OWN HER: A Dark Mafia Romance(89)

At that moment, I felt a hand on my hip and an arm around my back. “I see you’ve found my girl, Joey. I have a very special plan for her.” Mr. F was eyeballing my breasts, and his hand tightened on my hip. He leaned into my ear. “How’d you like to star in a little movie?”



I pulled my torso away from him, trying to get as much space as I could.



“What kind of movie you have in mind, Mr. F? You gonna make me a Hollywood star?” I struggled to keep my face clear of my inflaming repulsion. Act, act, act. This was all an act.



He laughed. “Yeah, right, Hollywood. You got the second half right.” He winked. “I have something very… exciting in mind for you. Don’t wander too far away tonight. I want you within reach.”



He wandered away to talk to another tuxedo, oozing smarmy charm. Mr. Ronn leaned in to my ear. “You should do the movie. It’s the best move you could make, given your situation. Balance needs restoring.”



Well, that was ambiguous. I wasn’t sure what he meant but saw his eyes had moved away from me and were targeting someone behind me.



I turned to look and found Dom watching us with eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. I knew he wasn’t thrilled about my being called in for this gig, and it had taken me some effort to convince him it was a good idea for me to do it.



I figured he had seen the whole exchange, seeing as he was there ostensibly to be watching over the precious Mr. Ronn. I also figured Dom had hated the sight of Mr. F’s hand on me; he was possessive and protective, and that would generally not fly with him. But we were playing a game with the Boss and VIP host here, and we had both known coming in that he had to play it cool. This must have been super difficult for my man, forcing himself to watch and not react. I smiled at him reassuringly.



I saw his jaw release, and he was done holding back. When he reached my side, he placed his hand over my hip in just the same spot that Mr. F had held on to, and he pulled me into him. Mr. Ronn looked on with spite. “How sweet. And fucking inappropriate. Get your hands off her, Dom. She’s not here as your date. You’re both the fucking help. Act like it.”



He looked at me. “Now, go do your job. Schmooze with the money. And be ready to dance in about a half hour. Down to nothing tonight.” And he walked.



Dom fumed beside me, and I just breathed for a moment, steeling myself for the explosion I was sure was about to occur. But he was so good; he contained himself, only dropping his arm from behind me to snag my hand and give me a squeeze, letting me know he’d be watching, making sure I was okay. God, I was so glad he was there. This night sucked already.



I schmoozed as ordered and performed my feature as required. When I went to redress in the miniscule baby doll and G-string, they were not to be found. I ended up walking through the living room for the next couple of hours in my stilettos alone, fielding grabby hands and coked-up, drunken, overly stimulated men who thought they were entitled to handle my ass.



At some point, Mr. Ronn and Dom both disappeared from the room. I had no idea if they had left the house altogether or if they were just out of the party scene for a break of some sort. I kept an eye out for them, but the minutes passed and Dom’s absence felt too close to abandonment, though I knew in my mind that he could not have been happy with the separation, either. We were here to do jobs. I kept that going in my mind like a mantra.



There had to be something—anything—here at the house that would prove a tie between Mr. F and the porno lot, Joey Ronn’s porno empire, and the death of my sister. I had no idea what I was looking for, but there had to be something here.



Find an in. Find something. Find anything. Find it. Find it. Find it.



Finally begging out of the party rooms to use the washroom to “freshen up,” I escaped more wandering hands and slipped out.



All of my previous attempts to explore the house had been doused by the watchful eyes of Mr. F and by unwelcome attentions from random tuxes. It was past midnight now, and the general atmosphere had shifted somewhat. Those who were only here to schmooze and snicker had mostly left the scene, and it was only the serious partiers who maintained the space. By this time, they were all so seriously fucked-up on coke and booze that I was able to slip past notice; I didn’t see Mr. F among them. I went up the ginormous main stairwell, fake stumbling as if I was fucked-up, too.



God, there had to have been at least eight rooms up there. I went down the gallery wall to the left, figuring I’d start on one end and work my way through.



Not surprisingly, the bedroom I started in was occupied by one of my fellow dancers and an older (gray-haired and rather flabby) man without a tux, going at it like monkeys on the bed. All righty, then. I had barely taken in the room, my only impressions being the large open space and the heaving and grunting on the queen-sized bed. Without even having entered the room, I shut the door and moved on.