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hear him clearly over all the noise. “She stays.”
    “What’s the problem?” the guy asks.
    “You didn’t hear me?” The bouncer starts rolling up his sleeves—never a good sign. In a Russian nightclub, could be a deadly sign.
    “It’s all right,” I yell at my guy. “I know this man.”
    “You’re with him?” His lips become a thin line. “Why didn’t you tell me you were with someone?”
    I shrug, taking his anger as a compliment. I’d love to tell him the truth, but whatever this shit with the bouncer is about, there’s no reason to bring a civilian into it. Especially a guy who showed me a good time.
    The guy walks away, shaking his head.
    “Upstairs,” the bouncer barks. “This way.” He leads me up the stairs and points to a closed door with a tinted glass window in it. There’s no way I can see what’s waiting for me inside.
    Damn. I shouldn’t have left the gun in my car. Oh well, I think, and open the door.
    “Hello,” Victor says when the bouncer opens the door for me. “We need to talk.”
    Of all the clubs owned by shady people, I clearly chose the worst one.
    And then I realize there’s someone else in the room.
    A man I didn’t expect to see, let alone this soon.
    Shkillet, his face black and blue with the injuries I inflicted, gives me a look that says, “You’re dead now, bitch.”

Chapter 5
     
    “You have questionable taste in comrades, Victor.” I’m not going to let either of them think they’ve thrown me. Never let them see you sweat—it’s a motto I live by.
    Shkillet’s face reddens, and he reaches for his boot, but stops. “She’s trying to disrespect you,” he whispers to Victor, loudly enough that I can hear.
    “When I want your opinion, Shkillet, I will provide it.” Victor rises from his chair as Shkillet’s red face turns white. “As for you, my lovely friend—” Victor inclines his head toward me, “—there’s a very good reason why he’s here.”
    “And that would be what? You need your toilets licked clean?” I stare at Shkillet, not backing down from the threat I see in his eyes.
    “You whore.” Shkillet’s fingers twitch, likely itching to get to that knife. I know; I’ve felt that same hatred myself. Thankfully, he elects to spit on the ground instead of trying to skewer me.
    “Spit on my floor again, and you’ll be licking it off, Shkillet, understand? Also don’t speak again until I say you can.” If looks actually could kill, Victor’s would’ve already murdered Shkillet ten times over. “Do I make myself clear?”
    Shkillet nods, and I can tell it’s killing him to do so.
    Victor glares at him. “Say it.”
    Shkillet exhales. “I’ll wait for you to ask me to speak, Victor.” It sounds as if the words are being pulled from him.
    “Now.” Victor tugs his sleeves down. “As I was saying, there is a reason he’s here, and it’s because an accusation has been made.”
    “An accusation?” I try not to sound challenging—a task I, admittedly, have trouble with on occasion.
    “Our comrade here told me some disturbing things about you.” Victor leans against a table, arms crossed. “He claims that you work with the cops as a snitch, or worse, that you’re a cop yourself.”
    “What?” I didn’t expect that, and I don’t have any clever, or even dumb, comebacks for him. “What are you talking about?”
    “He said you’d deny it.” Victor picks up a shot glass that’s been standing on his desk and downs the contents in one gulp. “But his story is rather persuasive, so I figured we should talk.”
    This is bad. If Victor really believes this, I’m as good as dead. He wouldn’t threaten a cop and let her live. Then again, if he truly believed I was a cop, given what I know of Victor, I would already be dead. I debate Splitting and Reading him to figure out what’s what, but decide against it. After yesterday, my Depth is fairly low, even if some was recovered in the twenty-four hours that have passed.