“What are you going to do?”
“Can I borrow something to wear? I’ve got some money saved so I can buy . . .” Then I swore. “They took my credit cards. Fuck it—I’ll have to cancel them. Can I borrow your cell?”
Gary nodded and handed me his phone. It took a while to make the calls and while I spoke to the credit card companies, Gary picked up my destroyed clothes and shoved the rags into garbage bags.
It was approaching 2AM by the time we went to bed. Gary wedged a chair against the door. It wouldn’t do much, but it made him feel better.
I don’t think either of us slept.
The next morning he loaned me some workout clothes. At least I had the dance shoes I’d used yesterday. That was something, but I needed to buy a performance pair along with, well, everything.
I planned to go shopping after work with Gary. He said he knew some discount places where I could get what I needed, and he’d loan me the money until I could get my cards replaced.
But when we got to rehearsals, Sergei was waiting for me. With Oleg.
“I just need to borrow him for a few hours,” he smiled at Elaine.
She didn’t look happy about it, but didn’t argue either. I had no choice but to go with him.
He led me through the staff entrance. It creeped me out to have Oleg walking behind me, wondering what he was going to do because he damn well wasn’t there for decoration.
At the kitchen, we halted and Sergei pointed his finger at one of the Asian cooks.
“Him,” he said. “He’s the one who broke into your room.”
The man looked terrified and started babbling in his own language as he backed away. When he turned to run, Oleg grabbed him by his arm and flung him against the wall. And then he punched him. Over and over again he punched him, methodically turning the man’s face into raw meat.
The other cooks fled and I stood there, watching a man being beaten half to death.
I did nothing.
I said nothing.
I couldn’t do anything except stare in horrified silence.
Oleg dropped the man to the floor, like a carcass from a butcher’s shop, then calmly washed his hands.
For the first time in my life, I was seeing more than everyday meanness or stupidity. We all say: I could kill him for that, but we don’t mean it literally. For the first time, I was staring at real evil.
Cold fingers of fear clawed their way into my chest as Sergei smiled and heaved a fake sigh.
“Koreans—always the same. Ah well, problem solved. Now, what can we do about your clothes? Although I’d much rather see you naked.”
And he laughed.
Still shocked, my flesh crawled when he laid his hand on my shoulder, slowly stroking down to my stomach.
Appalled, I stepped back abruptly, but Conan was standing behind me and wrapped a thick arm around my neck, cutting off the oxygen with expert speed.
The pressure on my throat increased each second. I fought with my whole body, striking out with legs and arms, but it was like hitting granite.
“That’s not very friendly when I’ve done you a favor,” Sergei commented as I fought for breaths.
He grinned as he grabbed my junk and squeezed hard.
“I’m sure we’ll be friends soon,” he whispered against my ear. “Good friends.”
My vision was turning black.
Then Conan let go, and I dropped to my knees, breath rasping through my crushed windpipe.
Fury and humiliation heated my blood, but fear cooled it again. I wanted to kill the bastard, but I didn’t want to die. This is a nightmare! Please God, let me wake up.
The mix of extreme emotions was disorienting.
I shook my head, trying to get my vision back and stop my ears from ringing. Slowly, my breathing started to ease, and Conan hauled me to my feet while Sergei smiled and clapped his hands together like a gameshow host.
“Shopping!”
I was still dazed, but seeing his grinning face, I felt a rush of raw anger, raw fucking anger.
I gritted my teeth, trying to remain calm. Dancing was everything to me and I’d lost count of the times I’d danced through the pain. That’s what I had to do right now—dance through the pain. Survive.
“Oleg will find a shop where we can get what you need. I would pay good money to see you dance—how fortunate I feel that you work for us.” Then he smiled. “Oh dear, you will owe me a lot of money for your new clothes. How on earth will you pay me back?”
His eyes glittered with lust and malice, enjoying the disgust he saw on my face.
I bit the inside of my mouth, tasting blood.
I will get out of here, I told myself. I will survive this. And then this evil bastard is going to pay. I swear it.
“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice an expressionless monotone.
I’m not sure what I was thinking. Maybe that if I talked normally to the psycho, he’d . . . I don’t know . . . behave normally? I didn’t want to die in this miserable hotel kitchen.