Jessie Keane - Ruthless

‘Oh shit. You’re not helping.’

‘There’s only one other problem.’

‘What?’

‘What the hell are you going to wear? When is this date happening?’

‘Thursday night. You think the red dress is too much?’

‘Way too much. The guy’s in shock as it is, let’s not push him over the edge just yet. Shopping. Tomorrow.’

The following evening, Layla was having another exciting night of telly and bed when Ellie tapped on her door. ‘Phone for you, lovey. It’s Mr Barolli.’

Ellie went off into the kitchen. Layla gave the luscious red box in the corner of her bedroom a gleeful glance as she hurried out to take his call – inside was the most stunning gown. Her and Precious had shopped for and bought it this afternoon. She’d tried it on three times since she’d got back to Ellie’s place.

‘That’s a hot date gown if ever I saw one,’ said Precious when Layla tried it on in the boutique.

And it was – a sheath of pure cream silk, bias-cut, that skimmed over her body as if made for it.

Grinning, she hurried along to the office, picked up the phone.

‘Hello?’ Her mouth was dry but she was smiling.

‘Hey, Layla,’ said Alberto. ‘I just wanted a word.’

It was eleven o’clock at night. Couldn’t this have waited until morning? ‘About what?’

‘This date thing.’

‘Oh yeah. That. Precious said I should ask you something about that.’

‘What?’

‘Is this a Manhattan date, or a London date?’

‘Layla…’

‘Hm?’

‘I don’t want to be dishonest with you.’

‘Well, that’s good.’ Her voice remained calm, but Layla was thinking what is this?

‘Things are happening. Things you don’t know about, things I can’t tell you.’

Layla stared at the phone.

‘Layla,’ he went on, ‘I wasn’t thinking straight yesterday. I can’t get involved with you right now. It wouldn’t be fair.’

Layla’s smile died on her lips.

‘Layla? You still there?’

She took a breath. ‘So this is a kiss-off, is that it? You’re giving me that old “It’s not you, it’s me” line. Is that right?’

‘No. Not at all.’

‘Oh come on.’ She felt as if he’d cut her heart out. Her laugh was brittle with pain. ‘You said you were going to be honest.’

‘I’m being honest, Layla. I can’t get into this. For your sake.’

Her innards were churning with the intensity of her hurt and disappointment, she could feel her eyes brimming with tears.

‘You cruel bastard,’ she said shakily.

He was silent for a moment. ‘Yeah. That’s me.’

Layla put the phone down. Her whole world was collapsing around her. That awful night when she’d shot Orla, the red-headed man who’d pursued her, losing her job, the fire in the office, and now… ah fuck, now Alberto had blown her out. After all that trying, all that hard work, it had all come to nothing.

‘Everything OK?’ asked Ellie, standing in the open doorway with a steaming mug in her hand.

‘Fine,’ said Layla, brushing quickly at her eyes.

Ellie looked at Layla. She could see that things weren’t fine, far from it, but it wasn’t up to her to pry into Carter business. ‘I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,’ she said, and went off along the hall.

Layla came out of the office, trembling, swiping angrily at her tears. She passed the monitor room: it was empty. She stumbled inside. She wanted to talk to Precious, but of course she was busy downstairs. Perhaps she’d be able to see her on the monitors…? Kyle was on his break, it was quiet in the monitor room, dark, Kyle’s fill-in was nowhere to be seen. She heard the loo flush along the hall.

Feeling as if someone had scooped out her insides and filled the void with anguish, Layla slumped into the chair and stared sightlessly at the screens.

Alberto had dumped her, even before anything had begun.

She couldn’t believe it.

Tomorrow, Precious would come hurrying into her bedroom all fired up for the big night, and Layla would have to tell her that he’d called it off.

‘Bastard,’ she muttered, rubbing her hands over her face. Why couldn’t he have said this at the start? Instead of giving her hope, only to dash it away.

She stared at the screens with sore bleary eyes. Wished Precious was up here with her, so that she could talk to her, cry on her shoulder.

There was Opal, gyrating in a silvery bikini in front of a man with the flushed face of a heavy drinker.

On the next screen was China, topless and sinuous, wearing a dark-coloured G-string, her long black hair swirling around her semi-nude body as the grinning man on the couch watched her.

Layla, trying to choke back tears, looked at the third monitor. She hitched in a startled breath as every nerve in her body froze into ice. The man in the private dancing room was standing up, not sitting down. He was bending, leaning over something on the floor.

Layla blinked, squinted, trying to see what was going on. Nothing seemed very clear in black and white. She was sure something was on the floor. She thought she could see something pale, maybe skin. She thought she could see dark hair. She thought – oh shit , she thought that what she was looking at was Precious.

For a long moment Layla felt glued there, unable to move, unable to even think.

Precious was on the floor.

And now the man straightened, and looked up.

‘Jesus…’ said Layla faintly, shrinking back in the seat, her skin crawling as she saw that it was him. The big shock of lightish hair that she knew was red. The pale face, the cold eyes.

Layla felt her body dissolve in terror.

It was the man who’d pursued her through the park. The man who had almost – almost – caught her. He was in there, with Precious – and Precious was lying on the floor.

Layla stumbled to her feet, a thin cry of horror escaping her. She looked at the door, thinking help, someone help. Where the fuck was Kyle, shouldn’t he be coming back any minute now…? Shouldn’t someone be standing in for him during his break? Frantically she looked at the desk, the notepads, the pens, dirty cups, sweet wrappers, the buzzer. The buzzer to summon help to the private rooms from the front of the club.

‘Oh Christ,’ said Layla, and hit the buzzer hard, knocking cups over, cold tea spilling across her hand, the desk, the papers on it. She didn’t even notice, she just kept her hand on it, jamming it hard into the sodden desk.

Suddenly Junior was in the doorway. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, then his eyes flicked to the monitors. He saw what was happening on the third screen, and went a sickly shade of grey. ‘Oh shit,’ he gulped.

Layla looked again at the screen. Forced herself to look.

The man was gone.

Now there was only Precious, lying on the floor.

Layla couldn’t remember running along the corridor, hurling herself down the stairs. The club was thrumming to a loud disco beat and she ran straight through the centre of it, grabbing Ellie as she went, trailing Junior behind her.

‘Precious!’ she screamed to make herself heard above the noise. Ellie looked at her in bewilderment, not knowing what the hell she was talking about. Punters were looking, half-smiling, they didn’t have a clue. ‘The man in with her, she’s on the floor, it’s him! ’

Doormen from the front were already hurrying through, alerted by the buzzer. They raced through the main body of the club, Kyle among them, and went through the gold bead curtain and into the narrow corridor where the three private dancing rooms were located.