The Trap

by SR Jones

  The men who attend are always corrupt to a degree. One of the previous years there was so much groping of waitresses’ bottoms it made the local papers.

  Hopefully the bad publicity from it will at least mean the patrons keep their hands to themselves this year.

  One reason to keep my transformation from dowdy to sexy a slow reveal despite the rumors Allyov is on the prowl, has been Andrius. That man sees far too much, and I worry changing my appearance too quickly will arouse his suspicions.

  The ball is the perfect opportunity for me to catch Allyov’s eye because according to the gossip, Andrius never goes. Why would he? He’s hardly the friendly public face of Allyov’s business. More the dark, avenging angel who no one wants to meet.

  “Will Andrius be there?” I ask. Adding, “He scares me,” as justification for my question.

  “No. He doesn’t attend those kinds of events. Luckily for you. Be on time, and for the love of God, do not drop anything.”

  I nod and turn away, my churning emotions hard to hide.

  This is my chance. If I can do it, this is my chance to be noticed.

  **

  The night of the ball arrives, and after a few hours I’m almost ready to murder Allyov purely for holding this event. The evening has been hellish.

  I sigh and try not to react as yet another fat, overprivileged man brushes his fingers against my thigh. At least this one didn’t pinch. I’m going to be black and blue by the time I’m done.

  In the back of the elegant dining hall, the kitchen is a hive of unglamorous activity. Not that it’s glamorous out there. There are no women at tonight’s function, only men.

  I idly wonder if it bothers any of them, to think once their daughters enter the world of work, they won’t be able to access this sort of power-building event. White, rich, older men only, if the faces out there are anything to go by. Whereas us women waiting on them are young, poor, and of all sorts of ethnic origins.

  “He’s offered me a job as his live-in nanny; dirty bastard.” One of the other girls, Rhi I think her name is, regales those around her with the story of what one of the clients has said to her. “Says I’ll be great with his kids and then added he also thinks I’ll be great with my mouth. Blow job lips. You know who I feel sorry for? Their wives.”

  An hour later, with my feet killing me, I finally get my chance to either act or drop this whole crazy plan altogether.

  I’m serving Allyov’s table after swapping with a girl who is fed up of the gropes from there.

  I’m dressed to impress tonight. As much as I can be at such a function. My shirt is tight, and I have on a push-up bra with a little cleavage showing. I’ve put on more makeup than usual, but kept it light and tried to highlight the innocence of my features. The thing I’ve always hated about my looks, the way I look so young, is the thing Allyov loves in a mistress.

  I purposefully head to the fat bastard who groped the other girl hard enough she was almost in tears. Offering my bottom, clad in a tight, short black skirt up as bait, I position myself to give him the perfect chance.

  Thank the heavens he’s as much of a prick as he looks, and I squeak as chubby fingers squeeze my flesh to the point of pain.

  “Please! Stop doing that, sir,” I say loudly.

  My heart is pounding hard. Fuck, I’m actually doing this.

  “Oh, it’s a little fun and games. Stop acting like a blushing virgin.” He gives an unattractive snorting laugh.

  I want to thank him for handing me what I need on a plate, but I can’t, so I fix him with a serious stare and play it up.

  “Actually, I am a virgin, and I expect I’m a similar age to your daughter, if you have any, so please, behave yourself.” I soften my words with a smile, and I don’t have to fake the heat climbing my cheeks at my little speech. All the men are looking at me. A few hold compassion within their eyes. A lot more possess hunger in their gaze.

  “I can get you fired,” he splutters.

  “Kingsley,” Allyov speaks. “Leave the girl alone.”

  I glance at Allyov and wonder, not for the first time, how his outside belies his inside. His warm face is kind, reminding me of a paternalistic and caring grandfather. He seems a little out of place here with these men. He’s secure in his own skin, not ogling the girls, not pinching at them or making loud, boorish jokes. I’m a big believer in instincts, and mine tell me he’s a nice man. They’re deadly wrong. The juxtaposition between his jovial outer shell and his inner darkness only make him more dangerous.

  “Of course, Sergei.” Kingsley defers to Allyov, but shoots me a venom-filled glance. “Whatever you say.”

  He must know Allyov well to use his first name.

  I smile in gratitude at Allyov as I pass him by, and he smiles back, his gaze on me speculatively.

  When I get into the back, I have to take a big drink of cool water; I’m hot and clammy.

  Shit, I’ve gone and done it. I’ve gained the attention of one very dangerous man.

  The rest of the evening passes smoothly. At some point an announcer takes to the microphone and states that the raffle will be starting. I don’t pay much attention at first. The last raffle I went to the main prize was a box of chocolate biscuits, but I’m all ears when I realize the prizes going tonight include yachts and diamond necklaces. God, how rich are these guys?

  Finally, the whole sordid shebang draws to a close, and my aching feet have never been more grateful.

  A few of the girls hang around when things are finished, getting changed out of their serving uniforms and putting on sexy clothing. Hoping to bag themselves a sugar daddy, I assume. I shudder. None of the men in there appeal to me. Call me an old-fashioned romantic, but I want to feel the tingles when I next sleep with a man for fun.

  That’s if I can pull this off with Allyov and stay alive long enough to sleep with anyone else again.

  Not that any man has given me a thrill in a long, long time.

  Liar, a little voice whispers, Andrius did.

  And that would be the icing on the cake of bad decisions. To remotely consider anything with a man who is surely a psychopath of the highest order.

  I’m scarily convinced that over the coming weeks, I’ll be able to get under Allyov’s skin. I can start by thanking him, bashfully, and oh-so-sincerely for saving me when I next see him at the restaurant. The time is here when I either have to put my plan into action, or let it go. Leave work, go get a job at the nice Greek café, and save for my studies.

  I know which my father would want. He’d wish for me to walk away right now. But how can I when I know his death was probably due to the heartache of seeing his wife and daughter cruelly murdered? When my sister and mother were burned alive by a man within my reach?

  Without bothering to say goodbye to the gaggle of girls still remaining, I step out of the service entrance into the alleyway and the warm night. My mind won’t close down. I take in a breath of city air and wish it was scented country air. My mum grew night-scented stock in our garden when I was a child, and it took away the city smell, made it seem as if we had a patch of the country right in our own backyard.

  Rustling to my right makes me jump, and I turn and nearly scream. There’s four or five men in the shadows but as I put my hand to my pocket, fingers searching for my personal alarm, one of them steps out of the shadows, a cigarette in his mouth. It’s Allyov.

  I put my hand to my chest, willing my racing heart to calm down. “I’m sorry,” he says with a dip of his head in his accented voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Forcing myself to relax, I smile at him. “It’s okay. I’m off to home. Thanks for sticking up for me in there.”

  “Ah, it is okay. In our culture we do not condone the harassing of young girls. Most especially not virgins.” He gives me a pointed look, and my face heats.

  Has he figured out my lie? I hope the blush only serves to make him believe me.

  “Such a lovely wash of color on your cheeks. You’re an u
nusual young woman, Violet.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I simply smile.

  “Do you live with your family?”

  I shake my head. Maybe this is it? The interview where he finds out if I’ll be a good fit to be his next dalliance?

  “No. My family is all dead.” I don’t have to act the sorrow that comes with those words. “I’m from London, but couldn’t stand living there after my father died. I moved here.”

  “You moved all this way to simply become a waitress?” He smiles again, benign and kind and so real looking for a moment I actually almost want him to take me under his wing. Look after me. It’s lonely, this life I have.

  “Erm, no. I want to do a course next year, to train to be a veterinary nurse. I can’t afford to do it in London. The rent is too high down there. At least here, I can afford my own small place, you know? I’m grateful for the job I have with you, sir, and I hope to carry on working for you as I study.”

  “Of course. You are a good waitress. What about your friends? Do they work, or are they studying too?”

  I flush once more as I say truthfully, “I don’t really have any friends. Haven’t had the chance to make any here yet. My friends in London were mostly casual acquaintances from school, and once we left, we all went our separate ways.”

  “Poor Violet, you are all alone in this world.”

  One of the thugs gives an amused snort, and Allyov shoots him a dark look, shutting him up immediately.

  “Well, I must let you go on home now, Violet. It can be dangerous late at night around here. Be careful.” Allyov smiles benignly as he speaks, but alarm bells are pealing in my head.

  There’s something off about this. Allyov is strangely old-fashioned. He likes to woe—I’d say groom—the young girls he takes as his mistresses. I doubt he surrounds them with his bodyguards and interviews them in this manner.

  As I walk away, my skin prickles with awareness of the group of men behind me. The lights of the street ahead are reassuring, and I reach the road with a sense of relief.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Violet

  The next few days pass in a busy blur. I have a shift, and it’s packed as always, but Allyov doesn’t show, which is a relief in the state of constant nerves I find myself living under.

  I’m not sure if Allyov wants me as his mistress or is suspicious of me, but both are enough to keep me highly agitated. I can’t focus on anything, and at home I’m as clumsy as a newborn foal. I stagger around my small space dropping things, walking into things. I need to get a grip before my next shift at the restaurant.

  I’m unnerved enough by the conversation with Allyov that I do something possibly crazier than anything else so far. I pick up the phone and call Aliya, praying she will answer, about to confess. She doesn’t, of course. If she had, she’d have told me I’m insane. She’d have told me to get the hell out of town and go enroll in a course somewhere far from here.

  She’d be right too.

  If I leave in the next week, hand in my notice and simply move on, no one will come looking for me. Even if I’ve sparked Allyov’s attention, he’s hardly going to turn England inside out looking for a possible mistress; he’ll simply find someone else.

  I can’t keep on like this. Losing weight, not eating due to anxiety and nerves. I don’t know, despite how much I hate him, if I can kill him. Sit and watch him gasping for breath as I withhold his meds. The nearer I get to maybe carrying out my plan, the more pathetic it seems.

  I close my eyes and see my father’s face. Kind. Concerned. Crap! I’ve been thinking all along I needed to avenge my family, but if I mess this up and get myself killed, his whole life here in England would be wasted. Everything he did, he did to keep me safe.

  Fuck it. I’m done.

  I run a shaking hand through my hair and take a deep breath in.

  I resolve I must quit my job and put this crazy plan to rest.

  It doesn’t sit right in my gut to take Allyov’s life. I feel as if I’m letting my mum and sister down, but did I honestly think I could commit cold-blooded murder?

  What if the rumors aren’t true, and he does have his henchmen there when he fucks his mistresses? Wouldn’t be a stretch to think he’d have them wait in an adjoining room while he got his rocks off. Or they are positioned right outside the door of a hotel suite; wouldn’t they hear if he went into severe allergic shock? They’d bust the door down and get his medicine themselves.

  They were with him when he questioned me. I think that’s what has gotten me so worked up. The fact he asked me such a series of searching questions while we were surrounded by his men. It seems … strange.

  Dad would lose his mind if he knew what I was doing, and he’d be heartbroken if I got harmed. I pull my suitcase out of the closet and start to pack my clothes.

  I’ve possibly set events in motion I can’t handle. My sixth sense, the one we all have and don’t listen to often enough, is screaming at me I’ve done something I may not be able to easily undo.

  By the time night falls, I’m a panicked wreck. I’m not working tonight, and I decide to go see the latest rom-com showing at the flea pit of a local cinema to pass the time. When the film finishes, late, I’ll call the restaurant, when only the managers and end of night staff will still be there, and give my notice. I doubt they’ll care other than the inconvenience. If I lie, say I’ve hurt my foot and can’t bear weight for a few weeks, they’ll be glad to be shot of me. It’s not as if they won’t be able to find a new waitress straightaway in this economy.

  Then tomorrow, I’ll leave town.

  Arriving at the cinema, I try to calm myself. I tell myself I’ve done the right thing, and there will be another way to bring Allyov down. Maybe by taking my father’s diary to the police?

  I swing through the old-fashioned doors and into the carpeted foyer of the cinema. I don’t know how the place is still going seeing as it only has two screens and is tired and lackluster. Possibly because it is local, it makes just enough money to survive from the people who live around here.

  After buying a humongous tub of salty popcorn and a Coke, I enter the screen and slip into a seat near the back. There are four other couples dotted around the room, and I wish for an aching moment that I had someone with me. Someone who cared.

  A significant other who wants to hold me and kiss me. Hell, even a friend would be good right now.

  I sink down in my chair with a sigh and let the sugar-coated scenes playing out in front of me wash away my sadness. I love rom-coms. Sweet Home Alabama is my favorite. It never fails to give me a warm glow. This one isn’t as good, but it lifts my spirits. As the end credits roll, I stand and stretch. The couples are already filing out, and I let them leave before I exit my back-row seating. Walking down the steps, I see a couple large, shadowy figures enter the cinema and go stand by the fire exit door. Weird, I don’t remember this place having security staff, and these guys look like hired muscle.

  Passing them, I startle when one of them says my name on a low purr. It’s an automatic reaction to hearing my name spoken. But that brief moment, that miniscule pause, seals my fate.

  One of the big men lunges forward, and when the light from the exit sign highlights his features, I see it’s one of Allyov’s thugs.

  What the hell? I open my mouth to say something, but his meaty paw slaps over it, closing off my air.

  What’s happening? I didn’t think Allyov kidnaps his mistresses. I’ve never heard such a thing.

  Oh, shit. Maybe, he’s figured out I’m not who I say I am. My fake identity is solid, or at least my father told me it was. It goes right back to me being born in a hospital in London. But Allyov has a lot of connections; what if he’s looked deeper and found out information on me? Something to tie me to Ukraine?

  Why would he, though?

  My mind is whirring as the thug drags me through the fire exit doors.

  I’m screaming behind his hand over my mouth, but it’s muted, and loud m
usic is booming out from the bar two doors down when we break into the night. The bass drowns out any noise I might make. I glance wildly around, hoping to spot an employee on a cig break, but the back of the cinema is deserted except for the huge black car idling in front of us.

  The door to the car opens, and I’m tossed in as if I’m no more substantial than a rag doll. Big arms pull me into another hulking monster of a man, and I’m tucked into his side. Two thugs sit side by side, me sandwiched between them.

  I look up and see Allyov smiling at me. He’s sat opposite me, his face friendly and relaxed. We must be in a limo of sorts, the way the seating is arranged.

  My instincts of the previous evening were correct it seems. This is all wrong. So very wrong. He doesn’t want me to be his mistress. No way would he start things off this way. Does he also take girls and just use them and throw them away?

  Oh, shit. I should have thought of the possibility.

  “Nice to see you again, Violet.”

  “Let me go,” I demand.

  Allyov shakes his head sadly, as if it pains him to say no. “I’m afraid I can’t, precious one. You are perfect, you see. Absolutely perfect.”

  Okay … maybe he does want me as his.

  “If you wanted to take me out, you only had to ask.” I try to smile despite my fear, and I bet it looks like a horrible grimace. “I think you’re … nice.” The word nice sounds false and lame.

  He laughs. “Oh no, my dear. I already have a lady in my life I truly like, but thank you. No, you’re perfect for something else.”

  “For what?” I’m trembling like crazy, but I try not to show my fear.

  “As a gift.”

  A gift? My mind runs through all the permutations of his words, and none of them are good. I react on instinct, kicking out and screaming.

  “How tiresome, I thought you might be a bit more dignified,” Allyov says with a dramatic sigh. “Give her the pill.”