“So, ignore her. Have a few drinks, and I’ll tell them goodbye.”
“I don't understand why I can’t just stay here. I could pack some more.”
“You said you were finished packing. Now put on a dress, and come with me.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re stepping out of a car in front of the underground cigar bar. Hana is dressed in an ivory shift dress with iridescent panels mimicking fringe all over it. I’m in a conservative, long-sleeved beige bodysuit with wide-legged black slacks.
“Blake!” Natasha’s shrill voice cuts through the roar of old men’s voices and Rat Pack singing. “You look amazing. Very nineties DKNY.”
A few heads turn to look at us, and I make my way to where she’s on her knees in the booth.
“Already so fucking obnoxious.” Hana exhales heavily at my shoulder. “How long do we have to do this?”
“Thirty minutes,” I say emphatically. “If it continues to suck, we can leave after thirty minutes.”
“I’m setting my timer.”
Natasha pulls me into a firm hug. “It’s so good to see you! You know you left your coat last time we were here. I know you want it back. It's Givenchy!”
“I didn’t even miss it.” My mind returns to that night, my encounter with Greg, and Hutch saving me.
“Still,” Natasha loops her arm through mine. “It’s a nice coat. I have it for you.”
“Can we get some drinks over here?” Hana waves at the waitress in the old-school, thigh-high dress with a low-cut top. She makes her way through the smoky room to where we stand. “Martinis all around.”
Sliding cautiously into the round, leather booth, I glance around the room, wondering if Greg is here, wondering what might happen if he does appear.
“I heard the most ridiculous rumor after you left last time.” Nat puts her hand on my forearm, eyes wide. “You’re back with that big guy from the gala, the one you were yelling at? Is that true?”
The waitress reappears to place three martinis on the table.
Hana scoops hers up and quickly shoots it, motioning to the young woman. “Three more, please!”
Arching my eyebrow, I take my glass, sipping it slowly. “My uncle hired him to protect us.”
“Mmm, lucky you!” Natasha scoops up her martini, stirring her olive around in the glass. “He is yummy! Is his thing as big as he is?”
Hana takes my glass, drinking it faster than me as she scans the room. Her brow is furrowed, and it reminds me of being in her bedroom at Uncle Hugh’s, the way she held her shirt like she was on the verge of remembering something.
“I don’t like this place.” Her voice is urgent. “We need to get out of here.”
My heart beats faster. “Why? What happened?”
The waitress is back with three more martinis. I still haven't finished my first, but Hana has already drunk half. She switches to the fresh one as she falls silent.
Natasha is preoccupied with the table to our right, and I’m focused on finding out what my sister knows. She’s drinking too fast, and I take the martini from her, polishing it off so she can’t.
“This place isn’t what it seems.” Her dark blue eyes widen and meet mine, and her tone is ice filtering through my veins.
“Tell me what you remember.”
She frowns into her empty glass. “It was a night, a strange night, almost a year ago? I was here, but not here.” She gestures to the room where we’re sitting. “There’s another room. It’s smaller and all-black with a little slit like a window.”
My stomach roils. The last time I was here, I was in that room with Greg. “What happened?”
Placing her fingers on her eyes, she rubs them gently. “It could’ve been a dream. It was like I was watching an art film with old men sitting on benches. Or maybe I was in the film?”
She blinks hard, looking in the direction of where I know the back room is located. “I was holding a torch like a statue, and one of the old men was on his knees between my legs…”
Her eyes squeeze shut, and she wobbles to her feet. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
I jump up to catch her arm. “I’ve got you. Let’s go.”
We’re making our way to the door when Greg appears. He’s coming down the stairs in front of us, and when our eyes meet, terror grips my throat. Evil glitters in his grin like he’s caught us. He starts to move in our direction, but a cluster of girls pushes between us, starting up the stairs for the door.
I hold Hana’s arm firmly and guide her into the mob, hurrying us up the stairs with them. I have to get her away from this place. When we reach the top, I look down. He’s still looking up, but his smile is gone. When I scan the room, I see Natasha is watching us as well. Her expression has changed. Her eyes are cold, and she’s staring like she knows something.
Dread is ice in my stomach, and I guide us out into the misty rain. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not sticking around to find out. I only know one person who can protect my sister–maybe two, and they’re not here, which means it’s up to me.
Back at the apartment, Hana goes straight to her bathroom and turns on the sink. I’m a little wobbly from shooting half my martini then finishing hers, but I need to know the rest of the story.
“Hana?” I tap lightly on the door. “Are you okay?”
She’s leaning over the lavatory, lifting handfuls of water and holding them to her face. I go to where she’s standing and switch off the tap before passing her a towel.
Without makeup, she looks younger, but her eyes are still haunted by whatever memory we triggered. She follows me silently to the room we’re sharing, and I wait as she lets her dress fall to the floor. She’s not wearing a bra, so she pulls on a T-shirt and crawls between the sheets.
Sitting beside her, I gently move a spiral curl out of her eye. I’ve already figured out this was the night of the porn film, and clearly she had no idea what was happening. I’m ready to kill all of them, but I need to know.
“Hana?” My voice is quiet, gentle. “I need to ask you one more thing about that night.”
Her shoulder rises, and she presses her cheek against the pillow. “I don’t remember any more.”
“I know, honey, but just one more question.” My stomach is burning and tight.
She shakes her head, scrubbing her eyes. “Nothing happened. It was a dream.”
“Was Victor there?”
“Victor is dead.”
My throat closes up. I know for a fact Hana wasn’t in the room when my uncle told us Victor died of a heart attack, yet somehow she knows he’s dead?
“What makes you say that?”
“I saw him on the floor.” She turns away, quietly adding, “The man said he was dead.”
“What man?”
“I don’t remember.”
I let it go, but her story makes my stomach churn. I don’t know what to do without Hutch here. Two things are clear–she was present when Victor died, and the sex tape Ivan X was using to blackmail us was filmed in that back room at Gibson’s.
It’s just after midnight, and I study my phone. I haven’t heard anything from Hutch since he left, so I shoot him a quick note. Back at the apartment. Hope you’re making progress.