CHAPTER SEVEN

Pace by pace, they made it to the session. Today, it was more than a VIP session. Masked, armed men lobbied the area.

Counting them in her head, Natasha made out more than ten guys. Before they were allowed inside, each girl was thoroughly searched.

It got to Natasha's turn, and she nearly punched the guy searching her. He was doing more than his job, fondling her breast and grabbing her ass.

She roughly pushed, glared, and tried joining the other girl.

"You're a wild cat," the guard whispered in her eye. "I like them fierce. Especially if they're common whores who think they have some form of dignity left. I'll have a taste of you when my boss finishes." He paused, and gave Natasha a once-over look, "that's if he chooses a low-life like you. Be grateful I even took note of you" he added.

It took more than digging her nails into her skin to retrain her. If it was anywhere else and that guy tried pulling something like what he did off, he would've ended up in the ICU with an appointment booked for orthopedics when he recovers from a coma.

Natasha wasn't the weak girl who couldn't look out for herself. That was why she felt safe walking late at night and even going to dangerous places.

Thanks to his lucky star, she was unable to do anything, since getting fired wasn't an option yet for her. But, keep testing her patience and she might take that walk out after making sure he didn't speak for a while.

Seductively, she moved close to him. "I'm sorry I acted like a bitch," she said with rising bile in her throat that she was fighting hard to swallow.

"Good girl," he admonished, grabbing a fistful of her hair. "Let's have fun after now."

Natasha, making sure that she was close enough to him, kicked him hard in the balls and the large man shrieked in pain, trying hard to muffle his cries.

He wriggled himself, reaching and holding his dick and balls in his hands, He was dressed in camouflage which made it more difficult for him to get the comfort he was seeking.

"Let's see how you'll shove your dick into some innocent girl when you're in pain." Bending to his level, "make sure I don't see you outside this club. Wherever you see me, run. Or, I promise you, you'll be reaching more than a kick." She turned around and continued to where she was headed.

Since it was dark and most of the guards had seen how rough and rude the man in pain was with the girls, they didn't intervene. Some chuckled and ignored him.

She was in. Alas, the sight that greeted her and the aura that surged through her was dangerous. She felt cold to the bones, irrespective of the non-exposing outfit she wore. The entire place was swarmed with girls.

She couldn't wait to gain her freedom. If it ever happened, then she would explore what she loved doing and not hide in places like this, beckoning the attention of lustful men.

Natasha bent and dropped the champagne she had in her hands on the table while distinctively looking around to find the reason for the entire fuss. She didn't see anyone.

Frustrated, she swirled around to leave and her navigating eyes fell on a shadow tucked away and covered by over five girls. The corner was dimly lit, with the only source of reflection coming from the blaring disco light in the middle of the room and out of the corners of the well-lit stripping pole on the stage.

She could read that it was a man, but besides that, nothing else. Her job was done. Time to leave. It was a shame that she didn't get a closer look at him.

Almost at the door, a powerful voice stopped her. Powerful yet agitating. "Where do you think you're going?" it asked. "Pour the drink," it commanded.

Natasha felt a brief loss of her existence before she regained herself. "Make him happy. Make him happy," she repeated in her head to cool the outburst she was holding in.

"What do these men think of girls trying to make ends meet? That because they're at their service, that makes them slaves" she questioned.

She was so tempted to leave but remembered the consequences of doing so. The incident outside might be forgiven because she was justified. If anything went wrong there, in that room, no explanation would sound reasonable.

She grabbed the bottle of Champagne, opened it, and poured him a glass. With bitterness at his manner, she reached him and handed the glass over.

As he gripped the glass about to take it from her, again, Natasha froze. Firstly, her hand had just touched the coldest and most well-proportioned slender male hand she had ever come in contact with.

His fingers were beautiful and looked greatly cared for, yet, his touch was electrifying. Just a mere brush of his hand did that. Imagine if it was all of him.

Secondly, she could see all of him. The light was on his face, and she saw every feature of the mixture of sweet and dangerous-looking male.

She found it hard to swallow or even breathe. Her pulse drummed in her throat as his emerald-steel eyes, which reminded her about the precious gemstones she saw in Amsterdam while on a job, burrowed her forehead.

His thick, patterned eyebrows made his hard-sharp jawlines and chiseled cheekbones stand out. His long lashes hardly fluttered as he held his gaze on her, not blinking. His nose was straight and pointy. Full, kissable lips that made her daydream about making out with a man.

His brown hair was neatly and newly trimmed, maintaining a curl atop. His face was cleanly shaved with no traces of beard, which gave him off to be in his early thirties.

How can one be perfect?

Her eyes trailed and observed how he carefreely sat, having his arms accommodate the clingy girls who hovered over him.

"What are you standing there for? Pour me a glass too," the life-sucking voice she could recognize anywhere spoke. The one girl she was waiting for an opportunity to smack across the face. A thorn in the flesh called Sugar. Never ceased to amaze one.

She sat with a short glittering black gown and a full makeover that made her look like cheap access to a time of pleasure. Who was she kidding? Because she sat close to him, she thought that somehow she had won him over.

Turning to her with anger, "go pour your drink. I don't work for you," Natasha lashed out.

The not so gentleman abruptly stood like someone who has been stabbed or worse. When he took steady steps towards Natasha, her heart stuttered. His steps were powerful and precise.

She tried to take a step back, but he stopped her with a tight grasp on her wrist. His presence was one of authority. Dangerous authority. The air around him felt rigid.

As he came to a stop in front of her, their chests almost touching, her body trembled both in fear and anticipation. She should have been pulling away, but something about him caused her to remain immobile.

Her body hummed in response, and she no longer felt cold. His warm hand left her wrist and caressed her cheek, making her want to rub against his palm like a kitten craving attention.

Then, she realized how big he was. Compared to her small size, he was gigantic. Her head only came to the middle of his wide, muscled chest. She felt fragile and small next to him.

But for some unknown reason, her body was warming up in his presence. Even though fear coursed through her body, she didn't mind him being near her. But, that changed when his face turned hard and then angry.

She jumped in surprise as he took a sudden step back. His whole body tightened, and he grabbed her neck, firmly but not squeezing. Her eyes widened, and her heart beat faster.

"You work for me. Go pour her a drink," he growled deeply, his voice low but the tone dangerous and stern.

When Natasha heard that, she shivered. Not out of fear or cold, but, sheer anger. She felt her pulse beating in her ears, blocking out all other sounds except her gasping breath. She was losing control of herself.

"Make me," she said without breaking their gaze. She couldn't tolerate another disrespect. She knew she was asking for trouble. One that might not end well.

However, Natasha felt herself growing colder once more. His hard eyes were penetrating hers, and she had to lock her knees together to stop herself from taking a step backward. She knew that if she moved, she would appear weak and that will satisfy his ego.

He took several steps back before reaching the couch, sat down, and crossed his right foot over his left knee. He disentangled himself from the girls and just stared at Natasha.

"I won't repeat myself, You have thirty seconds," the man said.

He was losing patience. It was evident in the way his face twisted angrily with each word. Natasha knew that it was best to just obey. A lot would be averted. But, her Vera side took over.

"I won't do it," she stated clearly, her voice raspy.

"You won't do it," he whispered, repeating her words, the words rolling off his tongue as if the word itself had been laced with venom. His voice was deep, and it vibrated throughout her body.

Irrespective of the disaster her disobedience was about to cause, she still paid attention to the tone of his mesmerizing voice.

Natasha would have just poured the drink instead of butting heads with such a man. Was it too late for her to obey and avert the growing disaster?