by Eve Bradley
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Rhett tells me, shifting his body so that he’s a few too many centimeters closer. “For real. We don’t do that shit.”
“Often,” Alexi says darkly under his breath, and the chill that goes down my spine is inevitable.
I back away from them, abruptly washed in fear. All the effects of the drugs and drinks I’d consumed last night are gone, and what is left is just stone-cold sobriety. I can think of a million reasons not to be here. Maybe I should have checked for cash and bolted.
“Get away from me,” I say, and go to find my nasty shoes.
“Woah,” Rhett puts his arms out in front of him. “Chill, Allie. Chill. Everything’s good.”
But him saying this gives me even more anxiety. I’m locked in a confused state. But what confuses me the most is how he knows my name. Would Shawn have already warned them about me? Why would Alexi act as if he doesn’t know what the hell I’m doing in their house if he’d mentioned me?
My heart flutters in my chest, streaked with the budding feeling that this just may be a dangerous situation. Should I go? Will they stop me? Should I just wait for Shawn? I bite my lip and exhale anxiously.
“If either of you take one fucking ste-,” I start to say, finger raised.
But I’m cut off by the set of glass doors opening yet again. This time it’s Shawn. I can see why drunk me would have trusted him. He looks upper class, has a nice face, tousled blond hair, strong jaw with a cropped beard, and he’s wearing dress clothes. He fumbles with the watch on his wrist as he comes to stand in front of everyone.
“Allie,” he inclines his head to me, and I feign a relaxed response as I tilt my head back to him.
“So?” Shawn says.
So what? So are you going to get me out of here? Because that’s what I thought we were doing this morning. What could he possibly have been doing so early? Do normal people just leave guests in their house without warning them about two other male roommates? I’d think he’d warn me.
“Did you ask her?” he questions the two men.
“No,” Rhett replies, bunching his leather sleeves up. “We were waiting for you.”
“Ask me what?” my eyes narrow, and the urge to run becomes ten-times greater. “Shawn, can we go? I want to get out of here. I don’t feel comfortable.”
Shawn looks at me and makes a little scoffing noise.
“Sweetheart, no. Look. Don’t be uncomfortable. We’re all fine here. No reason to get upset,” he insists in a calculated and demanding voice.
Now I’m enraged, and my heart pounds in my ears. I cross my arms. If I run, one of them will most likely grab me. How can I get out of this alive? This was a horrible fucking choice, Allie. I guess living on the streets strung out and drunk is like Russian roulette, and this is the day the bullet blows through my brain.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” I sneer mockingly, eyes narrowed to slits.
“We want to offer you some money,” Rhett says quickly.
He’s trying to shut me up-- trying to break me down into a million pieces because these words are probably the only words that could ever stop me from bolting out the door.
“If you do Shawn a favor,” Alexi adds, still staring down into the flashing screen of his phone.
Shawn puts on a smile.
“I told them about your situation. We want to help,” he tells me.
He nearly croons it. But something about the sly shade of his features makes me think that this is entertaining for him. “All you have to do is one simple thing.”
My blood is surging in my head, and my mouth cracks before I can even formulate what I want to say. Everything within me is setting off warning bells. But the other half, the demon bitch who lives inside me, has been coaxed out from under her rock. She’s perking up her ears and living for this. Because I don’t know if I’ve told you…but I’m not a good girl.
“How much are we talking?”
“I’ll give you five thousand. If you’re able to do what we ask, you get another 5. That should get you off the streets, at least.”
“Ten-thousand dollars?” I’m gaping like a wound, and I’m pretty sure my mouth is watering. “Are you joking?”
Each of the men have their own way of laughing at me. Shawn chuckles, Rhett covers his face with a hand and then looks up to enjoy a laugh with Shawn, and Alexi shuts his eyes and snickers.
“God, I love when people think that’s big money,” Rhett says and swipes his hands down the back of his neck.
“How is that not big money?” I retort crisply.
“Before you say yes, you should know what I want you to do,” Shawn shifts his stance so that his feet are hip-width apart, and he eyes me derisively.
“Yeah, sure,” I say in noncommittal agreement.
“Perfect,” he says and draws nearer to me on firm, confident steps. It’s like he’s never had an ounce of self-doubt. His cold gaze settles right on top of me, drags down over my apparel, and then up again.
He smiles.
Three
The Devil in the Mirror
“Van Doren,” I repeat the name as I trail my fingers along the modern frame of his bed.
It finally clicks.
“As in the Hotel Van Doren?”
Shawn is standing in his room with me. Alexi is lying on the bed, head tilted back as he watches the interactions unfold, and Rhett is lounged back in a chair on the balcony, the sliding glass cracked so that he can hear us; his sunglasses low and a cigarette in his mouth.
How had I not figured it out sooner? This man is the founder of one of the biggest, classiest hotel chains in the US. I mean, there was a Van Doren Hotel in Illinois where I was growing up. I remember when we’d drive by it on our way into Chicago for Mom’s treatments. We’d drive by so many exciting things that it would give me a fuzzy feeling in my chest. Of hope, of longing, of jealousy? Who knows? All I know is that damn hotel and the city itself made me feel small and dirty. Like a rat.
“I took on my father’s business when he died,” Shawn explains as he works at the cufflinks of his swanky dress shirt. “And I made it better. People ask me what the key to my success was…and I always tell them, my success was inevitable. I love what I do.”
His speech is moving, but he’s a bit too stiff, like a robot completing sentences as if he’s trying to convince me of something. I’m just not sure what he’s trying to convince me of. I hear Alexi chuckle at his friend’s words, and Rhett lets out a harsh plume of smoke.
“So you’re as rich as they come,” I say, and he gives me a surly look in response. “What? It’s not like I’m going to try to steal your money. If I wanted to I would have done that already.”
Whoops. I didn’t mean to say that.
He raises a brow and smirks like a panther.
“Oh, is that right?” he walks towards me, and I feel even more stupid. “How would you have done that?”
I fumble with my hands and work at my nails.
“Well…I, uh. I’d probably start by looking in the obvious places. People are stupid when it comes to storing cash. Especially rich people,” I say. “Not that you’re stupid…I just mean,” I blow out a breath.
Shawn is standing right over me. He’s like an angel of death here to swoop me up and take me back to hell with him. Why can’t I stop talking? Why can’t I keep my fucking mouth shut? Did that really warrant a response? I hold back a groan as my mind races.
“You’re a bad girl, huh?” Alexi shoots out, chuckling to himself. “Didn’t expect that.”
“She’s bluffing,” Rhett comments from the balcony. “She’s as sweet as a cherry.”
Shawn gives me a questioning look.
“Come on, don’t keep us waiting. We’re dying to know how a homeless junkie thinks she can steal mass amounts of cash.”
My skin ripples with fear. There’s something about the way he says it that prickles my skin and makes goosebumps rise. My nipples are hard beneath my shirt and I cros
s my arms. I look down, unable to meet Shawn’s powerful gaze.
It’s not a lie. I’ve stolen. There are a lot of things I’ve done that I’m not proud of. There’s a reason I’m homeless, and it’s not because I’m a junkie, that’s for damn sure. I’m not an addict either. I choose what drug or drink I do and when I do them. Obviously, I make stupid decisions just like the rest of the world, so I can’t agree with either of them.
I guess the better question would be…who would they rather me be?
“I’ve stolen a bit here and there. Nothing crazy,” I explain, the chill in the air haunting me. “Mainly clothes and makeup. Cash sometimes.”
“Nice and honest,” Shawn comments and goes to the far side of the room where a large white door will most likely give way to his walk-in closet. “If you’re going to get your money, I’ll need only honesty from you.”
I nod frantically and then lick my lips.
“Oh, I’m definitely honest, Sir. Definitely…”
I stop myself because I sound like a groveling dog. Or a prude Disney princess vowing her chastity. When I say Sir, all the men freeze like I’ve said something jarring. It takes them a moment to rustle past the strangeness.
Shawn opens the door and waves me over.
“Good. Because we need that in an …accomplice,” he says as he strides into the bedroom sized closet.
I’m in awe. Or in love. I soak in the sight of the closet. I feel like I’m on an episode of MTV Cribs. The luxury is nearly unbearable. There’s a center island with drawers and long walls of men’s clothing. A whole section is dedicated to shoes. There are glowing white lights set into the shelves so that it looks like we’re in a swanky department store. I see he has it organized by style and color. There are little shiny plaques that label each different category of clothing.
“All right, Allie. Here's the thing," Shawn looks at me so stern and serious, but his brows upturn a bit so that I get a sense he’s attempting to be encouraging. This lessens the whirling in my stomach. "Your job is simple. I want you to get dressed up, do your hair and makeup, and come out to a club with the boys and me tonight."
"That's it?" Shock crackles in my gut. He could get any random bitch to come with him to a party for free. But he's going to pay me ten thousand dollars for it? No. That's just not right. But then he starts again, and I think: there we are.
"Here's the catch. I'll start off by saying that this is very serious for us. If you fuck up, you’re putting us all in danger.”
This tall-ass, ruggedly beautiful man is looming over me. I can feel my lips parting, but I can't stop myself. I'm scared, and I'm lost in his stormy eyes. I don't really care that all of these men are gorgeous. I'm more so magnetized to the twisted mystery of the situation.
“Into danger? How could going to a club be dangerous?” I utter, almost breathless. His gaze is squeezing the air from my lungs.
“This is why the stakes are ten-grand,” is all he says, and then adds. "I need to know you can follow orders," he states this nearly reverently, hollow eyes burning me through. He looks down at me, chest puffed a bit, and he clasps his hands slowly in front of him and licks his lower lip. "Can you do that?"
"Well," I begin with a smirk, "I made it through a few years on the streets, so I'd say yes."
Shawn's jaw twitches.
Oh god, I think I made him mad.
"I mean, yes."
"Yes?" he repeats. "Who are you speaking to?"
I tilt my head. Oh, so he wants me to keep the formality up? No worries. Whatever. I thought we'd been getting places. Like maybe we were on the road to friendship. I sigh and smile my best placid smile.
"Mr. Van Doren."
"Right. And you're Penny Windsor," he expresses. I don't achieve barely a second of approval on his face. He slides past me, a breeze of aromatic cologne and enigmatic masculinity, and goes to a side closet. "Miss Windsor wears designer clothes. She's a trust fund baby," he explains as he jerks the door open to reveal a section of women's clothes. “Your daddy bought you everything you wanted. You’re a popular socialite in New York.”
Now my jaw really drops. I can't contain the messy thudding of my heart. He's got loads of women's clothing, shoes, and handbags just sitting there prepared for takeoff. I'm captivated by how much money I know this had to be. And it was only a few yards away from me last night. I could have snatched it all and made an easy ten thousand dollars. Then my mind swings back full force towards what he’s saying.
“Does that make you my Daddy?” I ask, fully pretending to be seductive and innocent all at once.
He doesn’t seem as impressed with my joke as I am.
“What? You’re giving me everything I need to be Penny Windsor. Kind of like her Daddy gave her everything,” I gesture as if this is obvious.
"Allie," he snaps his fingers.
I don’t look at him, partly because I’m irritated that he just snapped his fingers at me. Another part because I want to dive into the women’s clothes and see if they fit me like I think they will.
“This isn’t a joke. Can you handle this?” he says, and in the mirror I’m facing, I see his hand reach out for me. But he drops it before he makes contact. “If you don’t want the money, that’s fine. You can still walk away. I won’t hold it against you. I can take you back to Huntington or Santa Monica.”
I don’t think he understands me, though. He doesn’t know me. And as little as I feel I know myself, I know by now that I’m a sucker for disaster. I peel myself open for self-destruction and it seems sinfully sweet that I’d find myself here of all places, set into a path where danger is my ally and money is my fix. I don’t really care about much. And I guess that’s the thing, when you don’t have much to care about, you’re willing to risk it all.
I sigh.
“No. I’m good,” I affirm “Anything else?”
“You don’t know either Alexi or Rhett. No matter what. Every interaction you have with them, if you do, has to be organic,” he explains and comes to stand just behind me in the mirror. I shiver at his closeness, his vibe taunting me with all sorts of unspoken promises.
“And you?”
“You’re my girl,” he finally, finally smirks. It’s this fucking statement that has my stomach twisting like it’s never known butterflies before. And it hasn’t…not like this. Because this is fear and attraction wrapped into one tasty, wicked morsel determined to make my panties wet.
“Your girl?” I repeat and find myself readily giggling. “I knew it! I knew it would be something like this.”
He gives me a sardonic look and reaches a hand into the thick array of women’s clothing options. He pulls out a form-fitting red sheath dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves. The flash of the silk says “wealth” and makes up for the message that others might take as “slut.” Then he grabs a studded black pair of Louboutins with the classic red bottoms.
“What do you think? Do you like them?” he asks me, and I think I note a hint of genuine curiosity.
“Um, damn,” I say, and step back a bit to take in the devil-red cocktail dress.
“You could pair it with a diamond choker and black nails,” he rambles on offhandedly, as if this isn’t much of a thing. Just a small suggestion. Just everyday run of the mill conversation.
“You want me to get my nails done too?” I blanch.
“Oh, have I gone too far?” he pretends to be concerned.
I can’t handle it and I laugh, hating that he’s actually broken my tension.
“Get dressed, Allie. Penny has a date tonight, and I expect you to arrive and never break character. She’s not a homeless junkie. Make it through the night and you’ll have ten-thousand dollars in your pocket, then you can walk away forever. Easy money, I think we can agree. Hopefully, this is just what you need to stay off the streets.”
Shawn’s steady tone warms me and wiggles through the crack in my stone-cold heart. But it’s not warm because he cares, it’s warm because it hurts. It’s like he�
��s prying a fresh wound open and blood is oozing out. I’m reminded of what I really am. That I have nothing, am nothing, and will be nothing. Even with the ten-thousand, how long can I keep it? How long will I be able to stay away from skid row? Away from the boxy old ladies who’ve resigned to live that way forever, and the asshole men who want to pay me for sex? This is mint, truly.
The flow of emotion makes my head hurt. I don’t even want to think about it. I’ll handle it when I get there. Now I could really use a drink.
“Do you have any vodka…or something?” I ask dazedly.
“Sure. First, get dressed. Then Alexi will take you to go get your hair and nails done,” he orders me.
There’s a shade of disapproval darkening his eyes. But I don’t care. Like he said, after this night I’ll walk away from this forever. I’ll never see Shawn Van Doren, Alexi Lebedev, and Rhett Clark ever again. So nothing really matters.
Just like always.
Nothing ever matters.
“Your vodka soda with lemon, madame,” Alexi offers me a black Starbucks to-go cup, his spicy Russian accent teasing my ears.
I beam at him. Now I’m indebted to this Russian model and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Vodka and hot men. Who would have guessed it? Who would have thought? I grab the drink and a chill rolls over me.
The dress is thin, so I’d grabbed a giant sweatshirt to wear over it. I didn’t ask, I just tugged at the nearest one. Shawn rolls his eyes when he sees me lounging on the bed in my fancy clothes and sweatshirt, Alexi serving me my drink. I think he wanted to see me all fixed up in the dress and heels.
Yes, I’m extremely childish, so I stick my tongue out at him and then wrap my lips around the straw to suck down the nectar.
“Orlando is out front,” Shawn mentions to Alexi quietly, and they stand there at the edge of the room, looking at me as if I’m a puzzling piece of artwork.
