Chapter Eight
Hot water cascaded from the showerhead. The warmth massaged Irina’s tired muscles. She’d had so many years of training and conditioning, but intense practice was still so important. There was always a price though.
She wrapped her arms around herself and let out a long sigh. At least when she was dancing, it helped forced Yuri out of her mind. She needed that, as she didn’t have Malcolm to distract her.
He’d called her yesterday to arrange a date, and her pulse raced at the thought of spending time with him, but the shadow of Yuri still hung over her, denying her true happiness.
She grabbed some shampoo and started lathering her hair. Her gaze drifted to the mirror where Yuri had written “whore” using her lipstick. She’d made sure to scrub it completely off that night.
Irina finished lathering her shampoo and then stepped underneath the water stream to begin rinsing it from her hair.
Her gaze again returned to the wall, and she narrowed her eyes. Something didn’t feel right.
How do you say ‘whore’ in Russian?
Irina had forgotten the exact details of her fight with Emma. She’d been so caught up in concerns with Yuri that she’d convinced itself it couldn’t have been the dancer, but the more she thought about it, the less she believed her ex-lover had been responsible.
Yuri was many things, but he wasn’t a man who exercised restraint. If he’d destroyed her room, he would have wanted to make it clear that the animal and not just the man was there. Even if he didn’t destroy all her personal possessions, the room itself should have suffered more damage. He would have left claw marks.
The more she thought about the Russian on the wall, the less she thought it was him. She’d attributed the crude writing to the fact that whoever had written it used lipstick, but it also might just have been because they didn’t know Cyrillic letters well and had simply copied something off the internet as an insult.
Irina shut off the shower and toweled off, her jaw tight. No. Yuri might be on his way, but her room vandal wasn’t him. She was sure of it now.
After she threw her clothes on, it was time to deal with one problem she could handle.
* * *
Five minutes later, Irina stood outside of Emma’s door, her blood boiling. The anger weighed on her stomach. Fear she understood. Concern, even. Naked anger, though? It was as frightening as it was empowering.
She rapped loudly on the door and crossed her arms, waiting.
A moment later, the door opened up, revealing the black-haired dancer.
The squeak of a few other doors reached Irina’s ears. Looking over her shoulder, she spotted several other dancers emerging from their hotel rooms, most in pairs. Irina had snagged a single room because she was a soloist. Emma only had one because no one else wanted to stay with her.
“What, Irina?” Emma snarled.
“You messed up my room the other night.”
The corners of Emma’s mouth turned up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I came back to the hotel, and someone had ransacked my room.”
Emma gasped and stuck a hand over her mouth. “Oh, how awful. You must have been so scared. I’m sorry to hear that.”
Several of the people watching murmured among themselves.
“I was terrified.” Irina shook her head. “I thought someone very bad was after me, but it was just you.”
Emma’s face darkened. “Okay, now I’m just pissed. First of all, I don’t even think this happened.”
“How can you say that?”
“Did anyone else see it?”
“I didn’t show anyone.”
“Then how do we even know you’re not just accusing me of something you made up?”
Irina tightened her hands into fists. “Unlike some, I don’t make false accusations.”
“Get out of here.” Emma rolled her eyes. “You’re just mad because that person wrote the truth about you in your bathroom. That you’re a whore. Besides, it couldn’t have been me. It was in Russian.”
Several people gasped.
Irina blinked. A calmness descended over her.
“I never said anything about them writing on my bathroom, let alone that they used that word. If you didn’t do it, how did you know?”
Emma’s eyes widened. “I… well, I just… guessed.”
“You just guessed that they wrote whore in Russian in my bathroom?”
“Y-you’re Russian. I’m sure that’s why they did it.”
“Enough,” Irina snapped. Emma stepped back, clearly startled by the other woman’s sudden display of backbone. “I’ve done nothing to you, but you’ve continued to terrorize me. For the good of the company, I beg you to stop. If you continue, I’ll be forced to go to the director and complain.”
Emma’s composure returned, and she managed a smile. “It’s all just hearsay.”
“Bullshit,” shouted Alison from nearby. “We all heard it. Irina’s right. There’s no way you could have known what was written.”
Several other dancers murmured in agreement.
Another woman cleared her throat. “She was banging the night manager the other night, a quickie when she went to get some ice. I don’t think they thought anyone knew, but I saw what was going on. I bet you she called in a favor.”
Emma gritted her teeth. “This isn’t fair. I’m being falsely accused.”
Irina shook her head. “This ends tonight. Don’t bother me again. If you want a solo, work harder on your dancing rather than making me feel miserable.”
“Yeah,” Alison said, along with several others. “I’m sure I speak for everyone here in saying, if you don’t back off, Emma, we’re gonna make sure you’re kicked out of the company.”
The dancer gasped and stepped back. “B-but I didn’t do anything.”
“I don’t want you gone, Emma,” Irina said softly. “I simply want you to leave me alone. Swear to me right now that you’ll leave me alone, and I won’t go complain. I just want to dance. I just want to bring beauty in movement to those who come to see us.”
The other woman stared at her hands. “You seriously won’t go and complain?”
“I promise. I swear to our Lord in Heaven.”
“I’ll leave you alone.” Emma stomped back into her room and slammed the door.
Cheers erupted from the other dancers.
* * *
Irina couldn’t stop grinning in the passenger seat of Malcolm’s SUV on their way to Devil’s Den.
“You seem in a good mood,” Malcolm said.
“I solved a problem tonight.”
He eyed her for a second. “Hope it didn’t involve killing anyone.”
She gasped and looked down.
“Joking, joking,” Malcolm said, his tone apologetic. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”
Irina’s smile returned. “It’s just hard,” she said quietly. “You have to live and work with a close-knit group of people. They become like a family, and like most families, sometimes you just won’t get along.”
Malcolm grunted. “Don’t I know it.”
“You have problems with some of your co-workers?”
“Yeah, sometimes, but we’re practically brothers… closer in some ways, almost like twins, so I work through it.”
“Then you do understand.”
“Yep.” He turned off the road to park the car along the street. “We’re here.”
From the outside, the place looked unassuming enough, just a large sign reading Devil’s Den and posted business hours on the door. A simple façade.
Malcolm turned the engine off, and then hurried to the other side to open her door before she’d even finished taking the place in. She smiled brightly at the gesture.
Irina took his hand and followed him into the bar.
About a dozen rough-looking men in leather jackets sat among the tables and bars, many with long beards. They all turned to look at her, several staring.
If she’d entered by herself, they might have disturbed her, but with Malcolm at her side, her heart didn’t pick up at all.
The place seemed clean enough. Pool tables, dart boards, and everything she might expect from a bar was present, along with a few posters on the wall of music acts she didn’t recognize. From the look of it they were either rock or heavy metal bands.
Malcolm led her to the bar where a large handsome brown-haired man stood, a broad grin on his face.
“So you’re the reason he’s not been as bitchy lately,” the man said.
“Caleb,” Malcolm snapped. He scrubbed his hand with a face. “This is Caleb Drake, my boss and sometimes friend. Caleb, this is Irina Petrova, a dancer with the traveling Angel Ballet Company.”
Caleb smiled. “Nice to meet you, Irina. Don’t know much about ballet, but you all do a lot of fancy crap that I can’t.”
Irina offered him a polite nod, not minding his coarse manner. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Drake. I’m sure we both have many talents the other might envy.”
Caleb shook his head. “Just call me Caleb. Mr. Drake is my dad.”
She laughed softly. “Very well then.”
“Russian? Not great with accents, but the name sounds Russian.”
“Yes, I am.”
“How ‘bout a free White Russian, then?”
Irina giggled. “Appropriate, I suppose.”
Caleb winked and started preparing the drink.
She glanced over at Malcolm. Some of the earlier tension on his face had vanished. “This place… it is not what I expected.”
“What do you mean?”
“Malcolm made it sound much rougher.” She shrugged.
Caleb smirked and handed her drink. “Yeah, I bet he did.”
Irina took a sip, the alcohol sliding down her throat more smoothly than she expected. “I don’t mean to insult you.” Her cheeks heated.
“Nah, not insulted. If anything, I’ve been worried that the place isn’t rough enough.” He shrugged.
“We have to throw people out of here all the time,” Malcolm muttered. “It’s rough enough.”
Caleb chuckled. “That’s true.”
She glanced between the two men, and a bearded and scarred man on the other end of the bar. All three were large, easily larger than most of the bikers in the bar. She doubted they had much trouble taking control of situations.
Irina’s cheeks heated. “I will be honest, though. If Malcolm were not with me, I don’t know if I would be brave enough to come to a place like this, so my bravery is… perhaps fake.” She gulped down more of her drink, hoping the alcohol would make her a little less nervous.
Malcolm put an arm around her shoulder. She resisted the urge to rub her cheek against it, though she loved the protective feeling.
“On some days, the place is rougher than others,” Caleb said.
A pretty dark-haired waitress approached the bar. “It’s so nice to meet the woman we’ve been wondering about.” She offered her hand. “Sarah.”
Irina shook her hand. “It is my pleasure, Sarah.”
“A real-life ballerina, huh?”
“Yes. I do love dance.”
“I wanted to do ballet as a kid, but I just didn’t have what it took.”
Irina gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”
Sarah smiled. “Well, performers need patrons. I do my part.”
“You’ve seen the place,” Malcolm said hurriedly, a nervous look on his face. “How about I take you to a proper restaurant now so we can have a proper date without my friends gawking at us like we’re giraffes at a zoo?”
Irina and Sarah laughed. Caleb just smirked.
“Very well, then,” Irina said. “It was a pleasure meeting you all.” She waved, and Caleb and Sarah returned the gesture.
Malcolm took her arm and led her out, shooting a few glares at some of the customers looking her way. They all quickly averted their eyes.
He opened the door for her, and she stepped outside.
“Sorry about that,” Malcolm mumbled.
“About what?”
“Caleb. He’s just that way.”
“He seemed nice.”
Malcolm chuckled. “Yeah, he can be. When he’s not being annoying.”
“Sarah seemed nice as well. I’ll admit, you seem like a man I’d expect to work elsewhere, but this place is filled with good friends, I think.”
He tilted his head as if thinking that over. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He grinned. “Unfortunately, the food is just greasy fried cr… stuff. So let’s get you something decent.”
Irina smiled warmly. “I look forward to it.”
Emma was under control, and Malcolm’s friends seemed to like her. Perfect. Everything was perfect.
Still, a lingering fear pricked her heart. She thought she was free, but she could never be sure.