Slave to the Rhythm by Jane Harvey-Berrick Page B

softly, glancing up at me from beneath long dark lashes.
    I didn’t believe him. Not even for a second. I gave him a supercilious look and turned my head away.
    “You are missing out,” he whispered.
    My jaw tightened in disgust.
    “Laney, is this guy bothering you?”
    I breathed a sigh of relief as Vanessa and Jo strode toward us, their lips pursed and their eyes flashing dangerously.
    Ash looked nervous, his glance flicking between my friends and the bouncers by the exit. He started backing away, his hands held out from his sides.
    “I just asked her to dance, that’s all. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
    Jo threw him a disbelieving look and stood with her hands on her hips.
    “Do you want to go back to your room now?” Vanessa asked.
    I nodded silently as Jo continued to glare.
    Vanessa walked behind my chair and handed me the pashmina that had been hanging on the back. Then she unlocked the brakes on the wheelchair and pushed me away from the table.
    Ash’s mouth dropped open.
    “Still think I’m pretty?” I asked him, as my eyes filled with tears.

Ash
    I PUSHED AWAY from the table, burning with humiliation and shock.
    She was pretty, the girl in the wheelchair. Natural, not fake like so many of the girls I saw in Vegas. Her hair was a warm, honey blonde that had been left straight and shiny. She’d worn a little makeup, but, only mascara and some lip gloss.
    I’d been attracted to her even though I knew that she wasn’t the type of woman who’d be interested in a guy like me. Not anymore.
    I thought about the kind of man I’d become—nothing better than a fucking prostitute. Although I still got to dance.
    And then if my evening wasn’t bad enough, I saw Sergei pushing through the crowded lobby toward me, Oleg in his wake.
    I turned and disappeared into the river of tourists.
    Two weeks. That’s all it had taken me to be persuaded to turn tricks for money. I disgusted myself.
    It had happened after rehearsals one evening. He’d sent another note, demanding money, demanding to meet.
    I knew what a meeting would mean: he’d never made any secret of the fact the he wanted to fuck me to clear the so-called debt.
    He’d started by leaving messages with Trixie and once with Gary, saying he wanted his money . . . or ‘a dinner date with my favorite dancer’. No fucking way! But the money I’d saved from my meager pay was a fraction of what he was asking for—and the amount increased daily. It was extortion—and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. It was so fucking frustrating knowing that I had € 5,000 sitting in a Slovenian bank, but I had no way of accessing it, despite my best efforts so far.
    I’d been avoiding Sergei, but I didn’t have the money and time was running out. Gary offered me a loan, but I could tell from the fear on his face that there would be repercussions. I’d thought about it and thought about it, losing sleep over what I had to do.
    That first time, I’d gone to a bar far away from the hotel, wanting nothing more than to be left in peace, to drink until I couldn’t feel anymore.
    But I hadn’t been seated at the bar for long when a woman came up to me.
    “Drinking alone?”
    I looked up, surprised, and realized that she was talking to me.
    “Yes,” I said, staring at the nearly empty beer that I’d drunk and wishing I could afford more—but not with Sergei’s threat dangling over my head, suspended by razor wire.
    The woman settled herself onto the stool next to me, her short skirt sliding up her legs.
    “Girlfriend stand you up?”
    I shook my head.
    “Boyfriend?”
    That made me look up, my glance sharp and annoyed.
    “No!”
    She gave a predatory smile and rested her hand on my thigh with a gentle squeeze.
    “Just checking. Whiskey? Or another beer?”
    This time I really looked at her.
    She was attractive, older, perhaps as much as forty, but she took care of herself and smelled good. I remembered what Volkov had said about earning