Very Wicked Things

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  He straightened up. “I’ll meet you outside your building after dance. I want to see you again before I go home.”

  I sputtered. “No. I just gave you a list of reasons why we can’t go out.”

  “Yeah, I may have missed some of it. I was watching your mouth move,” he murmured. “Got distracted by your lips.”

  “Is this a joke?” I asked.

  “I don’t play pranks.” He waved his hands between us. “We have a connection. I knew it the moment I sat down with you. You want to resist me, that’s fine. It’s like foreplay.”

  He slid off his leather varsity jacket and wrapped it over my shoulders. “Meet me after your ballet practice. You can give me back my jacket then. That’s all. No more songs.”

  But I kinda liked the way he sang.

  Then he turned and sauntered away.

  “Bad juju,” I murmured to no one is particular, stroking the supple texture of the coat. I made sure no one was looking and buried my face in the collar, inhaling his scent, sandalwood and musk. I wanted to wrap my whole body in it and roll around on the ground. I wanted to wave it around like a matador in front of all the snooty girls in my class. I wanted to take it home and sleep with it, maybe cuddle up to it like a teddy bear. Then I burst out laughing. Craazzzy.

  And so, after ballet practice was over, I didn’t meet him like he’d wanted. Nope. Instead, I ran clear across the quad and left his jacket draped over his Porsche.

  Because Cuba Hudson was a rich, spoiled boy who would only break my heart if I let him. He had danger written all over him and I didn’t dig danger.

  And danger is why I now pushed that memory away and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Heather-Lynn to clean up after dinner. She seemed occupied, trying to think of a way for us to come up with the money, so I headed to Sarah’s gun safe in her bedroom. My gut knew Barinsky’s men would be back, maybe tonight, and they’d expect their money.

  Sarah still slept, giving me the opportunity to open the safe. My eyes traced over the smallest gun, a Ruger, noting the blackness of the cylinder, the pearl color of the handle. I’d never fired it, but Sarah had shown it to me through the years, explaining the basics on how to load it and where the safety was. Her husband had worked out of town, and this had been her protection while he was gone.

  Making sure the safety was on, I picked it up and held it with both hands, like I’d seen cops do on television. It wasn’t as heavy as I thought it would be, but when I saw my shadow on the wall, I got weak in the knees at the vision I made. It made my stomach roll, until finally, I cautiously sat it back inside the safe. Part of me, the tough girl from the bad side of town, wanted to tuck that gun in my boot and be ready for them when they came back and tried to slap Sarah around. But the smart girl in me knew I didn’t have a chance. They’d probably take it from me before I could pull it; they might shoot us dead with our own gun.

  I paced around, debating on my options, finally realizing I really only had one, and that was to play it cool and see if I could convince them to wait a little longer for the money.

  Later, after Heather-Lynn had left for her own apartment upstairs, I walked the house, checking all the doors and windows, making sure they were tight. Then, unable to sleep, I sat in the window seat that faced the street. And waited.

  CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT, the grey Mercedes pulled up in the same spot Cuba’s Porsche had held earlier, proving that indeed, they were Barinsky’s men and not just some random import in the neighborhood. The realization that his men had followed me all the way from Highland Park was a chilling thought. How much did they know about me? Had they known who Cuba was tonight? Did they know I was friends with Spider? And why was twenty thousand dollars that serious? I mean, Barinsky was a huge gangster. That had to be a drop in the bucket for him.

  Two men got out, and afraid they would wake Sarah, I bolted for the front door.

  No way did I want them back in this house.

  With clammy hands, I flung the door open and stepped outside. They froze, the two of them pulling out guns.

  I blanched and held my hands up. Didn’t wanna die. Not here in front of Sarah.

  Both of them were meaty, body builder types dressed in expensive athletic wear and probably five hundred dollar sneakers. One was blonde, his face scarred with a few knife swipes I figured, and the other had red hair and a toothy, dark smile. Neither of them were dream boats, but stick them in another setting, and they’d be twenty-something guys headed to the gym.

  Blondie lowered his gun and spoke. “You know who we are?”

  I nodded. My voice was gone, buried deep inside.

  “We’re looking for Sarah or Katerina Beckham,” he added as the porch light caught on a ginormous, crested ring he wore on his finger. Had that big piece of jewelry cut Sarah’s skin? I hadn’t noticed when I’d checked on her, and I realized she’d probably been lying on her side where they hit her.

  My panic swelled, and I swallowed convulsively, trying to get my throat wet.

  “Look, Sarah isn’t here. I’m—I’m Katerina.”

  “Do you have the twenty thousand we’re owed?” Red asked.

  “No,” I whispered.

  Were they going to kill me?

  Instead, they put me between and escorted me to the waiting car. Sure, I could have screamed or kicked or tried to use my fists, but it wouldn’t do any good. No neighbor would dare poke their head out in this place to help me. Especially if Barinsky was involved. People saved their own skin here.

  I slid in the back, once again sitting on expensive leather seats.

  Blondie cranked the car while Red watched me from the front seat, his eyes hooded.

  I glanced out the window to avoid his stare. It crossed my mind to jump out and make a run for it, but I had nowhere to go, and if I did manage to hide for a while, they’d go straight for Sarah.

  “Where we headed?” I pushed out, picturing an abandoned field where they’d dug a hole for my body already.

  Red chuckled. “To hell if we don’t change our ways.”

  A few minutes later, we whipped into the parking lot of a dirt-brown warehouse with a neon sign on top. Big Daddy’s Pawn it said, flashing on and off in a garish yellow color. Chain-link fencing with rusty barbed-wire on top surrounded the entire property, making it apparent they didn’t want anyone getting in or out.

  We got out of the car. Blondie pushed me forward with his fingers in my back as Red used a key to open up the padlock on the gate.

  Welcome to the headquarters of the Ratcliffe mob.

  Close to the front door were two pit bull type dogs tied to a metal pole in the ground. The dogs growled softly as we approached, but when Blondie snapped at them, they shut-up. Overall, the place was terrifying. It fit right in with the whole I’m-going-to-kill-you-if-you-don’t-pay-me vibe.

  An older man with a bald head and a pock-marked face opened the door for us, as if he’d been waiting. They led me in, and I expected one giant room, but there were several metal walls separating sections of the warehouse. There weren’t any items to buy, though, unless you counted the rows of expensive vehicles which took up open section of the space. It looked like a Highland Park car lot. Yeah, this wasn’t a real pawn shop, and those cars were probably stolen. I wondered what goodies lay behind the other doors. Was it drugs or guns or counterfeit money machines? Dead bodies?

  Several grittier type men sat at a round table playing cards, guns strapped to their chests as they contemplated their hands. They nodded a greeting to Blondie and Red as we passed, their eyes following our progress. One of them waggled his brows at me, and I quickly averted mine. The less I saw the better.

  We reached the back corner of the warehouse, stopping in front of a metal door that seemed to lead into an office. Blondie knocked and a deep voice barked a reply.

  I stood there feeling frozen, taking several deep breaths, like I did before a big performance. But my heart didn’t slow, and my stomach felt like a lump of cement. The Big Bad was in
that room. And he wanted to see me. I bent my head and said a tiny prayer.

  Blondie and Red backed away, leaving me standing at the door.

  Show time. I went in.

  Alexander Barinsky sat behind a heavy desk like a king, his fingers clasped in front of him. Nearing forty, he was a handsome man with black hair and magnetic blue eyes that didn’t miss anything. He wore a gorgeous grey suit, and if I had to guess, I’d say it was Armani or one of those other famous designers.

  “Otets,” I said, greeting my father with the Russian name for papa.

  “Katerina, dotchka,” he murmured in his exotic lilt. “It’s been too long, daughter.”

  “I prefer Dovey,” I stated.

  He chuckled and even though it sounded benign, it made the fine hairs on my arm rise up and want to run away screaming. Ever the gentleman, he eased his tall body from his chair and stood until I found a seat. I crossed my ankles, clasped my hands, and kept my face blank, not letting him see my despair. Who was I kidding though? The man was a genius, especially when it came to human behavior. He could probably smell my fear like a mouse sniffs out cheese.

  “You will always be Katerina to me,” he murmured.

  That made me mad. “Right. You have other children? Legitimate ones?”

  He smiled, not giving me shit.

  “I haven’t seen you in years,” I reminded him.

  And that had been a fluke.

  Three years ago, Spider and I had stepped inside Neiman Marcus to buy one of his randoms a gift. He’d wandered off to finger the lingerie, and I’d gotten lost in the shoe section, drooling over a pair of cheetah heels I knew would kill my feet.

  My father had walked right past me, saw me and immediately backtracked. That day, with a bemused expression, Alexander Barinsky, had taken me in, his eyes skating over my post-practice attire and probably ashen face. He’d assessed me, perhaps looking for chinks and weaknesses. Perhaps he was wondering how I’d fared all those years with Sarah. Had he kept up with me? I’d stared back at him, one part of me yearning for acknowledgement, the other part hating him for rejecting me. I’d straightened and waited, still as a statue.

  As we’d examined each other, his shopping date, a tiny platinum-blonde, leaned over a nearby jewelry counter. Draped in yellow cashmere and pearls, she appeared twentyish and upper-class, but I took her for a whore playing pretend. Wife or girlfriend? I guessed the latter. I bet the wife was older and Russian. Whatever. The girl was the exact opposite of mama. And I’m sure she wasn’t his only one.

  His companion tugged on his arm, probably to point at some pretty she wanted, but he didn’t look at her.

  He’d run his eyes over me, lingering as if I fascinated him.

  And in a creepy way, his attention scared me and thrilled me all at once.

  Yeah. Mama had been thrilled by him and look what happened to her.

  I don’t know all the intricacies of my parent’s relationship, but I did know he’d never bought her anything. As far as I know, he’d never paid her rent. Perhaps he gave up on her when she got lost in the drugs and alcohol or perhaps she’d never mattered to him one way or another except as a quick fuck. I don’t know the whole truth of them, just that she’d been one of his girls. But I did know he’d never dressed her up like this silly blonde thing. And, he’d never been seen with her anywhere in public.

  Blonde bimbo talked and finally got him to break his stare.

  He’d smirked at me and walked away.

  Just like that. Over and out.

  He spoke then, his voice silky, bringing me back. “Regardless of the length of time between us, you are divine. I’m delighted you came.”

  “Did I have a choice?”

  He waved his hands, his diamond rings catching the light. “Please. Let’s not be angry. You are here, I am here. Let’s get to know each other.”

  My chest got tight. I’d wanted to hear those words years ago. “Why?”

  He came around his desk to sit on the edge, letting his legs dangle loosely, casually.

  I didn’t buy it for a minute.

  His closeness ratcheted up my panic. The door was only five feet away. If I shoved him and then bolted would I make it? Maybe. Blondie would tackle me though. Or Red would shoot me in the back. They’d definitely beat me up.

  He cupped my cheek, and I pulled away.

  “You look like me, Katerina,” he murmured.

  “I look like me,” I said, determined to not be lulled into dropping my guard with him.

  He examined me, like a scientist would an insect, making me fidget and fix my skirt.

  And as his cold eyes broke me down bit by bit, I remembered the nights Mama would wait for him to come, and he never showed. Because he went to see his other girlfriends, she told me, the ones without kids. Those words had wounded me, and for a long time, I’d blamed myself for her unhappiness. But now I knew the truth, of course. She’d lashed out at me because I was the only one there.

  “It appears Sarah owes me money,” he stated.

  Reminiscing was over.

  “I find it hard to believe. Show me the proof.” Bluff, bluff, bluff.

  He chuckled. “She came in a few months ago and asked for twenty thousand. She signed her name, saying she’d repay within a month. The proof is me. I do not lie about money. It would not be good for my reputation.” He held his finger up. “Since she is your guardian, I let the interest slide. It was…a gift. But she has taken advantage of my generosity. Three months overdue with her payment is not good.”

  My mouth opened. “A gift? You let a sick woman borrow money.”

  His brow creased. “Sick?”

  “Early onset Alzheimer’s.”

  “That is unfortunate. She seemed fine when I saw her.” He spread his hands wide.

  She’s not, I wanted to shout.

  “Our building is for sale. When it sells, I’ll pay you.” Of course, those funds were earmarked to get us out of Ratcliffe and pay for Sarah’s care in the years to come—or now.

  He wagged his finger. “You are a bright girl. Smart to sell the house. But, the note is overdue, and I am not a patient man.”

  Oh, I know. I could clearly remember all the times he’d lost his temper with Mama.

  “We don’t have the money,” I said, my voice betraying me with its unsteadiness.

  He stood and walked behind my chair where he rested his hands on my shoulders. “Katarina, tell me why people pay me back the money I loan them?” He lifted a strand of my hair and twirled it around his finger.

  I eased forward in my seat as far from him as I could, but he tugged me back, pressing me into the back of the chair.

  I swallowed. “Because you’ll hurt them if they don’t.”

  “It’s amazingly simple.” I heard the smile in his voice. “If people believed I’d give them more time, they’d think me weak. I despise weakness. Are you weak, Katerina?”

  I shook my head. But I was weak. I’d never stood up for my mama; I’d never jumped in to save her.

  I wasn’t brave or strong like Joan of Arc.

  He came around to face me, and I smelled his aftershave, something mossy and dark. Revulsion coursed through me at our proximity.

  “A business like mine is not established over-night. It takes time to teach the neighborhood what you’re capable of. It’s like training a dog to sit. You can tell the dog to sit, but he won’t get it until the choke chain is tightened. Because he needs the proper amount of pain to understand the master means business. If he thinks the command to sit might not bring pain, he might test me and resist the command.”

  He sighed. “And, I hate disobedience. Our neighborhood was trained long ago that disobedience means swift pain. This makes my business easier and more pleasant. You understand?”

  Yes.

  The room seemed to shrink, and I gripped the edge of my seat, feeling as if my own choke chain was being tightened. I licked my dry lips. “Look, I want to give you your money now, but I don�
�t have it.” I held up a finger. “But once the house sells, I can throw in extra, perhaps the interest you didn’t charge?” I met his gaze, trying to read him, but it was impossible. “The market isn’t good for Ratcliffe right now, but I know it will sell. We just need the right buyer. It’s in a fair location for a business. And with the apartments upstairs—”

  He tsked, interrupting me. “There is payment or there is pain. This is the only way it can be. No negotiation.”

  The room grew quiet as I contemplated his words and he contemplated me, perhaps deciding if I was a predator like him or prey like my mother.

  It’s hard to accept when a parent doesn’t love you, but it’s even more difficult when they simply feel nothing. I really didn’t matter to him except as a means to an end. I mean, I’ve always known he didn’t care, but he had brought me food a few times when I was at the end of my rope. Why had he done it? Perhaps he’d still have a smidge of feeling for my mama. Perhaps his conscience couldn’t allow an innocent child to die from neglect. Or perhaps more chillingly, he’d wanted to assess me, study me while she was gone. Had he ever considered hurting me too? Had he entertained the thought of ramming his fists into my flesh…or worse? I cringed, thinking back to the past, wondering about those times he’d come to the apartment, if he’d been a hair-trigger away from devouring me.

  I swallowed. “We don’t have the money. We simply don’t. I could sell my car, and everything else we own, but there’s no way I can get anywhere close to twenty thousand. We don’t even have good credit at the bank, but once we sell the house—”

  “Be quiet,” he barked, making me jump. I shrank back in my seat as far as I could.