Page 226 of Bad Attitude
God, I hate that guy.
“Come with me,” Van Wyk growls.
He doesn’t give me a chance to refuse but shoves me forward, keeping me just in front of him as he marches us through the gallery,awayfrom the main doors. His grip is unshakable, and I know I’ll have bruises on my arm tomorrow. But I’m more worried about what’s going to happen right now.
We’re leaving Serranto behind; that’s the only positive.
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to pull my arm free with no effect.
Van Wyk doesn’t reply. We pass a couple, then another. They all glance at Van Wyk, then look away. They don’t even make eye contact with me.
Who the hell is this guy that no one dares intervene?
Shit. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe Serrantowasn’tthe dangerous one after all.
“Listen,” I try, “I’m sorry that—”
“Be quiet.”
“No, I don’t think I will be,” I hiss, my arm hurting and my fear and anger vying for attention. “If you don’t let go of me,right-fucking-now, I’m going to scream for security.”
“Go ahead,” he replies. “Iamsecurity.”
What?
I stare at him. It has to be a bluff. His tuxedo is as slick and smart as the best in the room, and he’s wearing a watch on the hand that’s holding me that has to be a Rolex or something.
“I don’t believe you,” I say as he manhandles me past the bar set against the back wall.
“Then fuck around and find out.”
Fine, whatever. I’ll brace through whatever bullshit ticking off he’s dragged me out here for, then I’m gone, Serranto’s hairs safely in my clutch. Except we’re running out of gallery, and people. He seems to be steering us toward a hallway signposted for the toilets. Maybe there’s a security office down there, and he is who he says he is.
Or maybe not.
“You can’tdothis.”
“You’re a gatecrasher. I very muchcan.”
“So what?” I force a laugh, and it sounds high and tight in my own ears. “A slap on the wrist, a misdemeanor at worst.”
“Not when our lawyers hit you with a corporate espionage suit.”
I stare at him. “What?” He can’t be serious.
“Private event, and you’re not on the list. We take such things very seriously.”
“You can’t do—”
“I told you to be quiet.”
I fall silent, real fear gripping me now, my anger faded.
We pass the men’s room, and I’m relieved that we haven’t stopped, or worse, turned in. I’m wondering where he’s taking me, and I sure as hell don’t want to be alone with him. Maybe I’d have considered it, at one point this evening, given the body under that tux and those intense steel-grey eyes. But that ship has sailed.
The ladies’ room is coming up on the other side of the hallway, but he doesn’t veer for that, either. Ahead, there’s a door outside, a red exit sign dimly lit.
“Where are we going?”
