by S. C. Daiko
He shoves the picture toward me and I take a closer look.
Glossy almost-black hair falling in waves to her shoulders. A heart-shaped face. Arched well-defined eyebrows. A slim, straight nose. Pouty lips and a determined chin.
Fuck, it’s Kiska...
The girl who ran out on me two years ago before I’d even asked her name.
I haven’t forgotten her, even though she’s a fucking hooker. Does her father know what she gets up to in the evenings? Maybe that’s why he wants to ‘sell’ her to me?
Fuck, he could even be her pimp...
I blow smoke toward him, creasing my forehead. I searched for that girl in all the usual places where hookers hang out. It was like she’d disappeared from the face of the earth. I’d like to see her again, I realize. She’s nearly twenty years younger than me, but there was something about her.
A spark I still remember.
I’m interested to see if it’s still there.
And so is my dick.
I’ll go through the pretense of checking her out and then probably send her home to her father with a note that he’ll need to come up with some other form of collateral.
I’m no longer inclined to let him off.
I lean forward and pierce him with my eyes. “Why are you so willing to sell your daughter, Mr. Petrenko? Surely she has some say in the matter?”
He glances away from me, not answering my question.
Christ, he hasn’t even run this by her ...
“She’s a good girl,” he says eventually. “She will obey her papa.”
“I’d like to see her first,” I tell him against my better judgement. “I want her here at nine tomorrow morning. As it happens, I’m looking for a cocktail waitress in the lounge bar.”
“Thank you,” Petrenko bows fawningly. “You won’t regret it. Her name is Eva, by the way.”
Revulsion fills my gut. “Get out of here.” I indicate with my hand toward Yuri that he’s to escort the dickhead from my office. “Before I change my mind.”
Yuri leads the man away, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve had many experiences of the vile side of human nature in my forty-two years and I shouldn’t be surprised at what just happened.
Except I am.
I’m gobsmacked as the English say, remembering the expression from the time when I spent my formative years in London.
Still with the bitter taste in my mouth, I reach for my dress suit jacket hanging on the back of my chair and shrug it on before heading into the club to make sure everything is ready for when we open tonight.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Eva
“You’ve done WHAT?” I stare at my father, unable to believe what he’s just told me. I jab my finger at him as we stand facing each other in the kitchen of the small apartment above the dance studio. “How could you?”
“There was no alternative, daughter,” he shakes his head. “The man is a beast. He’ll kill me if he doesn’t get his money back. How would you, your mother and little Kir manage then?”
“You’ve sold me to a beast?” I pull my lips back. “God, Papa, I still can’t believe you’d do such a thing.” My knees give way and I collapse onto a chair. “You should have asked me first...”
Papa presses his palms to his forehead. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but you owe it to Mama and me. When you got pregnant and wouldn’t tell us who the father was, we respected your privacy.” A sigh escapes him. “We supported you and agreed to help raise your son.” He wrings his hands together. “If you work as a cocktail waitress for Gleb Sokolov, it will give us the necessary respite to get the business back on an even keel.”
I run shaky fingers through my hair. “It will be slave labor. Is that how you think of me? Like I’m a possession?” My throat clogs with unshed tears.
Papa shakes his head. “I don’t think of you like that, printsesa. Believe me, I had no choice.”
“Don’t call me princess,” I grit out. “I’m no longer your princess.”
“You’ll always be my princess, sweetheart.” His shoulders slump. “Look on the bright side. This will get you out of the apartment. You’ve been holed up here far too long.”
“I was sick, Papa. You know that.” My eyes blaze.
“You’re fully recovered now.” Papa assumes a martyred expression. “We paid for your meds and for a therapist...”
Trust him to use emotional blackmail.
I’m about to retort my illness wasn’t my fault, except that wouldn’t be true.
I brought it on myself by having a one-night stand.
More like a ten-minute stand, if I’m honest, but with life-changing consequences.
I lower my gaze and swallow hard.
Suddenly the door opens, and Mama comes into the kitchen, fifteen-month-old Kir balanced on her hip.
She tilts her head to the side, her hazel-colored eyes homing in on Papa.
She doesn’t need to say anything... her expression says it all.
She knows exactly what’s been going down.
They must have cooked up this plan together.
Kir opens his chubby arms and reaches for me. I take him from Mama and breathe in his sweet baby scent. “I’ll give him his bottle and settle him for the night,” my voice rasps. “If I’m gonna be working nights I wanna make the most of the time I can spend with him.”
“That’s my girl.” A smile lights Papa’s eyes. “It’s only for a year, and then maybe you’ll have the confidence to go back to college.”
“Sure,” I say, picking up Kir’s nighttime bottle from the warmer on the counter.
With a heavy heart, I take my leave of my parents and go to my room.
I settle Kir in my lap as I sit on an armchair and soon he’s sucking rhythmically, his beautiful blue eyes gazing into mine.
My heart squeezes I love him so much. It’s hard to believe I couldn’t touch him, couldn’t even look at him when he was first born. I would have given him up for adoption if Mama hadn’t bonded with him immediately. It would have broken her heart to be separated from him, and I couldn’t do that to her.
Postpartum depression was the diagnosis. I withdrew into myself, my mood swings turbulent. I felt empty most of the time, wracked by guilt and shame. Nothing anyone said or did could comfort me. I was sure I’d never be capable of looking after my son and had no interest in doing so.
Thank God Papa found me an amazing therapist, Maya, who helped me little by little. I was able to kick the antidepressants once and for all three months ago when Kir turned one.
“You are the best thing that’s happened to me,” I tell him, stroking his soft cheek. And it’s true... despite the nature of his conception and my conflicted psyche since.
How could I not love him?
He’s freaking adorable, even if he has inherited half his genes from a beast.
I close my eyes and think back to that night, how I ran from the club in the pouring rain... not even waiting for Tamara. I’d walked home without my coat, chilled to the bone, and the next morning I came down with a fever which made me delirious. I lost track of the days as Mama took care of me, and by the time I was better there was no longer a window of opportunity to take the morning after pill.
I bend and kiss Kir’s smooth forehead. “I wouldn’t have you if that had happened, baby boy.”
I release a long, slow breath.
Of all the people Papa could have borrowed money from, cruel fate led him to Gleb Sokolov. I shudder to myself.
And now I’ll be that monster’s slave.
One thing is for sure, I’ll never let Gleb so much as lay a finger on me. My body betrayed me with him. I fucking hate him for having that effect on me and, despite having grown to love my baby, Gleb’s dominance of me changed the course of my life. I’ll do everything I can to prevent him from finding out he has a son.
Suddenly my hand trembles.
He might try and take Kir away from me...
After I
’d recovered from what turned out to be pneumonia, I didn’t worry unduly when my period was late. I told myself it was because I’d been sick. I carried on working at Fernando’s Italian Restaurant and kept up with my college classes in dance studies. I broke friends with Tamara for bailing on me and focused on my work. But, by the time I’d missed my second period, I was experiencing severe morning sickness.
There could be no doubt.
I was fucking pregnant.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Telling my parents was damn hard. They were devastated, of course. Papa wanted to force the baby’s father to pay maintenance. He tried to persuade me to reveal Gleb’s name. At first, I wasn’t aware I’d been fucked by the notorious Gleb Sokolov. I had no clue what he looked like; I thought he was just one of the club employees. Then I checked online, dread spreading through me when I realized the implications.
I think that’s when I started spiraling into depression. I couldn’t eat and lost so much weight Mama took me in hand and told me I was risking my baby’s health. She practically force fed me for the rest of my pregnancy, and when I became severely ill after Kir’s birth, she watched over me like a mother hen.
I smile down at my son. He’s fallen asleep, his beautiful dark eyelashes fanning the apple of his soft warm cheeks. I put the bottle down on the table by the armchair and lift him into his toddler bed in the corner of my room. Papa bought it second-hand from one of his ballroom dancing students who no longer needed it.
My breath catches on a sigh. Despite my anger at what Papa has done, I know I need to see this through. If I don’t, I could make things even worse. Gleb Sokolov could have my father killed.
I could take Kir and run away, I guess. But where would we go? And what would we live on? I rub my brow.
Not even an option.
I tiptoe across my bedroom and make my way back to the kitchen. Mama and Papa look up expectantly as I enter the room.
The clock on the wall ticks loudly, breaking the silence hanging in the air.
“I’ll do it,” I tell them.
Their faces break into smiles of relief and they leap to their feet.
“Only for a year.” I step back. “And if that beast touches me I’ll be out of there before he can even blink. I’m not a hooker.”
Mama draws me toward her and envelopes me in a warm hug. “You’re a good girl, my dear. We wouldn’t have asked this of you if there was any other way out of the situation.”
I squirm from her embrace and stand back, taking in how she’s aged in recent months. She turned fifty last December; she’s lost her dancer’s figure... early menopause having piled on more than a few pounds. She has gray streaks in her hair and wrinkles under her eyes. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m over the shock now. I’ll be fine. And, if I’m not, it will give us time to come up with another solution.”
My words sound confident.
Much more confident than I feel.
“Thank you,” they say in unison.
“Well, I guess I’d better go to bed.” I wipe my clammy hands down my jeans.
“Don’t you want any supper?” Mama inclines her head toward me.
“I’ve kinda lost my appetite. Sorry,” I kiss her on the cheek.
Papa comes up and pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll give you a ride to the club in the morning. Sleep well.”
I let them get on with their meal and return to my room. After taking a quick shower in the ensuite, I pull back the sheet and climb into bed. I’m not tired, though, and I toss and turn for what seems like hours before I fall into a fitful slumber, images of a man with piercing blue eyes disturbing my dreams.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Gleb
I’m up early and arrive at the club at around eight thirty. The cleaners are hard at work; I leave them to it and go through to my office. After switching on the coffee maker, I boot up my laptop and start checking our income and expenditure for the past week.
Except, I can’t focus.
Fucking Vadim Rayt.
I rub the short beard on my chin. Vadim’s threat of a turf war was more than an idle menace. The man is a fucking nightmare. I pick up my phone and message Yuri to join me.
He’s here in minutes, and we scroll through the saved list of which members of my security team have the most up-to-date firearms. “We’re ready for the motherfuckers, Boss.” Yuri’s scowl would make mincemeat of a bison. “Let them try and take us down.”
“Hmm,” I press my lips together. “That son of a bitch operates covertly. We’ll just have to keep one step ahead of his game.”
Yuri cocks his head to one side. “You have a plan?”
“I haven’t fine-tuned it yet.”
My stomach muscles harden. Whatever ensues is going to be fucking violent. There’s no way to avoid a bloodbath.
I check my gold Rolex. “Eva Petrenko should be here soon,” I say, changing the subject. “Can you bring me a selection of uniforms she can try on to get the right size?”
“Sure thing,” Yuri grins and spins on his heel.
I drum my fingers on the desk. From what I remember, Eva had played me like a fish on a line that night. I’d wanted her from the moment I’d spotted her with that one-hundred-dollar bill in her hand, her golden eyes throwing daggers at me. I don’t fuck hookers, but the way she’d fought me like an alley-cat had made me so fucking hard I couldn’t help it. Then, when she’d tried to bail on me and I’d spanked her, what had gone down was so damn hot I’d thought about it for days. If I’d found her in the weeks I’d spent searching for her, I’d have set her up in an apartment and kept her for myself.
Kiska, my kitten.
As it turned out, she was just another name in a long list of one-night-stands.
Probably for the best; I’m not great at relationships.
Never had one that lasted more than a few months.
I reach for my cigar humidor and select a Davidoff. After cutting off the end, I light up and the chocolatey aroma of burning tobacco leaves fills the air. I savor the smoke in my mouth, enjoying the nicotine hit until the door swings open and Yuri reappears, uniforms hanging over his beefy arm and Eva Petrenko at his side.
I look her up and down. Christ, she’s even more beautiful than I recall. Two years ago, she was caked in make-up. She doesn’t seem to be wearing any today, and the fresh-faced look suits her better.
Yuri hands me the uniforms and I wave him off.
Eva’s amber-colored eyes meet mine and I discern nervousness in her golden irises. What the fuck has she got to be nervous about? She folds her arms across her tits. “You wanted to see me?”
I indicate toward the chair opposite my desk. “Take a seat.” My tone is deliberately icy.
She blinks rapidly but does as I ask, crossing her legs and running her hands down the sides of her jean-clad thighs.
It suddenly strikes me how young she looks.
Innocent, almost.
How appearances can deceive.
She glances away, and I’m intrigued by her reticence. I pretend indifference and stifle a yawn. “You will work for me for one year.” I suck in smoke, swirl it in my mouth, then let it out. “In return I will cancel your father’s debt.”
She uncrosses her legs, leaning forward, her eyes suddenly spitting sparks. “I am not a slave to be bought and sold.”
“Then why are you here?” I blow out a plume of smoke.
“To help my family.”
I laugh and tap ash into the ashtray. “I hope you’re worth it.” I stretch in my seat and slide the uniforms across the desk. “Take these into my bathroom.” I indicate toward the door in the middle of the far wall. “Try them on for size.”
She stares at the black corsets with red metallic panels and laced backs. Her mouth forms an O. She fingers a stretch satin pencil mini skirt, a slit up the side nearly as high as the waist. “I’m not wearing this,” her voice trembles.
I chuckle and point my cigar at
her. “You WILL wear it. It’s what all my cocktail waitresses wear. The club’s uniform. Don’t forget your father sold you to me and put you in this position.”
Her cheeks redden. “I’ll look like a whore.”
“And?” I quirk a brow.
She huffs. “I. Am. Not. A. Hooker.”
I stub out the cigar. “That’s not what you said two years ago, if my memory serves me well.”
Her blush deepens. “If I’m to work for you, I’d like to make one thing clear.”
I’m amused by her bravado but contain my laughter. “Oh?”
“That night was a one-off. I’ll be a slave for the sake of my family, but I won’t be a sex slave.”
My mouth twists. “What makes you think I’d be interested?”
She doesn’t grace my question with a reply, but her eyes blaze with something akin to hatred. Hatred mixed with apprehension. I roll my executive chair back and get to my feet at the same time as she grabs the uniforms and heads toward my bathroom. She shoots me a disdainful look over her shoulder before slamming the door shut.
Smart-ass chick ...
I go to stand by the window.
Eva isn’t showing enough gratitude.
I’m a powerful man, for fuck’s sake.
I don’t need to take this shit.
I’ve a good mind to tell her to get lost.
I turn around.
Jesus, fuck!
My eyeballs pop at the sight of her standing in the bathroom doorway, her arms by her sides.
She’s tiny, but well proportioned. Her legs are long in comparison with the rest of her body. The skirt reveals shapely thighs and it hugs her rounded hips. And the corset... the fucking corset clings to her nipped-in waist and pushes up her tits beautifully.
I almost pick my jaw off the floor.
“I look like a stripper.” She plants her feet apart. “Have you considered how sexist this uniform is?”
I walk up to her, invading her space. “The girls who work for me aren’t strippers, neither are they hookers.” I stare down at her. “They wear the uniform because they’re proud of their bodies. Serving in the private members lounge they rarely, if ever, come across anyone wanting to take advantage of them.” I inhale deeply through my nose, then exhale slowly. “In any case, I have security who make sure nothing unpleasant ever happens.”
