Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  The door to the bathroom opened as she tried to work up the nerve to leave the safety of the filthy stall. The techno-beats pumping through the club grew louder for a moment before fading when the door swung closed.

  Heels clicked across the dirty floor.

  Lillian took a deep breath as she reached for the lock on the stall and slid it open, ready to do this and get it over with. She froze when her gaze landed on the tall blonde standing at the sink in heavy makeup, a tiny skirt, and a see-through handkerchief shirt.

  Hannah Ramone. One of Anton Vetrov's people.

  Fear raced through Lillian as her heart took a swan dive into her stomach. She bit her lip hard, silently reminding herself that she had to keep it together. She could not panic simply because one of Anton Vetrov's people had to use the restroom. Taking a deep breath, she shuffled toward the sink, stepping carefully to avoid the pile of trash overflowing into the floor.

  Hannah glanced over, coldly assessing Lillian as she limped toward the sink. With her choice of attire, it would have been so easy to mistake Hannah for some poor woman who'd turned to Vetrov because she had nowhere else to go. But the hard glint in her green eyes, the malevolence, sent a chill up Lillian's spine. The woman was dangerous, as greedy and violent as anyone else on Vetrov's payroll.

  Lillian had seen her rap sheet. The woman was a sadistic psycho.

  "What are you staring at?" she snapped, her eyes narrowing on Lillian.

  "Sorry," Lillian mumbled, flushing.

  Hannah rolled her eyes and turned back toward the mirror, pulling a tube of lip-gloss from the tiniest pocket ever. Stepping up to the sink, Lillian washed her hands, trying to avoid looking at the woman. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure the other woman could hear it. Thank God her eyes were still dilated from fear and adrenaline. She looked a lot like the other women here, all flushed and jittery.

  She spun toward the paper towel dispenser, eager to get out of here. As usual when she tried to pivot on her bad leg, it buckled, pitching her forward. "Oh shit," she cursed, grabbed for the grimy plastic dispenser to keep herself upright. Her shoulder slammed hard into the edge of the dented metal. Biting back a groan, she righted herself as Hannah pulled the phone from the same tiny pocket as her lip gloss and peered at it.

  "Huh," she said, her green eyes flickering to Lillian and then away. "You okay?"

  "Excuse me?"

  Hannah typed something into the phone, and then tucked it away. "You nearly fell," she said then, looking Lillian up and down.

  "I'm fine," she muttered.

  "You always limp?" Hannah fluffed her hair.

  "Yes." Lillian tossed the paper towels into the trashcan, careful to avoid the needle sticking up. Careful to avoid Hannah's gaze, too. She didn't want to know if the woman found any pleasure in her physical limitations. She kind of had the feeling the blonde would enjoy it though.

  "Why?"

  She glanced reluctantly at the woman. "Dancing accident."

  Hannah grimaced and smacked her lips, but didn't comment or pry for more information about her accident. "Have you been here before?"

  "A few times," she answered carefully.

  "I thought you looked familiar. You come here with the hottie, right? Tall, dark, and fuckable?" Hannah turned away from the mirror and leaned up against the sink.

  Lillian watched her, alarm bells ringing in her head. Hannah's faux-friendliness didn't reflect in her eyes, making her skin crawl. The fact that the woman recognized her well enough to ask about Tristan made her hands shake. The fact that Hannah found Tristan fuckable made her want to scratch the woman's eyes out.

  "I used to," she answered instead, being careful to stick to their concocted story.

  "That man is something else," the statuesque blonde said, shooting her a fake smile. "I've seen him around a few times. Hard to miss someone that gorgeous. Lucky girl."

  "Not that lucky," Lillian lied. Her voice trembled. Shit. She was supposed to hate Tristan, not want to cry over him. She had to sell the lie or all of this would be for nothing. Fixing her expression into a scowl, she tried again. "He's a lying asshole with an ego far larger than his dick. Getting involved with him was the biggest mistake of my life."

  "Really?" Hannah smirked. "What a pity."

  Lillian shrugged instead of answering.

  The blonde watched her for another minute and then started toward the door. "Well, I'm sure you'll find someone out there to replace him with. It looks like the weekend came early. It's pretty wild. Have fun."

  "Thanks."

  Hannah gave her another fake smile before pushing her way out of the bathroom.

  "Oh my God," Lillian whispered as soon as the door swung closed behind the woman. She took a deep breath and then another, her hands shaking so hard she felt like her arms vibrated. In the thousands of scenarios that had play through her head about what might happen tonight, having a chat in the bathroom with one of the guards hadn't made the list.

  The entire conversation freaked her out. Hannah had looked at her one minute like she was scum, and then chatted her up like they were old friends the next. Who did that? And why had she brought up Tristan? Did she know him and Lillian were still together?

  How could she know?

  They'd been so careful since her fake arrest. There was no way Hannah knew he waited across the street right this minute. She'd been testing Lillian, feeling her out. That's all. She needed to get it together. Women struck up conversations in bathrooms all the time.

  Why wouldn't Hannah notice Tristan? He was sexy as hell, with those gorgeous blue eyes and olive skin. Not to mention that hard body of his and the confident, dominant way he moved. It was hard not to notice or want him. Too bad Lillian didn't really believe that's why Hannah had mentioned him. She'd been after something, and Lillian didn't like that thought at all.

  They will kill you for the most benign reason.

  Tristan's warning echoed in her mind as she tried to get herself together. She couldn't give them a reason. His safety depended on her not giving them a reason to doubt her or wonder why she'd really come here tonight.

  "You can do this," she chanted to herself. "You have to do this for Tristan."

  It took a couple of minutes, but by some miracle the mantra began to work. She pulled together the frayed ends of her nerves as best she could. She wouldn't jeopardize him. She wouldn't.

  "I hate this," she whispered, picking up her cup from the sink as she started for the door. "I seriously hate this."

  "Ames."

  "Yeah?" Jason answered Kincaid, his eyes trained on the crowd outside the club. At barely ten-thirty, the place was already a madhouse. The sight had bile burning up his throat. The way Tristan stood at the windows, unmoving, worried him. He hadn't said a word since demanding Liam retrieve Lillian. For the past fifteen minutes, he'd simply been standing there, staring out the window, his entire body tense.

  "There's someone out here."

  "What?" Jason let the curtain fall from his grasp.

  "He just came around the side of building. It's too fucking dark to get a good look at him, but he's a big son of a bitch."

  "One of the guards?"

  "Not sure."

  Shit.

  "Watch him, Kincaid," Jason demanded.

  Tristan slumped forward, resting his forehead on the edge of the windowsill. A shudder ripped through him, sending chills up and down Jason's spine. He was on the verge of losing it. Big time. And Jason didn't know if he'd be able to keep him under control when the shit hit the fan this time. The only one who could do that was Lillian.

  Where the hell was Liam?

  Lillian stepped out of the bathroom, rearing back as a group of girls pushed past her. They reeked of alcohol as they piled into the bathroom, oblivious to everything but their own mindless chatter. She pressed herself to the wall, cursing under her breath when another group followed right behind the first.

  As they pushed into the now crowded room, Lillian noticed the sam
e redhead from earlier leaning against the opposite wall. Hannah pushed her way through the crowd ahead, her hips swaying. The redhead's eyes darted in Hannah's direction and then away.

  Lillian glanced at her retreating form and then back to the redhead only to find the woman now staring at her. When their eyes met, a shiver raced through Lillian. The woman's eyes were hard, full of malice.

  Something wasn't right. The brief flare of recognition in the redhead's eyes as they'd passed one another the first time. Hannah's unexpected entrance into the bathroom. Her questions. And now the redhead again.

  When the bathroom door swung closed, leaving her and the redhead in the hall alone, she became absolutely certain she wasn't overreacting.

  Something was very, very wrong.

  The redhead reached behind her back.

  Terror hit Lillian in a wave as the woman aimed a gun at her, smiling sweetly.

  Her cup fell from her hands, the alcohol inside splashing her legs.

  Chapter Twelve

  "What the fuck is taking so long?" Tristan demanded, fighting hard to contain the panic threatening to consume him. He couldn't afford to lose it right now. Getting Lillian the fuck out of there before anything happened to her was his priority.

  "I don't know," Jason said.

  Tristan turned back to the window, his eyes locked on the doors to Teplo. People flowed in and out of the club in groups, some clinging to their partners, others stumbling around. Not a single one of them looked anything like his ballerina.

  "Where are you?" he asked, watching as another group poured out of the doors, and then another. Seconds ticked by. A full minute. Lillian still didn't emerge.

  "Ames." Kincaid's voice was a soft murmur through the radio.

  "Yeah?"

  "It's the big fucker with the weird name."

  "Malachi?" Tristan asked, snatching up the portable.

  "Yeah, that one. He's waiting for something."

  Malachi.

  Something was wrong. Really fucking wrong.

  Lillian.

  Tristan didn't give Jason a chance to say a word. He tossed the radio aside and took off, flinging the front door open so hard it crashed into the wall. He didn't stop, not even when Jason shouted his name. Fear burned through him like acid as he jogged across the street and started pushing his way through the crowd outside of Teplo, barely registering their outraged exclamations as he shoved them aside, Lillian's name a litany in his head.

  "Hello, Miss Maddox," the redhead yelled over the music, keeping the gun close to her body.

  Every instinct Lillian had screamed for her to run as the woman sauntered across the hallway toward her, but she couldn't. She stood frozen, too terrified to do anything as the woman drew to a stop beside her. Lillian had never seen her before, but she was absolutely positive the woman worked for Vetrov like Hannah did.

  "Elijah is going to be so disappointed when he finally gets to meet you," the woman shouted conversationally, as if pulling a gun on someone was a totally normal thing to do.

  "Who…who's E-Elijah?" Lillian managed to stutter out, her eyes darting around the hallway, looking for help. There was none. They were the only two in the hallway. And no one would ever hear her scream over the music.

  Please let someone walk out of the bathrooms, she prayed. She could feel her phone pressing against her chest inside her bra, but it might as well have been on her bedside table at home for all the good it did her right then. She couldn't even reach for the damn thing with the redhead holding a gun on her, let alone hit the panic button.

  "No one you need to worry about right now."

  Lillian bit her tongue, fighting the urge to whimper as the woman shoved the gun into her side until it dug painfully into her ribs.

  "Here's the deal, ballerina, you walk out the back door without a fight, and I won't shoot you. Try to run, and I'll put a bullet between your eyes. Try to scream, and you'll be dead before you can make a sound."

  "Who are you?" she forced out around the lump in her throat, fighting back panic. She couldn't freak out. She couldn't. She had to stay calm, focused. She needed to breathe. Find out who the woman was and what she wanted. Stay alive long enough for someone to help her. Liam McGregor was stationed outside the back door. All Lillian had to do was follow the woman's instructions and they'd run into him.

  "You can call me a fan." She smirked and nudged Lillian with the gun. "Start walking or I will shoot you. And if that doesn't motivate you, I'll let my friend Paulo shoot the two bodyguards stationed at your house right now."

  Tristan and Jason.

  Oh God, no. No, no, no.

  "Please don't hurt them," she pleaded, terror stabbing into her chest.

  "Then start walking," the redhead barked.

  Lillian bit her tongue hard against the urge to scream and started walking toward the door on trembling legs, willing to do whatever the redhead wanted so long as Paulo didn't hurt Tristan or Jason.

  Please, God, don't let him hurt them. Please don't take Tristan from me.

  "You're incredibly hard to get alone. Elijah didn't think that cop of yours would ever leave your side, especially not after what happened to that poor dead girl. And then the other pig came and got you and you disappeared for a couple of days. We didn't think you'd have the balls to show your face here again. But sometimes, you just get lucky, you know?" the redhead said, laughing.

  The childlike sound of her laughter scratched at Lillian like nails on a chalkboard. A wave of nausea rolled through her as the redhead shoved the door open with her free hand. The light spilling from the open door didn't illuminate much, but what little she could see was more than enough to pull a frightened whimper from her throat.

  Malachi stood right outside, waiting for them. Malachi who had raped and abused and violated more women than Lillian cared to count. The only one worse than him was Paulo. And that wasn't by much. Malachi was a monster. An evil, soulless monster.

  "It took you long enough," he said. "Her boyfriend will start looking for her soon."

  "Her boyfriend is otherwise occupied," the woman retorted, pushing Lillian out the door.

  "Good." Malachi reached out and grabbed her arm in a vise-grip.

  The woman removed the gun from Lillian's side. "Don't worry, ballerina," she said, smiling. "You won't be hurt. Much."

  "Fucking junkie bitch," Malachi muttered under his breath as the woman slammed the back door of the club closed, cutting off her laughter and the music at once. "Let's go."

  He didn't give her time to respond before dragging her away.

  "Oh, snap," Michael whispered, watching from the bushes as the back door opened, revealing Riley's girl and a redhead with a gun. Little Mama looked like a scared little rabbit with wide eyes as the woman shoved her outside. She stumbled, her face ashen.

  Malachi caught her, wrapping one big hand around her arm.

  Pain flared in her expression, a soft cry breaking from her lips.

  Fucking hell. This was so not part of the plan.

  "Ames," he hissed into the headset as quietly as he could, trying to hear what the redhead and the big ass guard said at the same time. The sound of their voices didn't care over the music spilling out the door, though. And then the redhead laughed before slipping back inside the club, leaving Riley's girl with Malachi. That was fine though. He didn't exactly want to have to rescue Little Mama from both of them, and he was fairly certain he'd be able to identify the bitch later anyway.

  "Ames," he hissed a second time when the behemoth started dragging Lillian through the mine-field they called a yard.

  "Yeah?"

  "We've got a situation. A really fucking big situation," he added as shadows swallowed the behemoth guard and Riley's girl. "Malachi has Little Mama."

  "Say that again," Jason demanded, certain he'd heard Kincaid wrong. There was no way he'd just said–

  "The big fucker, Malachi, has Lillian."

  Ah, hell. Tristan was going to go ballistic.


  "I'm going after him," Kincaid continued, his voice faint, as if he were whispering.

  "I'm circling around now," Dodd added.

  "Fucking hell," Jason swore savagely, already dialing Simon's number. "Kincaid, get her back now!" he demanded, not even willing to consider what might happen if he didn't. "Alvarez, get inside and get Riley and McGregor out of there."

  "On it," Kincaid said.

  "On my way," Alvarez said half a second later.

  "What's up?" Simon answered on the second ring.

  "Turn on the tracker in Lillian's phone now," he barked into the phone. "She's been removed from the club."

  "Whoa."

  "Now, Simon!" Jason snapped. "Kincaid, hurry the fuck up."

  He pressed the end button and started dialing again.

  Tristan cut across the dance floor, shoving people out of his way when they didn't move fast enough, his head swiveling from side to side as he tried to locate Lillian beneath the pulsing lights. The blond stood near the bar, smirking, but she was nowhere to be found.

  Was she still in the bathroom?

  Christ, he hoped so.

  Pushing his way through the people milling in groups, he sprinted toward the hallway, not giving a shit who saw him. He was seriously losing it.

  If something—anything—happened to her.

  "No," he said to himself, darting around a redhead into the hallway. At the last second, he reached out and grabbed the woman's arm. "Have you seen a brunette? Tall, wearing a black skirt, limping?"

  "She's in the bathroom." The redhead rolled her eyes. "She was nearly hysterical when I was in there. You know her?"

  Tristan mumbled his thanks before tearing down the hallway.

  "Oh my God!" someone screeched when he slammed the door open, darting inside.

  "Lillian!"

  The women standing at the sink turned to look at him, gaping. As if they hadn't seen groups of people fucking in this same bathroom before. One girl still had a needle jabbed into her vein, for Christ's sake. They should have been used to random men popping up in this shithole.