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“Well, Connor, we’re working on rebranding The Pink Kitty.”
My mom nearly chokes on her water while the men at the table give a soft laugh. My estimation of Roman lowers. A lot. Of course he’s involved with strip clubs. God, a man like him probably has an entourage of gorgeous women that line up to suck his dick anytime he whips it out.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Connor says with a laugh. “That place is a dump.”
Roman keeps caressing my back, and I keep ignoring how damn good it feels while he says, “It is, yes, and that’s why we’re rebranding it. We’re going to turn it into a classy gentlemen’s club, a place for businessmen, and, I hope,” he says with a smile aimed at my dad, “a place for politicians. It’s going to be a discreet retreat where a man can enjoy a nice meal and some beautiful entertainment.”
“I’ll have to keep an eye out for this new grand opening,” my dad says.
“Christopher,” my mom says, giving him a playful slap.
“What? A man can look, can’t he?” He smiles like he’s joking, but everyone at this damn table knows my dad does a hell of a lot more than just look.
“I’ll make sure you’re invited to opening night,” Roman says, and then turns to the other men. “As well as the rest of you, of course.”
“I don’t need to buy women,” Connor says.
“Who said anything about buying women?” Roman asks. “We’re going to be hiring mainly Russian women. They’ll be the most beautiful women in the city.” He gives a soft laugh. “What they choose to do in the back rooms is of no concern to me, but I certainly didn’t say anything about buying them.”
And just like that a bucket of cold water has been poured on my libido. I sit up straighter, trying to get his hand off me, but he doesn’t budge, just keeps running his thumb along my skin. When I move my shoulders, trying to discreetly fling him off me, he lets out a soft laugh.
“I just had a brilliant idea,” my mom says, and I immediately know I’m going to hate it. “Roman, you should join us for our Fourth of July party. We always go out on the yacht. It’s tradition, and what better way to welcome you into our country? It’s super casual, just lounging around and drinking far too much. You’ll love it.”
“Mom, he’s probably busy,” I start to say, but Roman cuts in.
“I’d love to.”
I don’t turn to see the smug grin on his face. Instead I hold up my empty champagne flute to the waiter, because I sure as hell need another one.
“Isn’t that a good idea, dear?” she asks my dad.
“Wonderful,” he says. “It’ll give us a chance to talk more about this new club of yours.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Roman says, dragging his fingers slowly down my spine.
The waiter drops off my drink right before the main course is brought out. I let out a sigh of relief when Roman is forced to move his hand so he can cut his steak. Without his fingers dancing along my skin my head is a little clearer, but I’ve had way more alcohol than I should have, so everything is still a bit fuzzy. I take a bite of steak, hoping it can sober me up a bit. Lucky for me I have a vagina, so none of the men at the table expect me to talk. They discuss politics and occasionally ask Roman questions. I eat my meal and try to soak up the champagne that’s forming a whirlwind in my stomach.
After dessert, I’m feeling slightly better. My dad gets a refill of the whiskey he’s drinking and removes his suit jacket so he can roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. When people start going from table to table to socialize, I perk up and wait for my chance. My mom is the first to saunter off when a group of women wave her over. The others follow as duty calls and they’re forced to mingle with the guests who have paid a small fortune to be here.
Roman remains seated beside me, but there’s nothing I can do about that. As soon as my dad is gone and everyone is engrossed in their own conversations, I slowly snake my arm under the table and towards the pocket of my dad’s jacket. If Roman notices anything, he doesn’t comment. Slipping my fingers inside, I hit what feels like a business card. One quick look to make sure no one is watching and then I’m snatching it out and holding it in my lap.
“What are you up to?” Roman murmurs, leaning closer.
I keep the card covered and look up at him. “Nothing. Why don’t you go mingle? You can talk all about your strip club and the women who may or may not be selling their bodies in the back rooms.”
He keeps his face neutral. “You don’t approve?”
“No, I don’t fucking approve. You’ve already weaseled your way onto the yacht for Fourth of July. I’ll be coming up with an excuse to not attend, by the way, so go kiss ass somewhere else.”
He seems stunned by what I’ve said, but I’m too irritated to care. Knowing I don’t have much time, I look down at the card. It’s black with Red Viper written in simple red lettering. On the back is an ouroboros, a red snake in a circle so it’s biting its own tail, and beneath that is written Sam, 10:30, Saturday.
I repeat it in my head so I won’t forget anything and then shove the card back into my dad’s jacket. When I look over, Roman is staring at me. He could’ve easily seen what was on the card, but he won’t know what it means. I don’t even know what the hell it means, so I ignore him and pretend like everything is normal.
“I thought I told you to go mingle.”
He smiles and puts his arm on the back of my chair again. His thumb circles my skin, and when I try to shake him off, he laughs.
“I’m not leaving you here alone, and you’re going on the yacht, Emily.”
