7. LEIGH

Chapter 7

LEIGH

The Las Vegas Strip blurs around me as I approach the Golden Lights Hotel. My head down, hood up, my sneakers quietly hit the pavement as the city thrums around me in time to the pounding of my heart. Shit, I really screwed up this time. My mind races, thoughts tumbling over each other like a stack of poker chips.

The chaos I caused in Radomir Molchanov’s VIP poker room plays on a loop in my mind, tormenting me. I zip my sweater as the night chill starts seeping in and shove my hands into the well-worn pockets. I don’t want to get Sabrina involved in this shit, but my best friend is my last hope right now. Maybe she can go to my apartment and get my bus ticket.

I should have about two or three hundred dollars in tips left in my purse. I can change the date on my bus ticket to Los Angeles and leave on the last one out tonight. I’m sure Sabrina would lend me some clothes to take with me or get me a bag of mine if she can get into my apartment. I sure as shit can’t go back there—ever!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I can’t even process if tonight was real, but the memory keeps crashing back to haunt me. I can see my father buckle beneath Radomir’s proposal, and just like that, I become an item to bet with.

I blink back the hot prickle of tears, refusing to let them fall. Crying won’t fix this clusterfuck of a situation. No, I need to keep my head in the game. Figure a way out of this mess before it swallows me whole. The glittering facade of the Golden Lights Hotel looms larger with each step. An icy tendril of fear slithers down my spine. My sixth sense starts to tingle. I glance back to make sure I’m not being followed.

When I turn, I freeze. Two figures from the Diamond Hotel’s VIP room emerge from the shadows. The one I’ve yet to get his name steps directly into my path, and Fredrik, or Tweedle Dumb as I dubbed him, steps behind me, cutting off my escape route so I can’t turn tail and flee.

Jerking to a halt, my breath catches in my throat. Wearily, I assess their stares and designer suits. I note that the Dark Lord takes care of his men, dressing them in expensive attire. My eyes quickly scan my surroundings while my brain calculates the probability of me escaping.

“Hello, Miss Dalton,” the unnamed one greets me. “Mr. Molchanov would like you back at the hotel.”

My eyes dart between them, searching for an escape route. The street beside me stretches empty and dark, the gaudy lights of the Strip now menacing rather than inviting. I glance to the side of the brick shithouse in front of me—the shiny glass door of the Golden Light’s hotel seems to mock me. It’s only about twenty steps away across the street—I was so close to getting help.

“Is that so?” I feign nonchalance, though the tremor in my voice betrays me. “Well, you can tell the Dark Lord that I’m a bit busy at the moment. Perhaps we could reschedule this little rendezvous?”

I hear Fredrik sigh behind me, and I turn as he replies, “I’m afraid Mr. Molchanov insists you meet him tonight. It would be in your best interest not to resist.”

I see it in his eyes again—compassion. But he’s helped me once tonight, and I get the impression I’m all out of free help cards from him. My mind whirrs, desperately seeking a way out but coming up blank.

They have me cornered, and we all know it. My shoulders sag in resignation. A flicker of anger ignites in my gut, but I breathe it away—my temper has already gotten me into enough hot water for one night. Then it hits me. These dudes might be muscle, but no one is immune to pepper spray, which I have more than one tin of.

I imagine myself whipping out the pepper spray like an action hero, one tin in each hand—I spray their eyes full of burning fire, then vault over the nameless man running off into the night.

“What say, I pay you to look the other way.” I start to unzip my purse. “I have about...” Before I can even pull the zipper, Fredrik grips my wrist from behind.

“Please, printessa, Dolph has no qualms about knocking you out if you become uncooperative,” Fredrik warns me. “And I don’t fancy making love to my wife tonight half blind from that shit you carry around in there.”

I ignore the graphic reference to what Fredrik plans to do when he’s off duty and jump on the part where his kidnapping partner would actually knock me out.

“You’d hit a woman?” My head swivels to the man I now know is Dolph, my eyes widening in disbelief.

“No!” Dolph shakes his head, and I can swear I see a glint of admiration and humor in his eyes. “But I’m not averse to using chloroform.” He pulls a bottle and a rag from his suit pocket.

“You seriously carry that shit in your pocket?” I gape, incredulous. “You do know it’s an illegal substance, right?”

Dolph’s amused chuckle makes his muscular chest bob. “Nothing’s illegal for the Molchanov’s.”

“Of course not.” I roll my eyes. “I guess when murder, mayhem, drugs, guns, money laundering, and whatever else criminal activities the family is into, a little chloroform is nothing.”

“What’s it going to be, Miss Dalton?” Dolph asks, ensuring I see the bottle and rag in his hands.

“Fine,” I bite out through clenched teeth. “I don’t relish the fucking headache and cotton mouth that crap leaves a person with.” I take a step toward the vehicle. “Let’s go.”

They flank me, escorting me toward a sleek black car idling at the curb. My heart starts to thud against my rib cage. Panic surges through me, and my eyes dart around, but as I climb into the vehicle, my heart starts to sink. Fuck, Leigh, this is it. You’re being driven to your doom.

But as the car door slams shut, closing me in with the suffocating scent of leather and the ominous silence, I make one last ditch effort to escape through the other door. Only Dolph appears on the outside of it, shaking his head before climbing into the driver’s seat, and the fucking back door won’t open.

“The child locks are on,” Dolph tells me, glancing in the mirror.

I hate fucking child locks . They should be illegal! I fold my arms across my chest and look out the side window watching my freedom disappear as we pull away from the curb.

The car ride is a tense affair, the air thick with unspoken threats and the weight of Radomir’s power. I fidget in my seat, trying to ignore the way Dolph’s eyes track my every move in the rearview mirror.

“Keep your eyes on the fucking road. A child or dog could run in front of you. I’m not going to jump out!” Although to be fair, I would if I could. “You’ve trapped me in here, remember? So if we get hit by a truck and the two of you are knocked out. I can’t get out of here to pull you from the vehicle when it catches alight.” My eyes narrow at him in the mirror. “We’ll all just burn!”

“We’re just going three blocks,” Fredrik turns to me from the front passenger seat. “The chances of that happening are slim.”

“Your part of a crime family,” I point out. “I’d say that while the chances of that happening to a normal person are slim.” I suck in a breath through my clenched teeth. “For you guys...” I tilt my hand, indicating fifty-fifty. “Ehhhh.”

“I’m still not releasing the child lock,” Dolph tells me. “If that happens, you’ll have to climb over the seat.” He catches my eye and grins. “Then you can run off and leave us to burn.”

Is it wrong that I’m hoping a truck or bus hits us? I shake the thought off, and as soon as I do, the image of Radomir’s angry, burning eyes standing in the middle of the shitshow I caused flashes in my mind. A cold shiver slices down my spine, and I gulp nervously as we turn toward the parking garage— fuck, there’s never a bus or truck when you need it.

The car descends into the Diamond Hotel’s underground parking garage, a cavernous space that seems to stretch on forever. The sleek lines of luxury vehicles gleam under the fluorescent lights, showing off the wealth and power surrounding me.

We glide to a stop. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the tinted window—auburn hair tousled, green eyes blazing with a mix of defiance and trepidation hiding the fear. I looked like a woman on the edge, and I suppose, in many ways, I am—on the edge of my last hours on earth or breathing fresh air when I’m locked up in some underground dungeon.

Dolph exits the driver’s seat, moving to open my door. He watches me wearily as Fredrik joins him. I slide out and stand between them.

“A lot of women would kill to be going to meet the boss in his penthouse,” Dolph tells me. I’m not sure if that’s meant to make me feel better. But it doesn’t. “And don’t worry. If he wanted to kill or torture you, we’d be going that way!” He points to a door marked Private, and I stifle a shudder.

“I’m sure most of the women that go to your boss’s penthouse aren’t being taken there against their will,” I retort, my gaze darting around the garage, searching for any means of escape. “Could we rather go that way?” I point to the private door that leads to Radomir Molchanov’s hell.

But Fredrik shakes his head, realizing I’m trying to distract them to make a dash. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns. “You wouldn’t make it ten feet before the other guards catch you.”

I swallow hard, my bravado faltering in the face of his quiet intensity. I know he’s trying to be as kind as he can, and he is right, of course. Even if I could outrun them and the invisible men lurking in the shadows—where would I go?

My best option is to play it smart, bide my time, and wait for an opportune moment.

Dolph leads me towards the elevators. I can’t help but marvel at the grandeur of even the Diamond Hotel’s parking garage. This place is a world unto itself, a glittering oasis of luxury and excess that seems to mock the gritty reality of the streets beyond its walls—where I’m from.

The elevator whizzes upward, each second carrying me closer to my doom. Beneath the facade of luxury, danger lurks in every shadow... It’s in the watchful eyes of the security guards and the hushed conversations that fall silent as we pass. The air all around me hums with a kind of coiled tension.

Fear starts to escalate as we get nearer to the top floor. What the fuck has my father gotten me into? My heart is hammering against my ribcage as the elevator doors slide open with a soft chime and a tiny bounce.

Dolph ushers me inside, but Fredrik stays in the lift. He has an exchange in Russian—of course it’s one of the languages I don’t speak. Why couldn’t my father have lost me to the Italian or Greek mafia? I speak those languages. Shit, I’d even do better with some Spanish warlord, as I’m fluent in that too.

Fredrik nods goodbye, and the elevator doors slide closed, sealing us inside the sprawling penthouse suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city below, the lights of the Strip glittering like a sea of stars. If I weren’t petrified and trying to rack my brain on how to get the fuck out of here, I would’ve been gaping at the sight sparkling outside the spotless windows.

Dolph ushers me through to the living room. I’ve only ever seen places like this in magazines. Plush leather sofas, gleaming marble floors, and an enormous crystal chandelier casting a soft, ambient glow over everything. Fuck! It’s magnificent. A lifestyle I’d only ever dreamed of. And how the hell does the Dark Lord’s cleaning crew get everything so shiny and clean?

“The boss will be here soon,” Dolph assures me as if I wanted to know that. “While we wait, I’m going to have to ask you to hand over your purse.”

I hesitate, my fingers tightening instinctively around the strap. My eyes meet Dolph’s. His has a terrifying hard edge, but they soften slightly looking at me. Like he’s trying to be gentle and not scare me. Well, it’s not working that well because I’m fucking terrified—well, on the inside, I’m terrified. But I’m damned if I’m letting anyone else know.

He steps forward, holding out his hand, and I know I have no choice. Slowly, reluctantly, I slip it off from around me and hand it to him. Letting the strap slip from my grasp, I watch as Dolph immediately unzips it and rifles through it like a mall cop looking for stolen goods.

As Dolph rummages through my purse, I fight the urge to snatch it back. There’s a lot of personal shit in there.

“Seriously?” Dolph says, holding up my lockpicking set. “

I force a smile, trying to look indifferent. “For when I accidentally lock myself out of my apartment.”

Dolph raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “And the pepper spray?” he asks, dangling the small canisters between his fingers. “Expecting to be caught in a mob raid? How many cans of the shit do you need?”

I shrug, remembering that the one tin must be nearly empty after I dumped it out in my father’s face. A twang of guilt hits me, but I harden my resolve—the fucking bastard deserved to have his eyeballs burned out their sockets for what he’s done to me.

I look at Dolph. “A girl can never be too careful these days.”

Dolph chuckles, shaking his head. “We’ll need to replace this one.” He shakes it, and I know it must be the one that I shot my father with. “I think you nearly emptied the entire can.”

“I have no regrets!” I hold my chin high and see that flash of admiration in the big guy’s eyes again.

He shoves the cans back into my purse and scratches in it once more before looking at me with narrow eyes. “Please give me your phone as well.” Dolph zips up my purse but doesn’t hand it back, I note.

My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to remain calm. I hope I don’t get a message, as it’s on vibrate, and I’m sure my jeans will shake. “I don’t have it with me,” I lie.

Dolph’s eyes narrow, his gaze boring into mine as he tries to figure out whether I’m lying.

I sigh. Unzipping my sweater, I pull it off and lift my arms, trying to ignore the throbbing in my hand. My pink T-shirt hugs my figure, leaving no space to hide a phone. I pat down my jeans, showing him there is no rectangular bump, then spin around, patting the pockets on my ass as if searching for the device.

“See, no phone! And I promise I don’t keep it between my butt crack,” I say, giving my tight, jean-clad butt a cheeky wiggle.

“I’ll be sure to check a little later!” The deep voice makes me whirl around, my heart leaping into my throat as my eyes lock with Radomir Molchanov.