Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 88

Ruslan’s arm only winds tighter around me as he drops his lips to my ear. “What do you want to do?”

“Mr. Control Freak is asking me what I want to do?”

His grin is intoxicating. “Thought I’d mix things up for once.”

“Then I want to dance!”

Cheesing from ear to ear, I drag him onto the middle of the dance floor. A huge, studded disco ball revolves overhead, bathing us in strobe lights as the music intensifies.

When was the last time I was in a club? When was the last time I danced? It’s been so long ago that the last dancing partner I can remember is Sienna. I brace myself for the usual pang that comes up whenever I think of her—but for once, I don’t feel sad that she’s gone.

I’m just grateful I got those wild, carefree moments with her, however brief they were.

I keep a hand on Ruslan’s shoulder while I roll my body into his. The music is so loud that I can feel it in my bones. The only way to communicate is through body language. Luckily, Ruslan knows exactly how to communicate with his. I shouldn’t be surprised, really—the man is good at everything.

He spins me around, pulling me close enough to slide his hand up my skirt. The way his hands glide over me, touching and caressing without ever lingering for too long—it feels like a dance in and of itself. A dance meant to drive me crazy. Every time his fingers run up my inner thigh or snake over my breasts, I shudder with longing, wondering just how far his public sex fetish is capable of going.

I’m pretty sure the answer is, He’d fuck you right here if you let him.

At one point, I tease him right back by flicking my tongue over his salty neck. He answers by pulling me against him so tightly that I can feel his erection at my thigh. He slides his own tongue into my mouth and the music kind of fades into the background. When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and completely wet.

On second thought, fuck the games. I need more.

“Restroom,” I mouth to him. “Now.”

He smirks and nods once. I bite my lip suggestively and walk backwards off the dance floor, making eye contact with him the whole time.

The restrooms on the bottom floor are packed, dozens of women queued up for their turn. So I head up the stairs to try my luck with the bathrooms on the second mezzanine. Maybe they’ll afford us a little more privacy. Before I can even locate the bathroom, I feel his presence behind me.

Hm, he’s following more closely than I thought. Someone’s eager…

But when he grips me tight around the elbow and whips me around, my excitement turns to dread. His smell is wrong. His presence feels different. This touch promises pain, not pleasure.

Then I realize that it’s not Ruslan who followed me at all.

“Remmy!” My eyes bulge with shock.

“You look sexy.”

It’s amazing how the exact same compliment can give you two completely different reactions. Ruslan made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.

Remmy is making me feel like I’m cornered prey.

“You need to get a fucking life!”

I reach for my phone so that I can call Ruslan but Remmy slaps it out of my hand. When I reach down to get it, he twists my arm and yanks me into him.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Get off me!”

“No,” he hisses. “Not until you give me what I want.”

I would scream if it weren’t for the fact that the music is so damn loud and not one solitary soul in this building will hear me. Which leaves me with two options.

Option one: wait for someone to pass by so that I can get their attention.

Or option two—fight back.

I like the second option better.

Summoning up all my courage, I push Remmy back as hard as I can and try to race around him. He stumbles momentarily, but he still manages to grab me by the waist and reel me backwards before I can get away. Reacting blindly, I stomp down. My heel digs into the toe of his wingtips and he howls in pain.

These Prada heels may not have been made for running. But they work pretty damn well for fighting.

I take advantage of his wild hopping and kick him in the balls. I don’t even realize how close we are to the staircase until Remmy loses his balance and starts to fall.

Finally. A fight I fucking won for a change.

The relief stops at my throat—right when his hand grabs a hold of my ankle. “No—!” I get the wind knocked out of me as he pulls me down with him and we both go soaring into the air above the staircase.

First, there’s fear.

Then there’s pain.

Then there’s nothing at all.

62

RUSLAN

“Alert security,” I growl. “She has to be here somewhere.”

Kirill eyes me warily. “When did you lose sight of her?”

“Just a few minutes ago. I was following her—” Desperate for the fuck that we were both teasing each other with all night— “and then Kostya intercepted me and got in my face about some unruly son of a bitch in the VIP section. By the time he finished talking, she was gone. She was heading to one of the bathrooms.”

“Bathrooms. Got it. I’ll start with the one on this floor.”

I stride towards the first mezzanine. She was probably put off by the crowds on the ground floor. I’m trying as hard as I fucking can not to panic but there’s this gnawing feeling in my gut that’s eerily familiar.

It’s the same one I had the day of the accident.

Something’s not right. She should have returned from the bathroom by now. More importantly: I should never have let her out of my sight.

“Ruslan!” Kirill reappears and trails me to the second mezzanine. “The bathrooms on the base level are clear.”

I follow an empty corridor off to the left. It leads to a few private rooms that VIPs can book at their discretion. As I walk, I try calling Emma again. The ringtone is loud and clear—and echoing down the corridor.

Kirill and I run towards the sound… only to find her phone face down on the floor.

“Fuck,” I growl.

“It’s possible she dropped her phone.”

“This is not a fucking accident, Kirill,” I snap. “This is someone’s doing.”

I keep walking until I hit the staircase. I freeze at the landing when I see her body crumpled at the bottom of the steps.

“Call an ambulance,” I yell. “Now!” In my head, one thought beats like a fucking drum.

No.

No.

No.

Not again.