something to remember him by—the hottest guy who’d ever hit on me.

  The thought made me smile.

  When the two men left the stage and the girls formed a chorus line for the can-can, I lost interest. My bladder reminded me of the three Mimosas that I’d had earlier.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I whispered in Jo’s ear.

  “Want me to take you?”

  I winced internally. I hated to feel like a kindergartener, but I just smiled at Jo—it wasn’t her fault.

  “No, that’s okay. You enjoy the show. I want a full report if that guy comes back on stage.”

  Jo waggled her eyebrows.

  “Maybe I should get closer for a hands on approach.”

  I nodded at the stage which was just a few feet away.

  “Any closer and you’d be sitting in his lap.”

  “I wish,” sighed Jo. “See you in a few.”

  I didn’t want to miss the show, but I didn’t know where the bathrooms were and experience told me that waiting until it was urgent would be a mistake.

  The usher pointed to a door by the fire exit and I pushed myself forward. From the sound of the bass pumping through the walls, I guessed that I was close to the backstage area.

  The corridor was badly lit and very long. My arm muscles began to ache and I wondered if the usher had sent me the wrong way.

  But then, with a sigh of relief, I spotted the sign for the bathroom right at the end of the corridor. At least it would be emptier now than during the intermission.

  Cursing at the sweat trickling down my back and armpits, I nudged the door open.

  “You think you can hide from me, you piece of shit!” screamed a man’s voice. “I’m going to fuck your ass so hard you’ll shit your own eyeballs!”

  Laney

  A CHOKED GASP escaped, and immediately four of the five men in the room turned around to glare, the ice in their eyes shocking me.

  I was frozen, unable to move, and in that brief, horrifying moment, I stared at the scene in front of me.

  One man was suspended between two others, his arms trapped brutally, his head hanging down. He was naked and his ripped clothes were scattered across the floor, a tattered shirt still hanging from one shoulder. Red marks marred his smooth skin where the fourth man had rained down fists across his ribs.

  Worse still, the man’s back and ass cheeks were lacerated where he’d been flogged with a leather belt, still clutched in the hands of the thug doling out the brutal and humiliating punishment.

  The thug lowered his arm and glanced at the fifth man, as if seeking orders.

  I had to swallow back bile when the small man in the suit tucked his erect penis back in his pants, a coldly furious expression on his face.

  I’d interrupted something bad, something so horrific no one was supposed to see.

  The naked man’s head came up and he stared over his shoulder with bloodshot eyes.

  Horrified recognition flared.

  “Ash!”

  The words ripped out of me. That beautiful man, the dancer . . . the sexy, confident guy was gone. In his place was a beaten, shredded ghost. His eyes were glazed and he seemed unable to focus.

  “Get out!” he croaked. Then more loudly, “Get out of here!”

  My mouth dropped open . . . and I moved.

  The small man shouted an order as I rammed the bathroom door open with my wheelchair and propelled myself back along the corridor as fast as I could, my heart hammering, breath coming in gasps.

  I heard footsteps running behind me and I started to pray.

  Please, God! Help me!

  Closer, closer, and the man shouted something.

  I prayed harder, my eyes wide with fear, the muscles in my arms burning as I pushed the chair faster, harder, my legs useless beneath me.

  I think God listened, because my prayers were answered when I saw two people walking along the corridor towards me, their steps leisurely and unworried in the gloom.

  “Well, there you are! It’s like a maze down here,” said Vanessa. “I thought I’d better come and find . . . Oh my God! What happened? Are you okay?”

  “Do you need a doctor, ma’am?” asked the concerned usher who was with Vanessa.

  “Help!” I screamed, my heart tripping as my lungs fought to suck in oxygen. “Those men!”

  Vanessa and the usher looked up and the man who’d been sent after me hesitated.

  “He’s got a gun!” Vanessa screeched. “Shit, call the police!” and with shaking hands she pulled out her phone.

  The man turned and ran back in the direction of the bathroom.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Vanessa hissed. “I can’t get a signal. Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

  The usher clearly agreed, already running back to the auditorium, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

  Vanessa tossed her phone into my lap and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair.

  “No!” I shouted desperately. “He’s hurt! We have to help him!”

  “Who’s hurt?” Vanessa shouted, pushing the chair faster and faster.

  “Stop!” I screamed again, but Vanessa was too scared to listen. “Stop!”

  I lurched forward, throwing myself out of the wheelchair, feeling every burning joint in my body catch fire as I landed heavily on the cheap carpet.

  Pain caused tears to stream down my face.

  “Laney! Oh my God, Laney!”

  Vanessa tried to heave me up but my dead weight was too much for her.

  “Go get help,” I stuttered. “Ness! Go get help!”

  Vanessa was torn, desperate to help me, desperate to get away.

  “I can’t leave you!” she cried out, her voice pleading. “Help me get you up, Laney! Help me!”

  My voice was sharp with pain. “No! Find someone! Quickly!”

  Her face stricken, Vanessa turned and ran.

  “I’m coming back!” she yelled over her shoulder.

  I lay on the floor, the carpet rough against my cheek. Flashes of the horror that I’d seen made me shudder uncontrollably.

  What I saw! Oh my God!

  Ash’s beaten body, the thugs, the man with his cock in his hand, not a breath of sanity in his eyes, screaming at Ash.

  They were go
ing to rape him.

  The ugly truth squeezed my heart and I started to cry in heaving sobs. Rage and shock and fear and pain—it was too much.

  Every breath tore at my body, burning, tortured with fear and sorrow and hopelessness.

  I was gasping, fighting for air as anxiety threatened to overwhelm me.

  And then I felt gentle hands on my arms, on my shoulders, carefully lifting me into a sitting position.

  “Are you okay?”

  Ash.

  His voice was hoarse and cracked, but his gaze was steady as he examined my face, his worried eyes darting to mine, along the corridor behind us, then back to me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked again. “Should I help you get back in your wheelchair?”

  I hiccupped, wiping the tears from my eyes and the snot from my nose as I nodded wordlessly.

  Ash grunted as he took my full weight in his arms, lifting me smoothly and seating me in the chair.

  I saw him wince as he moved, and I knew that helping me had caused him great pain.

  I rested my shaking hand on his arm, my fingers catching in the ripped fabric of his shirt.

  “Are you okay?” I stammered.

  He swallowed and glanced over his shoulder nervously.

  “We have to go. It’s not safe.”

  Ash

  Moving as fast as I could, ignoring the pain that sliced through me with every step, I gripped the handles of her wheelchair and ran along the corridor. I could feel the fragments of torn material pulling at the broken skin on my back and ass, blood soaking into what was left of my clothes. I was afraid to jostle the girl, aware that she was already hurting, but I had no choice. I didn’t know how long we had before Oleg came after us.

  Her interruption had saved me.

  I knew that if she hadn’t opened the door to that bathroom, Sergei would have plowed my ass until my backside was nothing but raw meat. He’d promised exactly that after he’d tried to fuck my mouth and I’d threatened to throw up on him again.

  When Oleg had returned to say that more witnesses had arrived, Sergei had held the gun to my head, frothing with rage. But Oleg had yelled at his boss, and forced him out of the bathroom.

  I couldn’t believe they’d left me alive.