He backhanded her so hard her head snapped back, hitting the doorframe.
Shocked by his attack, Izzy cried out as pain radiated from where her skull had hit the doorframe to her mouth that had connected with his hand. Covering her face as the copper taste of her blood filled her mouth, she looked up at the furious giant. “Andre, what are you doing?” she sobbed. He had never touched her or any of the other girls like this before. Had he lost his mind?
“Give me video,” he said again. The tone of his voice held a hard menacing edge. Fear seeped deep into her. Her hand trembled as she touched her swelling bloody lip.
Moving back into the corner of the small room, bracing herself for another hit, she said, “Please, Andre, I told you, my phone was stolen. It hasn’t turned up yet.”
He hit her again, this time making contact with her hands. Pain shot through her fingers protecting her face to her arms, reverberating along her spine. When he raised his hand again to strike her, something inside of Izzy snapped. She was done being pushed around. No more would she allow anyone, not even this giant of a man, to bully her or make her afraid.
Lowering her hands, she straightened. His eyes widened as his fist tightened. “Touch me again, Andre, and you’ll never get the video!” she hissed.
His eyes narrowed. But he didn’t strike her.
“Do you know what’s on that video?” she asked, her accusatory tone implying he was a moron.
His lip curled as he mentally considered the possibilities.
When he didn’t answer, she told him. “That fed snorting coke off my tits. Him talking about how it was primo shit and there was lots more where it came from.” She moved into his personal space. “How do you think Boris is going to like you beating me up and making it so that I don’t want to come back to work? If he knew what was on that video and that you fucked it up for him, he might fuck you up a little!”
She’d never been so nervous yet so confident in her life. The tables had completely turned. Shoving past him, Izzy sat down at her dressing table. “Now get me some ice so I don’t have to walk around with a fat lip all night.”
When he stalked out of the stuffy room, Izzy let out a long sigh of relief. Her hand shook when she touched her bloody lip again. Hurt like hell. She was cut, and it was swelling. Great, her tips were going to be crappy tonight.
Crystal brought her an ice pack a few minutes later. Avoiding eye contact and wordless, she handed Izzy the ice, then hurried from the room.
Placing the pack to her lips, she hissed. It stung. After ten minutes her lip was numb, still swollen, but not bleeding. It would have to do. Once she had morphed into Wild Style, Izzy stood and donned her uniform. The pink string bikini. Tonight when she put it on she did it slowly, not relishing anything about what she was going to walk into. Her focus was unwavering but her willingness to submit to the pawing and pandering that went on out in the club had diminished. She was over it. Not even for one hundred percent of her tips was she willing to continue donning the bikini.
With that clarity came a decision: The night she handed Boris the thumb drive would be her last night here. It was time to step back and let Flynn, Maddox, and Justin do what they did best. Catch the bad guys and find her sister.
Once Boris blackmailed Flynn, they would have the leverage to get the info on Alex. Izzy believed that with all her heart. She was also afraid. Even knowing Maddox was out in the club keeping an eagle eye on her. She was in danger here and would be foolish to continue working the club after she handed over the thumb drive. Because then there would be no more use for her. It didn’t take a genius to know what the Russian mafia did with items that no longer served them.
Hopefully, tomorrow night would be the last night she had to don the pink bikini and blue wig. Taking a deep cleansing breath, Izzy dug into her bag and retrieved the little envelope that contained the metal listening device. Opening it, she slid the tiny disc out onto her hand. Maddox had told her it would be remotely activated at nine o’clock tonight. The same time she stepped out onto the floor. All she had to do was get close enough to the big ugly Russian named Bushnik to slip it in his pocket.
Peeling off the small piece of double-sided tape that was on the backside of the envelope, Izzy stuck the device on it, then pressed it on the inside of her bikini bottom. Smoothing it out she looked down. Not even a hint of what was taped there.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, she nodded at her image in the mirror. It was show time. Throwing her shoulders back, Izzy strode confidently into the club.
Chapter Thirty-one
It was loud and crowded, unusual for a Thursday night. Immediately Izzy looked for Maddox and found him at the bar facing the dressing rooms. He looked past her, giving no clue that they knew each other, and sipped his drink.
Her heart pounded in her chest, suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Sitting next to him was Flynn. He made no effort to conceal his identity or his displeasure that she was working. When they made eye contact, she quickly looked away only to find Andre’s dark eyes on her. He looked over to where Flynn sat, then back to her. His eyes glittered.
Izzy quickly made her rounds. Approaching the bar, Andre pulled her aside.
“You have admirer,” he said, inclining his head toward Flynn.
“I told him not to bother me here.”
“Let him bother. I get you pill.”
“No more pills, Andre.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “You give pill if I say you give pill.”
She yanked her arm from his grasp. “No more pills.” Then she hurried past him and gave Dave the bartender her orders. An hour passed. Flynn nursed a drink while Maddox appeared to be getting tanked. She didn’t make contact because her tables were on the opposite side of the club from where they sat at the bar.
She noticed one of her front tables nearest the stage that had just been full of visiting Japanese businessmen had been cleared. She was sure the party wasn’t done; she had just refreshed their drinks. Andre came up behind her and said, “Special guest come. You dance on table. Gift from Boris.”
Her jaw dropped. While it wasn’t unheard of, and actually encouraged because table dances went for five hundred dollars a girl, the girls were expected to take everything but their bottoms off. The special guest, she suspected was Bushnik.
“Whe-when is he coming?”
“Ahhh,” Andre said, smiling. “He comes now.”
Izzy looked past Andre to the back of the club where there was a private entrance for VIPs. Surrounded by several men in dark suits, strode the big blond Russian, Miroslav Bushnik. He looked far more intimidating person then he did in the photographs she’d been shown.
Izzy slid the device from her bikini bottom, her hand sweaty from nerves. Please don’t drop it. As the entourage approached, she grabbed Andre’s arm. “He looks mean.”
Andre pushed her hand from his arm. “Is very mean. Do as told, no problems.”
As the man approached, his arctic blue eyes swept her from the tips of her peekaboo stilettos to the top of her blue-tipped head. His nostrils flared when she raised her chin, not flinching from his cold stare. He said something in Russian to Andre, who grabbed her by the chin and made her look down as the Russian approached.
“Show respect, dancer girl.”
Izzy twisted out of his grasp and when she did she lost her balance and fell against Bushnik.
He caught her, his big hands cool. He looked down at her, the silver striations in his ice blue eyes pulsing. “Do you know who I am?” he asked in perfect English.
“Do you know who I am?” Izzy asked.
The Russian stared at her, shocked by her impertinence.
Andre grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the guest of honor. “My apology, I get different girl.”