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CANDY
The VIP – I didn’t catch his name if it was mentioned earlier – walks around the room inspecting everything, before taking his seat next to Dash, looking out of the windows and down into the club.
I swallow nervously again as it becomes a waiting game for the other chairs to become filled, and I struggle not to fidget. I feel Don’s eyes on me the entire time, but Dash is studiously ignoring me.
Eventually the other players join and take their seats, though I don’t get a good look at any of their faces. Once everyone is seated, the leader, clearly the main VIP who came in with Dash, clicks his fingers. I grit my teeth. He clicks again, impatient this time, and I hurry to open the door, climb out and rush over to him.
I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking what I can get him.
“Macallan Lalique. For all of us.”
I nod to show I understand, but I’m not sure of the etiquette here. Do I speak? He’s spoken to me. But he hasn’t asked a question that requires a response. Still, saying something is polite, right?
“Is this one fucking mute?” The voice of my nightmares says. It takes everything I have not to fall into the past but it’s like I’ve been struck by lightning; my spine snaps ramrod straight, my knees threaten to give way and my stomach drops so fast I worry I’ll vomit right here and now on the VIP’s lap.
“Excuse me for one moment, please sir,” I manage to force out before turning and fleeing from the room.
It’s not until I’m out of the room, the door has closed softly behind me and I’ve hit the bottom step with the velvet rope that I’m aware that I’ve even moved. My vision is tunnelled, black edges closing in and the heat within me is rising so rapidly, I’m worried I’m going to pass out.
“Breathe, Bambi, breathe,” a voice says, not unkindly.
It takes a moment to register that the rope has been moved and I’ve been pulled into an embrace and crushed against a bare, very cold chest.
I struggle to breathe, to get my trauma in check, even as I cling to this icy lifeline I’ve been given.
There was no mistaking that voice, the visceral reaction it caused in me is evidence enough to prove that I’m not mistaken. One of my many demons is among us, in a place I least expected him to ever pop up.
“What’s wrong?” A soft voice asks.
“I-I know o-one of t-them,” I manage to get out after a couple of false starts.
“So?” The kind voice suddenly scoffs as if I’m being ridiculous and abruptly lets me go. Frost. I shouldn’t feel bereft without his touch, he’s an arsehole. “You’re only there to serve drinks. No one will judge you.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand. He’s a-a—”
I can’t even say the word.
“He’s a what, Bambi?” He sighs, losing patience with me.
“A rapist,” I whisper, my eyes pleading with him to understand what I can’t say.
Frost’s expression morphs into one of abject horror and I can’t stand to meet his gaze.
“Shit.” It’s a barely audible hiss, but I catch it nonetheless.
There’s something akin to relief swirling inside me that the first person I’ve ever admitted my secret to hasn’t immediately called me a liar or laughed in my face. Tears brim but I refuse to let them fall.
“What’s going on here?” Wint demands softly.
He doesn’t sound angry, but his sudden unexpected arrival still makes me jump. He has a bottle of something in his hand, but I’m focused on Frost.What will he do?
“We have a problem,” Frost tells him, his voice strained.
“What is it?” Wint sounds guarded.
“Candy’s claiming one of the guys up in the VIP suite doesn’t belong here.”
That’s putting it diplomatically. Or does he not believe me? He’s saying I ‘claim’ but it’s true. Oh god, please let him believe me. I couldn’t bear it if someone would think I could lie about this.
