The man pulled her up and dragged her out of the restroom with a ruthless grip. On their way out, Rebecca's eyes widened in horror as she saw the lifeless form of another man sprawled on the floor. She forced herself to suppress the vomit threatening to rise in her throat, feeling her stomach churn. Despite her weak and trembling legs, the man had no trouble dragging her effortlessly across the cold, hard floor. Rebecca's mind raced with terror, a chilling certainty settling in her heart: she was not going to make it out alive.
Earlier that evening, everything had seemed perfect. Rebecca had been excited about performing at the club, a place she had hoped would give her the needed money to foot her piled-up bills. But that dream had quickly turned into a nightmare. Now, she found herself wondering what sort of club this was, one where a gunshot didn't cause panic or commotion. The silence in the aftermath of the shot was deafening.
She screamed for help, "Help me," her voice echoed through the empty hallways, but no one emerged from the rooms they passed. The doors remained shut, the occupants either oblivious or uncaring about her plight.
She continued desperately trying to wriggle herself free, "Please, someone help me."
The man seemed to be unbothered by her screams as he shoved her back into the lounge.
As soon as the door swung open, Greg looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing in irritation. One of his men, Anthony, stood there, unceremoniously throwing Rebecca at Greg's feet. She stumbled forward, barely managing to catch herself before falling. Anthony had been sent to handle a situation; Greg had discovered one of his workers was stealing from him, and the unspoken rule was clear: eliminate the thief. Anthony, his trusted enforcer, had always carried out these tasks with cold efficiency. But now, Greg was confused and annoyed. Why had Anthony barged in and tossed a woman at his feet?
Rebecca lay on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, her body curled up and shaking violently.
Greg's eyes widened slightly as he recognized her. She was the dancer he had specifically requested to be sent to his room that night. Her beauty and grace had captivated him earlier, but now she was a pitiful sight, different from the confident person he had seen at the front desk.
He turned his gaze to Anthony, a frown creasing his brow.
"Anthony, what is the meaning of this?" Greg's voice was cold and sharp, and laced with irritation. He hated being interrupted, especially in the middle of an important meeting. He had been on the verge of finalizing a lucrative deal to supply bodyguards to a high-profile celebrity, a contract that could catapult his business into the Hollywood elite. Anthony's sudden intrusion had better be justified, or there would be consequences.
Anthony moved closer and whispered something in Greg's ear. Greg's eyes widened in disbelief as he processed the information. He shifted his gaze to Rebecca, who hadn't stopped crying, her body racked with sobs. The next moment, in a sudden burst of rage, Greg slapped Anthony across the face. The sound of the slap echoed through the room, a sharp crack that made Rebecca flinch. Anthony grimaced, clutching his cheek where the slap had landed, his expression a mix of pain and stoic acceptance. Rebecca trembled, utterly surprised by Greg's reaction. She couldn't fathom why Greg had struck Anthony; she knew instinctively that Greg was not a man to be toyed with.
Amid his anger, Greg had momentarily forgotten about his guest, who had been observing the entire scene. Realizing his mistake, he turned to the man seated across from him.
"Apologies, Mister Francis. Can we reschedule this meeting? I have a serious matter to attend to," his voice steady as he tried to hide the frown creaking at the corners of his lips.
Francis nodded understandingly. "I understand. Sometimes we bosses have to handle our business ourselves. Call me whenever you're ready." He extended his hand, and Greg shook it firmly. Francis then turned and left the room, accompanied by a few of his colleagues.
With his business associates gone, Greg turned his attention back to Anthony. For the first time, Rebecca noticed Greg's eyes without the dark shades he had worn. His right eye was covered in a white film. The sight sent a shiver down her spine. She had already been traumatized by witnessing a murder. She wondered what had caused his eye condition, if it had anything to do with their dangerous business.
"Give me the phone," Greg ordered, his voice cold and commanding. Without hesitation, Anthony handed over the phone. Greg tried to access the message Anthony had mentioned, but a fingerprint blocked his way.
Turning to Rebecca, he thrust the phone towards her and commanded, "Open it."
Rebecca took the phone with shaking hands. Her fingers fumbled as she opened the phone. Greg watched her with a mixture of anger and disgust. The realization that he had inadvertently allowed a potential spy into his room filled him with rage. How could he have been so careless?
Once the phone was unlocked, Greg quickly swiped to open the message. He read the exchange between Rebecca and Naomi, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. Naomi. He knew her well. She was his favorite dancer, someone he paid handsomely to entertain him. It struck him that he had been so engrossed in his business dealings that he hadn't even noticed Naomi's absence tonight. Why had she sent an inexperienced dancer like Rebecca in her place? He had noticed Rebecca's less polished performance but had dismissed it; after all, he was the one who had requested for her.
He eyed Anthony, clearly annoyed. Didn't Anthony know who Naomi was?
Greg had expected Anthony to handle the situation immediately, eliminating any threat Rebecca posed as soon as he discovered she had seen and heard everything. Chewing something thoughtfully, Greg spat it out with a sharp gesture, "You could have handled this yourself."
Realizing his mistake, Anthony replied, "I'm sorry, sir."
Greg waved his hand dismissively, uninterested in the apology. Turning his back, he walked back to the sofa to retrieve his drink.
Meanwhile, Anthony turned to Rebecca, his gun cocked and ready to pull the trigger.
Rebecca froze as the icy press of the gun's barrel kissed her temple. The chill of the metal seared through her skin, colder than fear itself. Her scream tore from her throat, raw and instinctive, echoing off the walls.
"Please don't kill me! I didn't see anything."
Her tears flowed easily down her cheeks. Her pleas were directed not at Anthony but at Greg, knowing he was the one in charge. "I assure you, I heard nothing and saw nothing," She choked.
"Shut up," Anthony commanded harshly, but Greg stopped him with a calm, authoritative gesture.
"Don't worry, Anthony."
Greg stood up and walked towards Rebecca, who was now visibly shaking. He raised her chin with a firm but surprisingly gentle hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her dark brown eyes, once alluring and expressive, were now smeared with heavy makeup ruined by her tears.
She whimpered under Greg's scrutiny, his unimpressed good eye taking in every detail of her face. His gaze settled on her quivering, full, and succulent lips, and he smiled coldly.
"Are you sure you heard and saw nothing?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock concern.
Rebecca remembered she had heard some argument, but she didn't know what they had argued about. The image of the lifeless body of the man in the restroom, who lay in a pool of his blood, clouded her memory, but she pushed it aside. She nodded frantically, her eyes wide with terror.
"Yes, I swear. I didn't see or hear anything. Please, just let me go," she begged.
Greg continued to study her, his expression unreadable. He could sense her fear and desperation, but he needed to be certain she was telling the truth. Turning slightly, he addressed Anthony without taking his eyes off Rebecca. "Lower your gun, Anthony."
Anthony obeyed, lowering the weapon but keeping it ready just in case. Greg let go of Rebecca's chin. A sly smile curled up on his face. She might be an inexperienced dancer, but she wasn't stupid.
"Get up," he commanded. His baritone voice shook something inside her, and she quickly stood up.
He stepped back to take a perfect view of her under the blue lights. Her curves were accentuated, "Turn around," he commanded.
Rebecca was momentarily confused, unsure of what she had heard.
"Do you want me to make you turn around?" Greg questioned, his left eye blinking more compared to his right.
Quickly shaking her head, she turned around, but a bit too fast for Greg's liking.
Greg caught her arm, stopping her abrupt movement. "Slowly," he instructed. She turned slowly this time until he said, "Stop."
Greg's eyes roved over her figure, and a menacing laugh erupted from him. "She is perfect," he declared. He turned to Anthony, who looked as confused as Rebecca felt.
Rebecca couldn't understand what he meant by calling her perfect. Her only desire was to leave this place alive. She no longer cared about the pay she was supposed to receive; the only thing on her mind was survival. Thoughts of her mother crossed her mind, imagining the heartbreak she would feel if Rebecca no longer visited.
"Come here," Greg said, opening his arms wide. Rebecca hesitated but, with trembling legs, moved towards him. She didn't understand why he was offering a hug, but she obeyed out of sheer fear. "You are perfect for the job," he said, squeezing her cheek with a grip that was anything but affectionate.
Confused and terrified, she asked in a shaky voice, "What job?"
Greg turned to Anthony, laughing. He downed the last of his drink and handed the empty glass cup to Anthony. "She is asking what job?" He turned back to Rebecca, his laughter echoing in the room.
His laughter was becoming irritating to Rebecca's ears. She wrapped her arms protectively around her body, trying to shield herself from the overwhelming fear.
"Since you like to spy on other people's business," Greg said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I am going to give you a job as a spy."
Rebecca's mind raced. A spy? She was a dancer, not a spy. Her only mistake was overhearing something she shouldn't have. The idea of working for a man like Greg terrified her, but the thought of defying him was even worse. She turned around, taking in the men all dressed in black suits. Their faces were impassive, not indicating that they were involved in anything dangerous. But Rebecca had witnessed Anthony and Stink in the restroom, and that alone was enough to confirm that they were not conducting normal business.
Greg's eye, the one clouded with a white film, terrified her even more. She avoided looking at it, fearing what it symbolized.
"Please, just let me go," she pleaded.
Greg stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. His breath was warm against her ear and reeked of alcohol.
He whispered, "You see, I can't let you go now. You know too much. But if you prove useful, maybe, just maybe, you'll stay alive." He stepped away from her and raised his voice, "You will work for me now," he continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You will gather information for me, and in return, I will let you live. But if you fail or try to betray me," He let the threat hang in the air, the unspoken consequences clear and terrifying.
Rebecca's heart pounded in her chest. The implication of his words was clear: her survival depended on her ability to comply and be useful to him.
Greg turned back to her, his smile gone and replaced with a stern frown. "You will spy on Ethan," his voice cold and unyielding.
Rebecca noticed Anthony staggering at the mention of Ethan, a look of shock in his eyes. He seemed on the verge of protesting when Greg waved him off dismissively.
Greg let out a laugh. "Isn't this wonderful?" he mocked.
No one responded; rather, they all looked terrified at the prospect of sending a spy to Ethan's world.
Greg's expression shifted to one of cold calculation. "Good. Anthony will give you the details. Follow his instructions precisely, and you'll be fine. Remember, I will be watching you closely. One mistake, and it's over." He snapped his fingers.
She swallowed hard while trying to keep the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She tried to process the enormity of what she was being asked to do. She had no idea who Ethan was or why spying on him was so important to Greg, but she felt he was more dangerous than Greg. Dangerous enough to have Anthony shake. She feared for her life. Greg must be laughing at the thought of her dying at the hands of this Ethan once he discovers she is a spy.