by S. E. Lund
I turned to Misha. "Do you feel like helping me out, teaching someone a lesson? Get a bit of boxing time in? There's someone who needs my special touch."
"What's his name?" Misha said, intrigued, and always up for some roughing up.
"Stepan."
"You serious? " he said and frowned. "You want to rough up Stepan? He's a nasty piece of work."
"He hurt someone close to me," I said and shrugged, as if it were normal for me to beat up those who crossed me. "I want payback."
He made a face. "He's a psycho. I hope you're in good with Romanov, cause he's one of Victor's boys."
"Close enough," I said. "I'll visit Victor and make sure things are okay between us before I do anything."
"Seriously," Misha said and made a face of fear. "You do not want to piss Victor off. Most guys who're muscle for Romanov do it out of loyalty. Stepan? He chooses jobs because he actually likes hurting people. Gets off on it."
"He fucked up that old friend of mine really bad," I said. "I want to pay him a visit. Do you know where he hangs?"
"I thought he was an enemy," Misha said, frowning.
"We were once friends," I said, trying to shrug it off.
"He hangs out at Martinoff's by the docks. Listen, Stepan's pretty-low level. If you have something to offer Victor in return, he might not be too mad, but don't piss Victor off, man. I'm tellin’ you."
"What's Stepan's last name?"
Misha shook his head. "Andreov. But really, Hunter. You don't want to mess with him unless Victor's a friend."
I waved him off. "Don't worry. Victor's a friend. Besides, I have to pay off a debt is all."
"Okay, but seriously. Don't piss him off."
"I'll set things up. When I call you, I want you ready to come with me."
He nodded but looked a bit hesitant. I ordered him another drink on my tab and then motioned to Lila's friend.
"Go over and be extra friendly with my good friend Misha," I said. She'd know what that meant.
Misha smiled and leaned back, already forgetting his concerns about my little plan to get some payback with Stepan. Hell no, I wouldn't piss Victor off. I'd pay Graham's bill. Then, I'd take that Stepan worm aside and break his fucking nose. With Victor's permission. I'd fuck him up, just as badly as he'd fucked Graham up. Victor would understand. With these thugs and criminals, you had to get down to their level and show them you could keep up or they wouldn’t respect you. I planned on showing Victor that I could keep up.
Hell, I could do even better.
Chapter 5: Celia
I waited.
I waited for Hunter to call me and tell me what he expected from me.
Nothing—not for a day, then two. I felt nervous that perhaps Hunter had backed out and soon, the Romanov family thugs would come for Graham, where he lay unprotected in the hospital neurology ward.
Each night I went to bed wondering if someone would go to the hospital to kill him—or come to the dorm to threaten me. Finally, on the night before the payment was due, I got a text from Hunter with two words:
HUNTER: It's done.
That was it.
Hunter had paid the debt off and so we were safe.
I heaved a sigh of relief—at least I wouldn't have to worry about Graham being murdered in his sleep. I sent him a text back right away.
CELIA: Thank you so much.
He didn't reply and so I didn't pursue the matter any further. Maybe he wasn't going to try to collect what I owed him. Maybe he had been joking that he expected me to be his fuck toy. I had no idea.
As for Graham, he was recovering—slowly. He still faced a long recovery. He’d had a brief setback when he got an infection and his fever soared, but they gave him IV antibiotics and in a few days, he was better.
I called my mom finally, once Hunter paid off the debt and Graham was out of danger—at least as far as being killed by the mafia. I would have called right away if Hunter hadn't come through. I didn’t want to interrupt their cruise unless I had to.
"Celia! Why didn't you call me right away?" my mother cried when she heard Graham had been mugged. "We would have come right home."
"You don't need to come home, mom. Graham's out of danger now. If anything had changed, I would have called you, but Graham didn't want me to call you in the middle of the night and scare you. He's fine—really."
"When can I talk to him?" she asked, and I could hear the fear in her voice fading. "I want to hear his voice and know for myself that he's okay. What did they do to him? Do the police have the suspect?"
Then Spencer grabbed the phone from her and came on the line. "What the hell happened?"
I had to retell Spencer the whole story. I made it sound as if it happened only a couple of days earlier instead of a week. It was a lie but it was necessary. They didn't need to know how bad Graham had been. Graham was out of danger now. It was now all up to his physiotherapists as to how long it took him to get back to normal life.
"Celia, I don't approve of you waiting before calling us. For God's sake—what if Graham died?"
"He didn’t die, and I didn't want to call you and have mom worry. Graham's fine. He's recovering on the neurology ward so they can watch him and then he'll go to rehab."
"Rehab? Why is he going to rehab?"
"They broke his leg and arm and jaw. His jaw is wired," I said and cringed, thinking about the white lies I was telling, downplaying how bad his head injury really was.
"We're on our way home," Spencer said, his voice firm.
"You only have three days left on the cruise," I said. "Graham doesn’t want you to come home early. I'll go to see him and get him to call you. He'll say what I'm saying. Don't come home now. Stay on the cruise."
Finally, Spencer agreed that they would wait and talk to Graham before deciding. I was glad; I did not want them to come back so soon—not until we had things all figured out. Most of all, I hated the thought of telling them Graham had lost both of our inheritances. That would make Spencer furious and would really upset my mom.
I didn’t want to face that any sooner than I had to. The past few days had been traumatic enough.
For the previous few days, images had haunted me from various mafia movies of some thug in a long black overcoat entering the hospital late at night and sneaking in, covering Graham's face with a pillow and smothering the life out of him.
At least now I no longer had to worry about that.
All I had to worry about now was when Hunter would contact me to tell me what he expected of me in return.
I waited. And waited some more.
Nothing.
Over the next few days, I spent time alternating between the hospital, my classrooms and my dorm, trying to study for exams while I tended to my brother and worried about how I'd pay for my dorm the next month. I signed myself up for twice as many shifts at the pub, but it meant that I'd be swamped with work—school and job plus Graham.
I wanted to speak with Hunter and thank him for paying off Graham's debt, and ask him what he wanted in return, but I was afraid.
I was afraid to contact him first. He'd suggested that my debt to him meant I'd be his fuck toy for three hundred hours.
That both titillated me and scared me.
Titillated me because sex with Hunter, even hate sex, sounded better than what I'd had recently—in other words, nothing.
Scared because he'd become notorious as the head of his family now that Sean was dead and he had taken over.
I always thought that if Hunter gained control of his family's business, he'd take it legitimate, and break all ties with organized crime, but I guess I was wrong. In the end, Spencer may have been right about the Saint family and about Hunter in particular.
Maybe the apple didn't fall far from the tree.
My only solace was in thinking that leaving the mafia's grip was harder than Hunter first imagined.
When I spoke to Graham about it, he seemed dismissive. "I guess we're seeing Hunter's true color
s."
I didn't think so. I couldn't believe that Hunter was fine with carrying on with the way things were—the way that sent his uncle to federal prison for a decade and that got his brother killed. I had to think that Hunter was just having problems extricating the business from the grasp of the mafia, but his actions seemed the opposite of that.
He seemed to be in even more deeply. There was talk of Hunter spending time with members of the Romanov family—even the notorious head of the Romanovs, Sergei—the godfather who rarely spent time in Boston, preferring instead to spend his time on Martha's Vineyard.
I didn’t go to the house anymore when Spencer was at home. There was no way I wanted to see him gloat when he told me of how close Hunter had become to the Romanov family—the very family Graham had gone to for a loan.
The very family that beat Graham so badly he almost had a permanent brain injury. He could have died if his partner Mark hadn't gone out into the alley for a smoke.
How could Hunter get in so close with them?
I just couldn’t figure it out.
Hunter had changed. It hurt me to realize that, but in the end, I couldn’t deny it.
Finally, a few days after Hunter paid off Graham's debt, I got a text from him.
HUNTER: You're coming to my place tonight. My driver will pick you up at ten.
That was it.
CELIA: Okay. Any specific instructions?
HUNTER: Don't be late.
I frowned and wished I could stick my tongue out at him.
CELIA: Yes, Sir.
There was a pause.
HUNTER: Oh, I like it. Maybe you should call me Sir all the time…
CELIA: Don't hold your breath.
Hunter wanted me at his place, and ten o'clock was late enough that I pretty much knew what he expected. He was seriously going to hate fuck me in repayment.
Part of me was disgusted. What kind of man expected someone to have sex with them as repayment of a debt?
Part of me—a part that hated myself—was aroused.
All day, I went around slightly wet and swollen at the thought that I'd be having sex with Hunter that night. I kicked myself mentally, wondering how I could sink so low. I wasn't some airhead bimbo. I was a Harvard law student. I was magna cum laude.
I was also indebted to a man who did business with the mafia.
What else could I expect from Hunter but this?
I silently cursed Graham for getting me into this mess. Now that I felt Graham was well enough, I allowed myself to feel some anger toward him. But most of all, I wanted to try to distract myself from thinking about how excited I was about going to Hunter's apartment and having sex with him. It had been months—months—since I'd been with a guy, and that experience had been completely unfulfilling.
The way I was feeling suggested that hate sex with Hunter might be better than anything I'd experienced since the first time I had been with him five years earlier.
I had a bath at eight, washed my hair, brushed and flossed my teeth, and reapplied a bit of makeup—just some mascara and gloss—and blow-dried my hair so that it was long and straight.
Then I went to my closet and considered what I'd wear. Should I get all fixed up? Wear something pretty? Something sexy?
I chewed my bottom lip and couldn't decide.
Finally, instead of something sexy or pretty, I pulled on my boyfriend jeans, a t-shirt with a cat wearing Harry Potter glasses on the front, and my Doc Martens. I wiped off my lip gloss and pulled my hair back into a ponytail.
I wasn't going to present myself as a piece of meat for Hunter to eat. If he didn't like it, he could send me home and find one of the pretty blonde bimbos he appeared to prefer.
About thirty minutes before I left, I got a text.
HUNTER: Bring your toothbrush.
I shook my head. He expected me to stay the night?
CELIA: I have class early in the morning.
HUNTER: My driver will take you to class.
I frowned and texted him back, angered that he was being so crass.
CELIA: You're really going to get your pound of flesh.
HUNTER: Three hundred hours, Celia. That's a lot of flesh I get to pound. James will be on the street at 10 so be ready. I'll be waiting.
I wanted to text back I HATE YOU or YOU'RE A SCUMBAG but I didn't, deciding that I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing me upset.
Besides, his reference to ‘pounding flesh’ made my own flesh throb just a bit too eagerly for my own comfort.
Did he know he'd have that effect on me? Or did he think he'd be punishing me for what he thought was my betrayal?
I decided I'd tell him the truth—that back when I’d told him I didn't want to see him again, it was because Spencer had threatened me and showed me those police photos and the police file on him and Sean. Maybe if he knew I didn’t really betray him—not really and not voluntarily—he'd feel differently about me and not make me be his sex toy.
I was determined to do just that. I'd confess that I had made it all up about Greg.
In truth, I thought Greg was a blowhard. A male slut. I wanted Hunter, not Greg, but I’d felt I had no choice. I felt I was doing the noble thing by making Hunter think I didn't really want him.
He left Boston and went away and that was a good thing. Unfortunately, it all fell apart when my bastard of a stepfather got his uncle arrested and his brother killed.
I knew Hunter would never forgive me for that, even if I had nothing to do with it.
I waited on the street outside the dorm building, my nightgown tucked away in my bag along with my toothbrush, and wondered what would happen.
When a black SUV drove up and parked on the street, I tried to swallow back my anxiety.
"Ms. Parker?" the middle-aged driver said when he saw me, tipping his driver's cap. "I'm James. Mr. Saint's driver."
"Yes," I said and forced a smile. "Hello."
James got out of the vehicle and came to the rear passenger door, opening it for me. "Please get in."
I slipped into the dark interior and fastened my seatbelt, my heart rate increasing as I imagined what lay ahead for me at Hunter's apartment.
We drove in silence through the streets of Cambridge to South Boston and the Burlington – a building with a lot of high priced apartments. The car drove into an underground parking area, and we parked in a slot close to the elevator.
James got out and opened my door, then escorted me upstairs, using a security card to get me into the building and up to the top floor.
When the elevator reached the twenty-first floor, I entered a narrow hallway that led to an ostentatious double door. Hunter must have the entire penthouse floor to himself.
While I waited for James to open the door, I thought how surprising it was that Hunter was living here instead of at the gym with his father. But I supposed that with his money and with moving up in the world of crime, he wanted to live the lifestyle.
It made me feel sad that he'd changed so much. What happened to the honorable Marine Corps officer who went off to defend America from foreign enemies? What happened to the man who wanted to take his family's business clean?
I couldn't accept that this was the same Hunter I used to know. That Hunter would never make me prostitute myself to pay off a debt that wasn't mine in the first place—but it seemed Hunter was no different from any other criminal out there after all.
Power corrupted, and Hunter was now the head of his family. The power he now had must have changed him into someone I didn’t recognize, despite how much he looked like his old self, the young man I’d known five years ago, before all this happened.
We entered the quiet, dim apartment and I waited while James turned on some lights.
"Isn't Hunter—er, Mr. Saint here?" I asked.
"No," James said. "He asked me to bring you here and to tell you he'd be by later. He's caught up with some business associate and won’t be back for a while. You're supposed to make yourself at hom
e. There's food in the fridge and a big soaker tub in the master bathroom."
"Thanks," I said and stood in the entryway, a bit overwhelmed by the opulence of the place. It was gilded and appointed with the best materials—marble, dark wood, what looked like gold inlay in the furniture. Mirrors and crystal chandelier in the entry. Ceiling-to-floor windows overlooking the waterfront.
It was breathtaking.
James led me through the apartment, pointing out the living room, dining room, and then the professional kitchen with everything a chef could want. Down a narrow hall was a huge master bedroom with a massive four-poster king-sized bed, and an equally impressive master suite.
"This is your room," James said and opened the door to a smaller bedroom with another four-poster bed. "You can use this bathroom if you want." He pointed to a full bathroom across the hall.
"Thank you," I said, and stood there wondering what to do next.
"I'll be going now," James said. "I'm still on duty tomorrow morning so I'll take you to Harvard for your early class."
"Okay," I said, my cheeks hot, wondering whether James knew why I was staying the night. "Am I supposed to tip you?" I asked, my cheeks red.
"No, no," he said and laughed softly. "I'm very well-paid, and on staff. But thanks for the sentiment."
"Sorry, I didn’t know…"
He shook his head. "No worries."
I walked James to the door. He turned to me before he left. "Mr. Saint doesn't usually allow guests to stay overnight. You must be special."
"We're old friends. I've known him pretty much all my life."
He nodded. "I figured as much." He smiled briefly and left me in the huge penthouse apartment.
Then I was alone, waiting for Hunter to come and do whatever it was he planned to do with me.
Pound my flesh. Get his pound of flesh. Was I really going to go through with this?
I'd never pimped myself out before, and doing so left this hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. If we fucked, I knew it would be cheap and it would be empty. Sure, I had a low level of arousal at the prospect of being with Hunter despite everything, but part of me hated myself for it and another part hated Hunter for being willing to use me like that.
