17. Killian…
Katarina.
“Back here again,” I whisper, walking beside Killian and following the same hostess from the other day.
He presses his hand against my lower back, trying to comfort me.
The first time, the explosives saved us. What will it be this time?
Even though it’s only been a week since nearly half of this place was set on fire, the club remains intact. There are fewer people than before, I notice, but Scarlatta is still a profitable business. Today, in addition to the erotic dancers, nearly naked men move sensually alongside them.
My feet stop, and I freeze, watching with a certain fascination a couple dancing together. There’s something in their movements that enchants me. They’re not vulgar or s****l; they’re aesthetic, moving with a grace and elegance that makes me fo
