Page 39 of The Possessive Prince

Serena: After the stunt you pulled, you don’t get to tell me what to do. Circles, Nikolai.

We’re going in circles, she means. We’ve been over this. But it’s hard for a prince to accept not getting what he wants. Especially when all I want is to keep her safe.

CHAPTER 15

SERENA

Rafael and his men are drunker than usual, knocking back shots of expensive vodka and clapping each other on the back. They usually bring dates with them, but now, it’s all men. They leer at us as we bring them champagne, making subtle and crude comments. But they don’t touch us. It’s a strange atmosphere, like Rafael has told them they can only go so far. They talk about fighting, women, and drugs. Rafael boasts, “I am building an empire, brick by brick, and these little Russians don’t get to intrude upon that. I am the kingpin, not them.”

I clear away flutes, keeping my gaze down. I’ve managed to skate through the shift with a big smile and wide eyes so far.

At the service station, I text from the Iris number. I figured I should still use it for stuff like this, since it’s not in my name.

Iris: Is this some sort of power play? It’s like they want you to know that they can fill this club with men anytime they want or something.

X: You’ve hit the nail on the head. That’s exactly what this is. And that’s why you should get the hell out of here. Now.

Iris: They’re being respectful. By their standards, at least.

X: That’s not saying much. Don’t try to gather anything tonight. Just do your job.

I resist the urge to remind him not to boss me around again. I got ten grand for the Owen Price thing. How much would something else net me? I just need to stay calm and composed.

The reflection of the club flashes with lights above us. Nikolai’s standing behind that glass, his eyes fixed on me, watching my every move, I’m sure. It’s hard for that familiar tingle not to dance over my skin as I think about it. But anytime that starts to happen, the leering, bulky men crush that mood.

Hours pass, and the men begin to sneak off to the bathrooms. We all know they’re doing drugs in there. I can see Anton, the bald, scarred man who stares openly at the Marlin men, frowning in the direction of the bathrooms. The two bouncers, two tall football player types, exchange glances.

Iris: Why aren’t you stopping them?

X: He’s provoking me. I just need to ride this night out. Then that thing we talked about will be ready.

The hard drive. The information. As long as Owen Price is telling the truth.

Rafael gestures to me from his table, jittery and amped-up. I walk through the sea of forty or so men and twenty staff, then offer him a shot from the silver tray. He stares into my face, beaming from ear to ear, “Look at this ugly little thing, eh? You’d think she was a Miami girl, but the bitch doesn’t even speak Spanish. You don’t know what I’m saying, do you, bitch?”

I keep my face composed, blank. The men around him laugh. It’s the same, tired joke. He reaches into his pocket and flaps open his wallet. In Spanish, he grunts, “Dance for me, bitch.”

I catch a glimpse of his wallet. Cash. Credit card. And a strange-looking keycard in the transparent section. It stands out to me because I used to work events there part-time between college classes. The Delmaris Hotel, with blocky red letters reading All Access and Employee Only.

Luckily, my staring comes across as what he wants to see me as… an empty-headed woman ready to be bullied.

“Anything else, sir?” I ask brightly.

He tucks his wallet away. “You’re not going to pick up the cash, palomita?” he asks.

“That’s okay, sir.”

“Sir, sir, sir. Call me Rafe. That’s what my friends call me. Would you like to be my friend?”

“I’m happy to see you every time you visit us, sir.”

“You should show me,” he says, his eyes wild, his energy becoming unhinged. He pats his knee. “Show me, Serena. A name like that, and all you speak is ugly English. We call that a stupid pig where I come from, and stupid pigs do what they’re told.” He pats his knee again.

I feel like my head is going to explode. He sounds like Mateo when he’d put me down. Just to see me hurt.

“Speaking of pigs, I’d rather make love to one than sit on your lap, Rafe.”

A couple of his men chuckle reflexively, then quickly stop when they see how serious Rafael Cordero has taken it. He grits his teeth, flashing his silver tooth, then reaches out as if to touch me. I step back, bumping into one of his men.