Izzy quickly made her rounds.  Approaching the bar, Andre pulled her aside.

“You have admirer,” he said, inclining his head toward Flynn.

“I told him not to bother me here.”

“Let him bother. I get you pill.”

“No more pills, Andre.”

He grabbed her by the arm.  “You give pill if I say you give pill.”

She yanked her arm from his grasp.  “No more pills.”  Then she hurried past him and gave Dave the bartender her orders.  An hour passed.  Flynn nursed a drink while Maddox appeared to be getting tanked.  She didn’t make contact because her tables were on the opposite side of the club from where they sat at the bar.

She noticed one of her front tables nearest the stage that had just been full of visiting Japanese businessmen had been cleared.  She was sure the party wasn’t done; she had just refreshed their drinks.  Andre came up behind her and said, “Special guest come. You dance on table. Gift from Boris.”

Her jaw dropped.  While it wasn’t unheard of, and actually encouraged because table dances went for five hundred dollars a girl, the girls were expected to take everything but their bottoms off.  The special guest, she suspected was Bushnik.

“Whe-when is he coming?”

“Ahhh,” Andre said, smiling. “He comes now.”

Izzy looked past Andre to the back of the club where there was a private entrance for VIPs.  Surrounded by several men in dark suits, strode the big blond Russian, Miroslav Bushnik. He looked far more intimidating person then he did in the photographs she’d been shown.

Izzy slid the device from her bikini bottom, her hand sweaty from nerves.  Please don’t drop it. As the entourage approached, she grabbed Andre’s arm.  “He looks mean.”

Andre pushed her hand from his arm.  “Is very mean.  Do as told, no problems.”

As the man approached, his arctic blue eyes swept her from the tips of her peekaboo stilettos to the top of her blue-tipped head.  His nostrils flared when she raised her chin, not flinching from his cold stare.  He said something in Russian to Andre, who grabbed her by the chin and made her look down as the Russian approached.

“Show respect, dancer girl.”

Izzy twisted out of his grasp and when she did she lost her balance and fell against Bushnik.

He caught her, his big hands cool.  He looked down at her, the silver striations in his ice blue eyes pulsing.  “Do you know who I am?” he asked in perfect English.

“Do you know who I am?” Izzy asked.

The Russian stared at her, shocked by her impertinence.

Andre grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the guest of honor.  “My apology, I get different girl.”

“No, no, my giant friend,” Bushnik crooned. “This one will serve me very well.  Let her go.”

Reluctantly, Andre did.  Bushnik pointed to Izzy’s lip and asked her, “Did you talk back to Andre?”

“Yes.”

Bushnik sat down in the chair one of his flunkies held out for him and patted his lap, indicating she sit down there. Shaking, Izzy did as instructed.  Rigidly, she sat on his hard lap.  Bushnik was big, he was ugly as hell, but he was in great shape.  His thighs were hard as oak beneath her bottom. He grasped her chin and turned her face to look at him.  “You ever talk back to me, I will cut your lips off.” He shoved her off his lap, then snapped his fingers.  “Vodka, then dance.”

“You heard, vodka, now!” Andre bellowed to Izzy.  She hurried off to the bar.  When she looked for Flynn, her stress level skyrocketed. He was nowhere to be found. Maddox had moved to a table closer to her side of the room.  She saw Justin and a few others she was sure were undercover cops.  Their presence should have reassured her, but unless they were right on her, Bushnik could break her neck with a snap of his fingers before any of them got close enough to stop him.

Izzy pulled it together.  She could do this.  Keep calm and carry on.

With her tray full, Izzy strode back to the table like she owned the place.  “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said cheerfully, placing a chilled shot glass in front of each of them, “Welcome to Surf’s Up, where for a dollar, the tits always shine.”  Grasping the bottle of subzero vodka from her tray, Izzy filled each glass, starting with Bushnik, then poured one for herself. Grasping it, she raised it and said, “Выпьем за то, чтобы у нас всегда был повод для праздника!”

The shocked look on the men’s faces was priceless.  “What?” she said, “You can’t toast to more reasons to party?”

Bushnik laughed heartily and threw back his shot, then slammed his glass down, calling for another round.  Izzy poured several more rounds before she picked up her tray and started to move away from the table.

Andre grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him. “Where you go?”

“I have others tables to serve.”

“Only one table you serve tonight.  Time for dance.”

“Get someone else,” she said, looking around the room for help.

“You do it now or I break arm.”

She wasn’t going to do it.  Not again.  Not even for Alex.

“Please, Andre, ask someone else.”

“Miroslav want you and only you.”

“I don’t want to,” she said her voice higher now, catching the attention of other tables.

“Boss say give guest whatever guest want. He want you, I give you.”

“I’m not for sale, Andre,” she said, not backing down.  She wouldn’t get up on the table and strip.

His hand squeezed her arm tighter and twisted. “You are if I say so.”

“Andre, you’re hurting me!” she cried.

“Take your hand off her.” It was Flynn.

Izzy bit back a cry of surprise.  Flynn was going to blow her cover and his!

All of her work, all of her plans would be for nothing.  Alex would die if she wasn’t dead already.

“I’m okay,” she said to him, moving into Andre.

Izzy’s next words lodged in her throat when she looked up into a pair of murderous blue eyes.  There was no doubt in her that if Andre didn’t release her, Flynn was going to kill him.

“Butt out, cop,” Andre said, turning to Flynn, taking her arm with him.

In a lightning quick move, Flynn jabbed his fist up into Andre’s throat. The effect was immediate.  Andre released her arm and grabbed for his throat as he fought for breath.

In the next instant, with an absurd amount of force, Flynn brought his elbow around and slammed it hard into Andre’s solar plexus, dropping him to his knees.

The table of Russians behind her stood, nearly turning the table over with their zeal to get to Flynn.  He pulled Izzy behind him as he took a step toward them. “Her shift’s over,” Flynn bit out. Grasping her hand, he pulled her away from the writhing giant and the table of pissed-off Russians, through the front door of the club where Maddox stood waiting.

Tightening his grip, Flynn led her around the back of the building, stopping beneath a security light.  Gently, he took her chin in his hand and lifted it for a better look.  He brushed his thumb across her split bottom lip.  As light as his touch was, it smarted.  She winced. “When this is all over, I’m going to kill him for that,” he said roughly.

Without another word, Flynn handed her off to Maddox, who had followed them, then strode from the parking lot.

“I need to get my things,” Izzy said, shaking as she watched the rigid line of Flynn’s back and the long angry strides that took him farther away from her.

“Let’s get in and out before the giant and those goons come looking for you.”

“Is Andre going to be okay?” she asked, wondering why she cared.  Andre had showed his hand.  And it was ugly.

"His pride is going to suffer the most,” Maddox said, following her into the back door of the club.

Unseen, Izzy slipped into her dressing room.

As she assumed, Andre was nowhere to be found; luckily, neither were Bushnik’s men.  She didn’t bother changing; she just grabbed her bag and headed back outside with Maddox and hurried down the street with him, her heart pounding a mile a minute.