by SR Jones
“Sorry, darling,” he drawls, laying the Southern charm on thick, “I don’t speak whatever that beautiful language is you’re talking in.”
“Polish,” the girl replies in heavily accented English. “You’re American?”
“Yes, ma’am. Visiting for business.”
“What business do you do?” she asks.
“Music industry,” Priest replies smoothly. Then he nods toward the table with the Starz gang sitting around it. “You ought to get back to your friends. We don’t want any trouble, but it sure was nice talking.”
“Oh, we aren’t with them in that way. And we’re always looking to erm … party.”
Hookers, I think. Fuck it, this can help us.
I lean into Priest and speak quietly into his ear. He nods.
“My friend here is shy, but he’s wondering if you want to come back to our hotel for some fun?”
“Yeah, maybe. I mean … we don’t have any money for a cab or anything like that, though,” she says all innocent.
“We have plenty of money, and we’d be more than happy to pay for you ladies to get cabs.”
And there it is.
“Great. Let us freshen up, and we’ll meet you outside in five minutes.”
He dips his head, and they sashay past us.
I turn to Priest. “Vasily and I need to get out of here. If one of the men comes over to talk and check us out, we’d be made. Can you handle this?”
“Of course. I’ll bring ’em back to the hotel. See you there.”
I pat his shoulder and get up to leave, along with Vasily.
We head out of the door and walk toward the hotel.
When we get there, we head straight into my room together and wait for Priest.
Ten minutes after us, his arrival is heralded by a bang on the door.
I open it to find Priest with the two girls, one on each arm. He smiles at me, and we usher them inside.
Close up, I can see they look fucked. Eyes are dilated, and when I scan my eyes down their bodies, I see one has track marks between her toes, which are sticking out of the high heeled sandals she’s wearing. She must be freezing in this weather. Not that those fuckers in the Starz will give a shit for her comfort.
We need to talk to them and find out if they’re with the group willingly or have been trafficked. Either way, they’ll talk but probably easier if they hate Jan and his friends.
“Ladies, come in.” Priest closes the door behind them, and Vasily goes to the women with a glass of vodka in each hand.
One of the girls is blonde and the other a redhead. The blonde is the one with the track marks. The redhead is less sure of herself and doesn’t appear quite as fucked.
They take the drinks offered and sip. The blonde gags. “Ugh, vodka? What the fuck? What sort of Americans drink neat vodka?”
“We’re Russian,” Vasily points to us both.
“Oh, okay. You’re working together in the music industry?” she asks, frowning.
“Yeah, I’m a DJ, and Vlad here,” he gestures at me, “he’s the vocals guy.”
I shoot him a withering glare.
“Ooh sing for us.” The blonde giggles, drinking more of the vodka she apparently doesn’t hate quite all that much.
I shake my head.
“He’s shy,” Vasily says with a smirk. “Really shy. He’s gonna be huge if he can get over it. Got a voice like an angel, but he’s so shy it cripples him. He’s never even been fucked before,” he whispers dramatically.
That’s it; he’s dead once this is over.
“Can’t get it up. Get’s scared. We thought maybe you ladies could help?”
“Erm, yes, of course; we can help with this problem,” blondie says, her accent strong.
“How did you ladies end up doing this?” Priest asks with a friendly smile.
“We like to party.” Blondie shrugs. “It’s fun, no? This way we get paid as well.”
The redhead seems a lot less willing to say anything, and when I look at her, she’s clearly scared.
“I want the redhead,” I say. “You two take blondie here, and leave us alone.”
Vasily frowns, but does as I say, escorting the blonde to the door, with him and Priest.
I lean into him and say softly in Russian. “Don’t let her go. Tie her up if you have to. They can’t leave here until we’ve finished what we came to do. Find out what you can, and I’ll work on this one.”
Vasily closes the door, and I turn to the redhead. She’s looking around the room, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s skinny, too skinny, and her hair is clearly dyed because she has an inch or so of brown re-growth where it parts in the center.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She nods and forces a smile as her gaze meets mine.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell her. I bet so many fucking men say that to her before they give her fifty euros to suck their cocks, or a hundred to fuck them.
“What would you like?” she asks, toneless and dead inside. “It’s a hundred for oral.”
Okay, so pricier than I’d have guessed. “Two for sex, three for anal.”
I’m about to tell her I want to talk to her when she carries on.
“Five hundred if you want to hurt me, but you can’t break anything or do anything bad enough to need emergency medical treatment.”
The blood freezes in my veins. Those scummy fucks are dead.
All of them.
“What sort of thing can I get for five hundred?” I ask, forcing myself to sound casual, interested even.
She gives me a funny look, suspicious. “It’s not the sort of thing I’d imagine a virgin would go for.”
“Not a virgin. He was fucking with you,” I say.
She sighs. “Great. Well, erm. Slapping, biting, blood play if it’s light. You can piss on me. Pull my hair. Most guys just want to slap my face, choke me, spit on me; that kind of thing.”
Sick bastards. It amazes me how many deeply messed up people exist in this world.
“How did you get to be doing this?” I ask her.
She sighs, and turns to me. “Listen, Mr… I don’t know your name, but please, can you tell me what you want, so we can get to it because if I don’t get back within a couple of hours with the money, I’ll be in big trouble. You too.”
I laugh. “How will I be in trouble?”
“The men I work for are scary.” The fear in her voice is real. “They’ll have had someone follow us here with your friend, and they’ll know where you are staying. You don’t pay us, then they’ll come for you.”
“How much do you have to give them?” I ask her.
“Are you a cop?” she snorts.
“No. One moment.”
I pick up my phone and dial Priest.
“Yeah.”
“There’s a guy outside. Followed them here. Go find him and take him out.”
“Done.”
Her eyes widen, and she lunges for the door. I beat her to it, locking it in one swift move. She backs up, fear crawling over her face as she looks wildly around her.
“Listen,” I tell her as soothingly as I can. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not a cop, but I’m not a punter, either. You’re not going to leave here tonight, so you might as well calm down; I just need information.”
“They’ll kill me,” she seethes. “What kind of idiot are you?”
“The kind who is going to kill the men who did this to you.” I take the wig off, sick of it itching me, and she gasps. “Who the hell are you?”
“We’re Bratva, honey, and be thankful you’re here with us and not with those fuckers. Now, why don’t you tell me all you know, and I swear to you, they won’t hurt you.”
She scratches her arm, and I take hold of her wrists, turning them both ways. “You on drugs?”
“No. Not unless you count alcohol and a bit of weed.”
“Name?”
“They call me Gloria,” she snorts.
; “Okay, Gloria, listen to me. My name is Andrius, and those men you’re with, they threatened me and mine, and so they’re going to pay. I can have you freed and back home if it’s what you want?”
“And if not?”
“You’ll be tied up, safely, and kept here until such a time as we’ve done what we came to do, and then you can go about your life. If you help me, though, I’ll get you back to Poland and under the protection of the mafia there, and they won’t let anyone touch you. Never again. I promise you that.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t, but I haven’t asked anything of you, have I? I haven’t paid you to do anything. You can stay with us tonight, safe, and tomorrow I’ll get you home. How did you end up here?” I ask her, trying not to put any blame into the question.
“I thought I was coming to work as an au pair. When I got here, they took my passport and made me work for them.”
“Okay, listen to me. I’m going to call someone, two people actually, and I want you to talk to them, okay? One is my wife, and the other is a woman I met a long time ago, who was in your position. I helped her. Now, Gloria, you can tell me. What’s your real name?”
She looks up at me, and tears fill her eyes. Lips trembling, she murmurs, “Hanna.”
“Okay, Hanna. I’m going to call my wife now.”
Chapter Seven
Violet
My cell beeps, and I grab it, look at it, and see a somewhat cryptic text from Andrius.
Zakia, remember the time you saw me having a drink with the woman from Allyov’s club, all those many, many months ago? You thought I was cheating, and you ran? I wanted you to trust me then, and you didn’t. I need you to trust me now. I’m going to call you in a moment. Andrius. X
What the hell? Is he with a woman? Has he been seen with a woman? Oh my God, did he end up with one of the Starz Allianz women in some compromising situation, and they’re going to blackmail him?
He’s asking me to trust him.
I want to trust him.
I have major trust issues.
My issues aren’t with Andrius. They’re all about me.
My own father was a raping murderer, and I never saw it. It means I second guess myself all the time now. I truly believed my father was a good, kind man and the truth hit me so hard when I found out who, what, he really was. It means I have major issues with trusting my gut.
Second guessing myself is now second nature to me. It sucks, but it is what it is. I try really hard not to let it affect our relationship, but now Andrius is giving me a heads-up about something, and I’m not sure I’m going to like it.
My phone chimes with the silly tune he put on there as my ring tone. I pick it up, mouth dry, and see it’s a video call.
With a trembling finger, I press answer.
I want to trust him, but he means so much to me that if he’s done something, I’ll find it really hard to come back from it and believe in him again.
“Hey, zaika.” He smiles at me.
“What’s going on?” I ask immediately.
“I want you to talk to someone who is here with me. A young woman. I need you to explain to her that we’re married, and tell her she’s safe here with me, Vasily, and Priest. Then I want you to get Justina.”
“Where are you?” I’m confused.
He sighs. “In my hotel room.”
“What? With a woman?”
“It isn’t how it sounds. She’s been trafficked. We brought her and her friend back here, to try to get information. We were followed. Her friend is with Vasily right now, and Priest is sorting the situation with the goon who followed us.”
I can’t help it. Immediately my horrid suspicious side rears its ugly head. “Why are you alone with her? Why are she and her friend separated?”
“Her friend is on drugs. High. Probably addicted. Hanna is not. I wanted to talk to her, and help her, and I’ve told her she’s safe.”
“Hanna? Oh, you’re on first name terms.” I hate myself even as the words come out.
He sighs again, and something akin to disappointment crosses his face. He’s walking, the image of him bouncing as he takes steps, and he heads into a different room. I realize it’s the bathroom.
“Zaika, I understand. You’re insecure. You’re young. That shit with your father; I understand. But right now, I have a terrified, abused, trafficked woman here, and I think it would go a long way to her feeling better if she could speak to you and Justina to help her understand she’s safe.”
“I’m sorry, and I will, of course, speak to her. But how I’m feeling … it’s just … it is a bit suspicious. And you’d go crazy, Andrius, if I had a man in my hotel room, no matter what my explanation.” It’s true, he would. “You’d kill me.” I give a bitter laugh.
He smiles at me. “No, I’d kill him.”
He’s joking, but his words infuriate me because he probably would. “See? It’s one rule for you, and a different one for me. I’m sick of it, Andrius.”
“No, you’re not; you simply don’t trust me. I thought we were past this shit. I told you. I fucking swore on my sister’s soul.”
“I do trust you,” I say, my voice small.
“No, you don’t. Or you wouldn’t be giving me this crap. You know,” he says, voice hardening, all joviality gone now. “I figured when I went away it would be damaging to our relationship. It felt as if I’d thrown a grenade into it, but you? You’ve just pulled the fucking pin. Forget it. I’ll call Justina.”
He hangs up.
What the hell? I stare at the phone, and rage fills me. He hung up? Cut me off just like that, and with another woman in his hotel room? I call back, but he doesn’t answer. I count to ten, try to control myself, and ring him again. This time it goes straight to voicemail, which either means he’s turned his phone off, or is speaking with Justina.
I scream and throw the book I was reading at the wall. Then I storm out of the bedroom and down the stairs. I run into the kitchen and head for the back door.
“Whoa.”
I jump at the voice and turn to see Konstantin at the table, eating an orange. He licks his fingers and cocks his head. “Where are you going?”
“To find Justina, and see if she’s on the phone with my husband.”
Footsteps from the hallway have me turning around, and I see Cassie come out of the living room.
“What’s up, hon?” she asks.
“Andrius just hung up on me is what’s up,” I fume.
The thing about me is I have a bad temper. I know I have a bad temper. I try to keep it under wraps, and ninety-nine percent of the time I manage it. Now and again, though? It escapes, and Andrius hanging up on me that way has me seeing red.
There’s a tiny voice telling me he’s right. He has an abused woman with him, he’s trying to make her feel safe, and me being a jealous bitch won’t help. He also never took advantage of me until I made it clear I wanted him. He never touched Justina, not once. She attested to that. I know deep down that my husband wouldn’t have touched that woman even if he was single. I’m in the wrong, but the hypocrisy of him being alone in a hotel room with a woman, when I’d be in deep shit for doing the same, has me livid.
“Okay?” Cassie says. “Erm, why?”
“He has a woman in his hotel room, and he expects me to be fine with it, and when I wasn’t he hung up on me. He’d go crazy if I had a man in my hotel room, no matter what the reasoning. It’s one rule for him and one for me.”
“Whoa,” Konstantin says again. “Back up. A woman? In his room?”
“Yeah. He says she’s been trafficked, and he’s trying to persuade her to stay with them, but he’s alone, in his room with her, and when I wasn’t entirely happy about that, he hung up on me.” My voice rises.
Konstantin looks at me. “Did you ring him and catch him with this woman?”
I falter for a moment. “No, he called me. Said he wanted my help because she’s scared.” Shit, I’m beginning to co
me down from my momentary rage and panic that my husband is with another woman, and seeing that once more I’ve reacted badly. The exact same way I did back in England when I saw him with that woman and ran, getting him shot. Crap.
“Right. So let me get this straight. He called you, wanting your help? Yet, you react like this?” Konstantin looks at me, and he’s pissed. His jaw is set tight, and his eyes are narrowed.
“You have no right to speak to me this way,” I say, my voice wavering.
“Hey, sweetheart, I don’t care. You want to tear your marriage apart by acting like a child, fine by me.”
“K,” Cassie says hesitantly, coming into the room.
In that bossy alpha way he has, Konstantin holds his hand up to his wife, shutting her up. “Thing is, Violet, you’re right. In some ways, it isn’t fair. He’s in a hotel room with a woman, and you’re right, he probably would go ballistic if it were the other way around. So, unfair? Yes, true. You know what’s also unfair?”
I shake my head.
“That he’s in a hotel room in Berlin in the first place, putting his fucking life in danger while you’re safe here.”
“Now, K,” Cassie says again.
“Cassie, shut up.” He glares at her. I glance at her to see her lips narrow, but she does as he says. “You’re living like a queen, Violet. On his money. On his sacrifice. Everything that man does, he does it for you, Violet. He’s not fucking that woman. If he were, let me tell you, he wouldn’t call you. He called you because he trusts you, and he wanted your help. You threw cold water in his face and showed him you didn’t trust him.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I get scared,” I say. “I have trust issues. Crap. I’ve fucked this up.”
“Call him, explain.” Konstantin smiles at me. It’s hard, but at least it’s a smile. “You know he’ll forgive you.”
“He might not. He hung up on me, and he’s never done that before. Now he won’t take my calls.”
“He’ll come around,” he says.
“How do you know?”
