I pause, my drink halfway to my mouth. I wasn’t expecting that.
“You asked me the other day, so I’m telling you now.” He picks up Bambi’s discarded packet of gum on the counter and slowly folds a tab into his mouth. All the while, I’m hearing the tell-tale whistle of a bomb dropping in my head. “They kept me in that basement for a week after they took you and Ada away.”
Still whistling.
He glances down at the counter, his face twisting as if the memory is physically painful. “When I fuck a woman, Lastra, I want her screams to have the major keys, not the minor ones. You know what I’m saying? It’s a mutual thing, however freaky the kinks.”
I frown, confused by the digression.
Still whistling.
His expression stills. “Let’s just say O’Sullivan doesn’t give a shit about consent from men or women, especially in that fucking basement.”
Boom.
It takes me a second to register what he just admitted.
“Viper—”
“Not here,” he snaps, shutting down the conversation, and I know enough about assault victims not to push it.
But I get it now. I get him. The manic behaviour… The self-destruction…
He doesn’t just hunt down rapists to exorcise his sister’s demons. He hunts them down to purge his own.
CHAPTER 29
ADA
“And again, girls, slow-quick-quick, slow-quick-quick—”
Five days, Ada.
Five days until I can hold him again and never let go.
Just then I notice that my class of eight-year-olds have stopped dancing and are collapsing into giggles. The leader has tripped over her Quickstep and the three girls behind have landed on top of her in an ungainly heap.
Trying not to laugh myself, I pull them to their feet. “I said to Quickstep, Lucy, not to fall over your steps.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Rivers.”
“Shall we try that again?” I click the small remote in my hand to restart the music. “And a slow-quick-quick, slow-quick-quick—”
As much as it kills me, I’ve made the decision to close the studio after today. The risk of bringing danger into my students’ lives is too real to ignore. It was easier to justify keeping it open when I was exiled and overlooked, but now…
They sent me straight home after the incident in the club. I watched Kirill and O’Sullivan exchange angry words in the street as I was driven away. For the first time, I can see cracks forming at the heart of the Red Compass that can’t be filled with money or violence.
Glancing briefly at the clock on the wall, I pause the music again. “That’s nearly the end of the class, girls. Time for a warm down. Find a spot on the floor and follow me.”
Afterwards, I dismiss them with a smile. “Who had fun today?” Their enthusiastic response elicits another smile. “Good! Then, I’ll see you at the same time next week.”
I hope.
Unless…
“Excuse me, is this where I sign up for dance lessons?”
There’s a young girl hovering in the doorway to the changing rooms. As I watch, she swivels to the left to let the line of chattering eight-year-olds pass. She doesn’t look like the kind of young teenager I normally see in this part of Surrey, in her skinny black jeans with food stains, a tight Taylor Swift T-shirt, and her bright pink hair, but there’s something vaguely familiar about her anyway.
She bites her bottom lip when I don’t answer. “Listen, I would have signed up at reception but there was no one there…” She trails off, shrugging her shoulders.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” I shake my head in apology as I walk towards her. “Mia must be on her lunch break. Are you looking to take individual or group classes?”
Her gaze dips to my limp, then she blushes when she realises what she’s doing. “Oh, ah, individual, please.”
“Do you have any experience?”
Her eyes keep flickering over my face, as if she’s deciding whether to trust me or not.
“God, no, Viper would have pissed himself laughing if I’d asked him in Spain.”
“Viper?” I say, frowning.
“My guardian.” Her gaze starts trailing around the studio, taking in the mirrored wall, the polished wooden barres, and the black and white dance photographs on the walls. “This is a really neat place.”
“Thank you. Does your, ah, guardian know you’re here?”
It’s me who can’t stop staring now. Her eyes are bright green like mine.
“Nope,” she says with a dismissive laugh. “I took two buses and a train. I just wanted to try it, you know?” She shrugs again. “Plus, it’s my birthday, so he can’t be that mad at me running off for a couple of hours, right?”
“Would you like to call, ah, Viper and let him know you’re okay?”
“I will in a bit. Can I book a taster or something first?”
“Sure, you can. Let me just grab you an enrollment form.” I limp back over to the front of the studio where I keep a pack of spares next to the iDock.
“What’s your name?” she calls out after me.
“Miss Rivers.”
“No, I meant your first name.” I glance back at her as I flick through the wad of paper for the right form. “Ada, why?”
“Ada.” She frowns slightly as another debate starts flitting behind her eyes.
“Here.” I hand out the form to her, and she takes it with a nod. “So, if you want to complete it and get your guardian to sign it, we can—”
“How much?”
“Twenty pounds for half an hour,” I say without blinking, knocking thirty off my usual price.
Dropping her backpack to the ground, she roots around inside it and pulls out a crumpled twenty. “Can I have the first lesson now?”
“I really need a consent form from your guardian first.”
“Viper won’t mind. He’s really busy today. He probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Shit. Is this a child protection thing? Should I be calling someone?
I cast my eye over her again. She doesn’t look in distress or abused, but it’s easy to hide the evidence. I have a case example staring back at me in the mirror every day.
“You’re nice,” she declares, moving her jaw ever-so-slightly like she’s chewing an imaginary piece of gum. “I know your lessons aren’t really twenty pounds. I looked you up on the internet before I came here.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Okay, busted. Look, I don’t have another class for forty-five minutes. If you think your guardian would be okay with it, we can start now? At the very least, I can teach you some basic steps.”
In truth, there’s something about this girl I don’t want to let go of just yet.
“Sure.” Her black backpack slides to the ground again with a thump.
“Do you have a name?”
She debates this for a second and then says, “Bambi, and I have the money, Miss Razor, you don’t need to short-change yourself.”
Razor.
My breath catches. “What did you just call me?”