“I’m sorry, but I actually—” I start, but the man’s arm tightens around my waist and he shakes his head. My heart splutters in my chest. Who is this guy? Who did Yuri give me to?
“I’m going to talk,” the man says through a fake smile. “And you’re going to listen.”
I blink several times.
“Do you understand?” he asks.
When he pulls me even tighter against him, I finally nod.
“601278203138,” he whispers slowly. “Now, repeat that.”
I stare at him blankly. “What?”
He huffs. “Listen and repeat. The song is almost over. Sixty. Twelve. Seventy-eight. Twenty. Thirty-one. Thirty-eight.”
My heart is hammering in my chest, and I have no idea what is going on, but I feel like if I pass this test, the man will let me go. So, I take a deep breath. “Sixty. Twelve. Seventy-eight. Twenty. Thirty-one. Thirty-eight.”
Just as I say the last number, the piano player finishes his song with a flourish and stands up as the crowd claps. The blond man takes my hand, bows, and then is gone. Yuri immediately takes his place.
“Repeat them.”
“Who was that?” I ask, watching the blond man head for the doors into the lobby. He’s leaving.
Yuri steps closer to me until he’s all I can see, and that’s when I notice the flashing red light in his hand. He has a recorder, and I’m supposed to repeat what I just heard. Voice shaking with confusion and fear that I’m becoming part of something unforgivable, I repeat the numbers once, and then again. As soon as I finish the second time, Yuri drops the recorder in his pocket and walks me back to the table. He orders another bottle of wine, and I drink more than I should.
Chapter Eight
Yuri
I wish I knew what Bella is thinking. About the man who cut in on the dance floor. About the numbers she had to memorize. About me.
She looks incredible in the dress I ordered for her. I got her size from a shop she went to the week before. The woman behind the counter was more than willing to give me Bella’s information when I told her I was Bella’s boyfriend and wanted to surprise her with a dress for our anniversary. People love being part of other people’s romantic gestures.
It’s devastatingly low-cut, revealing the entire inside curve of her breasts, and it takes physical effort not to lick my way across her exposed skin the way I did in the suite. And the hemline is shorter than anything she normally wears. Whether because of her own preference or her father’s political status, her hemlines usually remain firmly around her knee, but now she’s showing off a delicious slice of thigh, and I can’t help but remember how they felt wrapped around my waist.
Having sex with her was the best bad idea I’ve ever had. It complicates things, weakens my control over her. How is she supposed to take me seriously when she watched me fall apart inside of her? But the more important question is: how am I supposed to care when falling apart felt so good?
“What was that about?”
Bella’s slur pulls me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been staring at her chest during my entire reverie. Bella must have noticed because she twists slightly away from me and crosses one arm over her chest. The other is too busy holding onto her wineglass.
I raise an eyebrow in question and she sighs. “You know what I’m talking about. The man on the dance floor. The secret numbers.”
I hiss for her to lower her voice. “Emphasis on secret.”
She waves a dismissive hand at me. “No one is paying attention to us.”
“That isn’t true.” I tip my head towards the bar and the bearded bald man who has been staring at Bella like he’s trying to communicate telepathically with her. “He’s paying a lot of attention to us. Or rather, to you.”
She looks over, tips her chin down in a shy smile, and winks at him. The man bites his lower lip, and I want to rip it off his face. Instead, I drop my fist on the table a little harder than necessary. Bella looks over at me and rolls her eyes. “Is it against the rules for me to flirt with guys now? I need to keep a list of everything I’m not allowed to do.”
“Flirt with whomever you want,” I say. “This isn’t high school. I just wish you’d stop flirting with men who don’t have a chance with you. You’re going to make them think they can do better and ruin them on other women forever.”
She narrows her eyes at me, her lips pouting out in a way that makes me want to pounce on her. “You keep saying that like I’m a supermodel or something. I don’t exactly have men beating down my door.”
“You could change that if you wanted,” I say simply, afraid to say much more.
Bella tilts her head to the side, her freshly washed hair tumbling over her shoulder in loose waves. Her face is bare and interesting, and I want to study it, figure out what it is about her that draws me in. But she’s staring at me, and I don’t want her to see what is behind my eyes. “You know, that was almost a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Bella tucks her legs underneath her and leans across the table on her elbows. Her dress is gaping open around the neck, and I can see the points of her nipples. She licks her lower lip. “I think I’m drunk.”
“No, you aren’t,” I say,
