by Karin Tabke
“Not that it’s any of my business, and feel free to tell me to butt out, but are you two involved?”
“No.” She sighed wistfully. “Apparently neither one of us are much when it comes to committing.”
“Most feds aren’t. The single ones anyway. They never know when they’re getting reassigned. It’s easier to go when you don’t have someone to leave behind.”
Izzy nodded. If only it were so simple. All he would have to do was ask her to go with him. Stanford Law School didn’t hold the allure it once had. She could go to school anywhere. None of that mattered, though, because she didn’t matter enough to Flynn.
“I guess,” she said as they turned down O’Farrell.
“I’m going to let you off here so that we aren’t seen together. I’ll park and watch you go in, then head in myself.”
Izzy thanked him, slid out of the car with her bag in hand, and walked the block to the club. It opened at six, but usually didn’t start to fill up until ten or later. She was due to hit the floor at nine. She had exactly one hour to get her Wild Style on.
Andre’s barrel chest greeted her when she walked into her small dressing room.
“Give me video,” he demanded, holding out his huge hand palm up.
“I don’t have it, Andre.”
He backhanded her so hard her head snapped back, hitting the doorframe.
Shocked by his attack, Izzy cried out as pain radiated from where her skull had hit the doorframe to her mouth that had connected with his hand. Covering her face as the copper taste of her blood filled her mouth, she looked up at the furious giant. “Andre, what are you doing?” she sobbed. He had never touched her or any of the other girls like this before. Had he lost his mind?
“Give me video,” he said again. The tone of his voice held a hard menacing edge. Fear seeped deep into her. Her hand trembled as she touched her swelling bloody lip.
Moving back into the corner of the small room, bracing herself for another hit, she said, “Please, Andre, I told you, my phone was stolen. It hasn’t turned up yet.”
He hit her again, this time making contact with her hands. Pain shot through her fingers protecting her face to her arms, reverberating along her spine. When he raised his hand again to strike her, something inside of Izzy snapped. She was done being pushed around. No more would she allow anyone, not even this giant of a man, to bully her or make her afraid.
Lowering her hands, she straightened. His eyes widened as his fist tightened. “Touch me again, Andre, and you’ll never get the video!” she hissed.
His eyes narrowed. But he didn’t strike her.
“Do you know what’s on that video?” she asked, her accusatory tone implying he was a moron.
His lip curled as he mentally considered the possibilities.
When he didn’t answer, she told him. “That fed snorting coke off my tits. Him talking about how it was primo shit and there was lots more where it came from.” She moved into his personal space. “How do you think Boris is going to like you beating me up and making it so that I don’t want to come back to work? If he knew what was on that video and that you fucked it up for him, he might fuck you up a little!”
She’d never been so nervous yet so confident in her life. The tables had completely turned. Shoving past him, Izzy sat down at her dressing table. “Now get me some ice so I don’t have to walk around with a fat lip all night.”
When he stalked out of the stuffy room, Izzy let out a long sigh of relief. Her hand shook when she touched her bloody lip again. Hurt like hell. She was cut, and it was swelling. Great, her tips were going to be crappy tonight.
Crystal brought her an ice pack a few minutes later. Avoiding eye contact and wordless, she handed Izzy the ice, then hurried from the room.
Placing the pack to her lips, she hissed. It stung. After ten minutes her lip was numb, still swollen, but not bleeding. It would have to do. Once she had morphed into Wild Style, Izzy stood and donned her uniform. The pink string bikini. Tonight when she put it on she did it slowly, not relishing anything about what she was going to walk into. Her focus was unwavering but her willingness to submit to the pawing and pandering that went on out in the club had diminished. She was over it. Not even for one hundred percent of her tips was she willing to continue donning the bikini.
With that clarity came a decision: The night she handed Boris the thumb drive would be her last night here. It was time to step back and let Flynn, Maddox, and Justin do what they did best. Catch the bad guys and find her sister.
Once Boris blackmailed Flynn, they would have the leverage to get the info on Alex. Izzy believed that with all her heart. She was also afraid. Even knowing Maddox was out in the club keeping an eagle eye on her. She was in danger here and would be foolish to continue working the club after she handed over the thumb drive. Because then there would be no more use for her. It didn’t take a genius to know what the Russian mafia did with items that no longer served them.
Hopefully, tomorrow night would be the last night she had to don the pink bikini and blue wig. Taking a deep cleansing breath, Izzy dug into her bag and retrieved the little envelope that contained the metal listening device. Opening it, she slid the tiny disc out onto her hand. Maddox had told her it would be remotely activated at nine o’clock tonight. The same time she stepped out onto the floor. All she had to do was get close enough to the big ugly Russian named Bushnik to slip it in his pocket.
Peeling off the small piece of double-sided tape that was on the backside of the envelope, Izzy stuck the device on it, then pressed it on the inside of her bikini bottom. Smoothing it out she looked down. Not even a hint of what was taped there.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, she nodded at her image in the mirror. It was show time. Throwing her shoulders back, Izzy strode confidently into the club.
Chapter Thirty-one
It was loud and crowded, unusual for a Thursday night. Immediately Izzy looked for Maddox and found him at the bar facing the dressing rooms. He looked past her, giving no clue that they knew each other, and sipped his drink.
Her heart pounded in her chest, suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Sitting next to him was Flynn. He made no effort to conceal his identity or his displeasure that she was working. When they made eye contact, she quickly looked away only to find Andre’s dark eyes on her. He looked over to where Flynn sat, then back to her. His eyes glittered.
Izzy quickly made her rounds. Approaching the bar, Andre pulled her aside.
“You have admirer,” he said, inclining his head toward Flynn.
“I told him not to bother me here.”
“Let him bother. I get you pill.”
“No more pills, Andre.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “You give pill if I say you give pill.”
She yanked her arm from his grasp. “No more pills.” Then she hurried past him and gave Dave the bartender her orders. An hour passed. Flynn nursed a drink while Maddox appeared to be getting tanked. She didn’t make contact because her tables were on the opposite side of the club from where they sat at the bar.
She noticed one of her front tables nearest the stage that had just been full of visiting Japanese businessmen had been cleared. She was sure the party wasn’t done; she had just refreshed their drinks. Andre came up behind her and said, “Special guest come. You dance on table. Gift from Boris.”
Her jaw dropped. While it wasn’t unheard of, and actually encouraged because table dances went for five hundred dollars a girl, the girls were expected to take everything but their bottoms off. The special guest, she suspected was Bushnik.
“Whe-when is he coming?”
“Ahhh,” Andre said, smiling. “He comes now.”
Izzy looked past Andre to the back of the club where there was a private entrance for VIPs. Surrounded by several men in dark suits, strode the big blond Russian, Miroslav Bushnik. He looked far more intimidating person then he did in the photographs she’d been shown.
Izzy slid
the device from her bikini bottom, her hand sweaty from nerves. Please don’t drop it. As the entourage approached, she grabbed Andre’s arm. “He looks mean.”
Andre pushed her hand from his arm. “Is very mean. Do as told, no problems.”
As the man approached, his arctic blue eyes swept her from the tips of her peekaboo stilettos to the top of her blue-tipped head. His nostrils flared when she raised her chin, not flinching from his cold stare. He said something in Russian to Andre, who grabbed her by the chin and made her look down as the Russian approached.
“Show respect, dancer girl.”
Izzy twisted out of his grasp and when she did she lost her balance and fell against Bushnik.
He caught her, his big hands cool. He looked down at her, the silver striations in his ice blue eyes pulsing. “Do you know who I am?” he asked in perfect English.
“Do you know who I am?” Izzy asked.
The Russian stared at her, shocked by her impertinence.
Andre grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the guest of honor. “My apology, I get different girl.”
“No, no, my giant friend,” Bushnik crooned. “This one will serve me very well. Let her go.”
Reluctantly, Andre did. Bushnik pointed to Izzy’s lip and asked her, “Did you talk back to Andre?”
“Yes.”
Bushnik sat down in the chair one of his flunkies held out for him and patted his lap, indicating she sit down there. Shaking, Izzy did as instructed. Rigidly, she sat on his hard lap. Bushnik was big, he was ugly as hell, but he was in great shape. His thighs were hard as oak beneath her bottom. He grasped her chin and turned her face to look at him. “You ever talk back to me, I will cut your lips off.” He shoved her off his lap, then snapped his fingers. “Vodka, then dance.”
“You heard, vodka, now!” Andre bellowed to Izzy. She hurried off to the bar. When she looked for Flynn, her stress level skyrocketed. He was nowhere to be found. Maddox had moved to a table closer to her side of the room. She saw Justin and a few others she was sure were undercover cops. Their presence should have reassured her, but unless they were right on her, Bushnik could break her neck with a snap of his fingers before any of them got close enough to stop him.
Izzy pulled it together. She could do this. Keep calm and carry on.
With her tray full, Izzy strode back to the table like she owned the place. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said cheerfully, placing a chilled shot glass in front of each of them, “Welcome to Surf’s Up, where for a dollar, the tits always shine.” Grasping the bottle of subzero vodka from her tray, Izzy filled each glass, starting with Bushnik, then poured one for herself. Grasping it, she raised it and said, “Выпьем за то, чтобы у нас всегда был повод для праздника!”
The shocked look on the men’s faces was priceless. “What?” she said, “You can’t toast to more reasons to party?”
Bushnik laughed heartily and threw back his shot, then slammed his glass down, calling for another round. Izzy poured several more rounds before she picked up her tray and started to move away from the table.
Andre grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him. “Where you go?”
“I have others tables to serve.”
“Only one table you serve tonight. Time for dance.”
“Get someone else,” she said, looking around the room for help.
“You do it now or I break arm.”
She wasn’t going to do it. Not again. Not even for Alex.
“Please, Andre, ask someone else.”
“Miroslav want you and only you.”
“I don’t want to,” she said her voice higher now, catching the attention of other tables.
“Boss say give guest whatever guest want. He want you, I give you.”
“I’m not for sale, Andre,” she said, not backing down. She wouldn’t get up on the table and strip.
His hand squeezed her arm tighter and twisted. “You are if I say so.”
“Andre, you’re hurting me!” she cried.
“Take your hand off her.” It was Flynn.
Izzy bit back a cry of surprise. Flynn was going to blow her cover and his!
All of her work, all of her plans would be for nothing. Alex would die if she wasn’t dead already.
“I’m okay,” she said to him, moving into Andre.
Izzy’s next words lodged in her throat when she looked up into a pair of murderous blue eyes. There was no doubt in her that if Andre didn’t release her, Flynn was going to kill him.
“Butt out, cop,” Andre said, turning to Flynn, taking her arm with him.
In a lightning quick move, Flynn jabbed his fist up into Andre’s throat. The effect was immediate. Andre released her arm and grabbed for his throat as he fought for breath.
In the next instant, with an absurd amount of force, Flynn brought his elbow around and slammed it hard into Andre’s solar plexus, dropping him to his knees.
The table of Russians behind her stood, nearly turning the table over with their zeal to get to Flynn. He pulled Izzy behind him as he took a step toward them. “Her shift’s over,” Flynn bit out. Grasping her hand, he pulled her away from the writhing giant and the table of pissed-off Russians, through the front door of the club where Maddox stood waiting.
Tightening his grip, Flynn led her around the back of the building, stopping beneath a security light. Gently, he took her chin in his hand and lifted it for a better look. He brushed his thumb across her split bottom lip. As light as his touch was, it smarted. She winced. “When this is all over, I’m going to kill him for that,” he said roughly.
Without another word, Flynn handed her off to Maddox, who had followed them, then strode from the parking lot.
“I need to get my things,” Izzy said, shaking as she watched the rigid line of Flynn’s back and the long angry strides that took him farther away from her.
“Let’s get in and out before the giant and those goons come looking for you.”
“Is Andre going to be okay?” she asked, wondering why she cared. Andre had showed his hand. And it was ugly.
"His pride is going to suffer the most,” Maddox said, following her into the back door of the club.
Unseen, Izzy slipped into her dressing room.
As she assumed, Andre was nowhere to be found; luckily, neither were Bushnik’s men. She didn’t bother changing; she just grabbed her bag and headed back outside with Maddox and hurried down the street with him, her heart pounding a mile a minute.
Once they were safely crossing the bridge back to Oakland, Maddox reached over and grabbed her cold hands. “You okay?”
“Yes. No. I think so.”
“You did great, I’m just sorry we didn’t get the bug planted.”
Izzy grinned. “What makes you think I didn’t plant it?”
Maddox looked over at her. “Did you?”
“Of course I did. When I pretended to stumble I slipped it in to his pants pocket.”
“Why didn’t you say something!” Maddox quickly called in to his task force confirming the device had been activated and was receiving properly.
“Hot damn,” Maddox whooped, “we’re already receiving intel.” When he hit the ‘End’ button, he grinned widely. “You were pretty amazing in there, yucking it up with those guys.”
Maddox’s excitement calmed her nerves a little. “I was scared to death. I just wish Flynn hadn’t had to step in. Going back with the thumb drive will be hard.”
“Flynn did what needed to be done. If it hadn’t been him, it would have been me. There’s no getting around what was out of our control. Andre would have broken your arm unless you climbed up on that table.”
“Will I have to go back?”
Maddox nodded. “I don’t think what happened tonight is a deal breaker for you and Andre. If anything, he’ll have a hard-on for Flynn’s takedown. With the video, that’s a guarantee.” He smiled, though it wasn’t a happy one. “It’ll all come down to how
you sell it, Isadora.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Two hours later, after Maddox had walked her to her room and instructed her not to open the door for anyone except him, Izzy managed to get a handle on her nerves. Well, as much as one whose life was completely turned upside down and inside out could. Still jumpy, she hopped into the shower, wondering if they had been followed back to the hotel and if her life would ever go back to its pre-Surf’s Up, boring normal.
Just as Izzy stepped out of the shower there was a knock on her hotel door. Stifling a cry of surprise, she stiffened, standing silent, afraid if she moved, whoever was at the door would kick the door down and come after her. Her cell phone was in the bedroom. It was almost three in the morning and the person knocking on her door had to be up to no good.
Only thing to do was get her phone, call Maddox and lock herself in the bathroom until he got to her.
Tiptoeing to the nightstand, she grabbed her phone.
“Open the door.”
Her heart thudded and she nearly dropped the phone as if it was a hot coal.
Flynn.
“Go away,” she said, her voice so shaky she didn’t recognize it. Adrenaline pumped through her by the gallon. Her hands shook and she felt nauseous. She didn’t have the stomach for this cloak-and-dagger stuff and she didn’t have the stomach to fight with Flynn again.
“I’m not leaving until you open the door,” he said.
She believed him. Emotionally, she was in no condition to talk to him. She was drained. So much heartache in such a short period of time. She was so tired of feeling irrelevant. Between the adrenaline rush and the emotional exhaustion, her body began to shudder uncontrollably. If she could disappear from the crazy, close her eyes, and sleep for a month, it wouldn’t be long enough.
Yet, despite it all, the one person’s arms she wanted wrapped around her as he told her it was all going to be okay was the one person who had hurt her the most.
“Isa,” Flynn said. “Please. Let me in.”
Her belly did a slow roll as a fresh shot of adrenaline rushed through her. God, why did he make it so hard for her? Why was she going to open the door and make it harder for herself? Slowly she opened the door, and when she looked up at him, her heart ached for him. He looked as miserable and as broken as she felt. Closing her eyes, she said, “Please, if you care about me even a little, just go. I can’t do this, Flynn.”