by Deja Voss
I laugh and hang my head. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what to say.”
“I could get us a room upstairs and I’m sure we could figure something out,” he says, licking his lips.
Ice pours through my veins. I slap him on the chest, and he starts to laugh.
“You haven’t changed a bit, musiu,” he says, taking my hand in his and kissing it. “I’m just fucking with you.”
“Apparently you haven’t changed either, you horn dog.”
The way he winks at me and bites his lip makes me a little disappointed I didn’t take him up on his initial offer. If he was attractive back when we were in high school, he’s a million times sexier now. He aged well, like a barrel of bourbon kept tucked away for a lifetime.
“You broke my heart, Mia. I spent the last twelve years trying to hate you.”
“Well you should,” I say. I fidget with the rings on my fingers.
“What are you doing running around with Janka?” he asks.
“Were you watching me?”
When you see someone you used to be in love with for the first time in a long time, it’s very easy to forget all the red flags of the past. I always thought he meant well when he kept tabs on me, but I thought my ex husband meant well too when he tried to control me.
“Last I checked I was a free woman,” I say.
“She’s trouble, Mia. I know her very well.”
A little bit of jealousy sears inside me, and I don’t like it. I know we haven’t been together in twelve years, but he’s gorgeous and she’s stunning and I could totally see the two of them together. I try to bleach the image from my mind.
“Roommates are hard to come by when you’re almost thirty years old,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s my best friend.”
He shrugs like he knows he isn’t going to change my mind either way. Maybe I’m reading way too into this. Maybe he really is just being a concerned friend. I didn’t even think to ask if he’s married by now, but it would make perfect sense. He’s rich, gorgeous, and charming and I know he isn’t afraid to shower his girlfriend in beautiful things and attention. I look down at his finger for a wedding ring, and even though I don’t spot one, I imagine he’s the kind of man who might not wear one at all.
“Speaking of almost thirty,” he says, “it’s my birthday tonight. Do you want to come to a party at Club Taboo?”
My eyes grow wide. Maybe he’s not a married man, and if he is, his wife must be a pretty open person. Club Taboo is known for being an anything goes kind of place with naked dancers and sex shows and rooms with glass walls. I’ve only heard stories about it from Janka, who obviously loves it, but I really don’t think that’s my scene.
“It’s not what it sounds like,” he says. Even after all these years he can read me like a book. “My friends rented the place for the night. I’m sure it’s going to be pretty low key. We can leave if it’s not.”
I know I should say no. I know everything about this is a bad idea. Sex club with my first love when I’m drunk and vulnerable isn’t exactly in the “how to recover gracefully from a divorce” handbook. I wouldn’t be standing here right now if it weren’t for indulging in my bad ideas, though.
“I would like that. I have something I have to take care of here first, though, and I’m going to bring Janka with me. I’ll meet you over there in an hour or so?”
“I’ll make sure to add your name to the list. You better give me your number just in case.”
I pull out my cellphone and get his phone number, calling him so he has mine. I swallow down the lump in my throat, knowing there’s no turning back now.
“Happy birthday,” I say, giving him a hug. My phone starts to ring, Janka’s number scrolling across the screen. “I gotta go.”
“I better see you soon,” he says, squeezing me tight to his rock hard chest. God, he smells good. I wish I wasn’t such a nice friend and I could just blow Janka off. I know she’d probably do it to me if she was in the same situation.
“Of course,” I say.
I wait for him to walk away and answer my phone. “You ready for me?” I ask. “Let’s make it a quick one.”
5
Mia:
The rules of the game are simple. Janka finds our clients on a dating website and I vet their credentials online. We only go for men who have big money and a lot to lose. Married men, men with families, men with ties to the church or the government, men who shouldn’t be caught with prostitutes under any circumstances.
She spends the next few weeks chatting them up, making them comfortable, getting them to agree to pay for sex. They meet up, she gets them all warm and happy and thinking they’re gonna get laid, but then suggests she invites her friend over to get in on the action. Most of these guys are scumbags who are more than happy to oblige.
I show up, hang out for a little bit, pretend like I’m really into it, like we’re all going to fuck each other stupid, then I go to the bathroom to “freshen up.” While I’m in there, I make a diversion. Sometimes I “overdose” on drugs. Sometimes I slip and fall down and bump my head on the sink, knocking myself “unconscious.” Sometimes I just start crying and freaking out for no reason at all, which comes pretty naturally for me. It really just depends on the mood. Janka sends the man in to “save” me, while she’s outside shoving anything she can get her hands on in her purse.
Do I feel good about it?
Not exactly. But I’m not fucking for money, and I like having a roof over my head. Besides, these guys are generally assholes who can just buy another Rolex. By the time they realize what happened, Janka and I are long gone. If they ever come at us for retaliation, I just send them the pictures I keep on my phone of them in incriminating positions with my best friend. It’s not an honest living, but it’s a living.
As I take the elevator up to the twelfth floor of the casino, I can’t help but wonder what Serafin would think if he knew what I was up to. I feel a little dirtier than usual when I step out of the elevator and walk down the hallway with the tacky checkered carpet. I stand outside room 719 and pull out my compact, checking my make up and tucking a few stray hairs back where they belong. I only have to look good for about fifteen minutes, then the fun starts.
I knock our secret knock on the door, and start to unbutton my coat. Janka’s high heels echo off the tile inside and she opens the door just a crack. “What took you so long?” she asks. Her make up is smeared all over her face and her hands are shaking. I can tell something’s very wrong the instant I step inside.
“We have a problem,” she mutters. “Change of plans. Let’s grab the shit and get out of here.”
“Janka, what?” I ask. “Where is he?”
She hangs her head and we walk through the giant suite into the bedroom. Sprawled out on top of the stark white comforter is an old man in nothing but a pair of gray boxers. His skin is all splotchy and wrinkled, but his erection stands straight up in the air like a flag pole.
He’s making gurgling and choking sounds, and I notice his face is turning a shade of purple. Immediately, I throw off my coat and rush to his side.
“Janka what did you give him? Did you drug him?” I ask. His eyes are bulging out of his head, and I go into panic mode. I haven’t taken CPR since the one summer I lifeguarded when I was in high school, but I know this guy needs medical help right now. He reaches for his throat and tries to talk, but all that comes out of his blue lips are some wheezing sounds.
“I think he took a boner pill,” she says. “I swear that’s it. Come on, let’s hurry up and get the shit and get out of here.”
“Janka, what the fuck is wrong with you? Call for an ambulance right this second,” I shout. I slide my finger in between the old man’s lips, feeling around for anything obstructing his throat. I feel for the pulse in his neck, and it’s very weak.
“Hurry the hell up!” I shout. “At least call the front desk.”
She l
ooks at me like a deer in headlights. “You know how fucked we’ll be if the police show up? They’ll put us in jail, Mia. You know what’ll happen to you in jail?”
I know that if I get sent to jail, I probably won’t live very long at all. Inside prison, I would be at my ex husband’s mercy. He would have complete control over every aspect of my life, and probably my death.
“I don’t care, Janka!” I cry. I don’t know this man from a brown paper bag, but I’m not going to let him die on me.
“Suit yourself,” she says. I grab the phone from the nightstand and call down to the front desk, frantically begging them to send help soon. They patch me over to the ambulance company who talk me through chest compressions and mouth to mouth, and Janka walks around the room and takes what she wants.
Serafin was right. As much as I didn’t want to believe him, I knew in my heart Janka was trouble. I just never was on the receiving end of her bad side until today.
“Stay with me,” I beg the man who I have never met before in my life. “Help is on the way.”
“I’m out of here,” Janka says disgustedly. “You’re on your own.”
“Come on, do the right thing,” I plead. “What are you going to get in trouble for? You were out on a date with a guy. That’s it. That’s all anybody has to know.”
“You can tell them whatever story you want, love,” she says, blowing me a kiss. “I’ll be nowhere to be found.”
“Janka!” I shout after her, but the door slams, and I know she’s gone. Now it’s just me and the dying guy, and my thoughts are racing back and forth between what the hell am I going to tell the authorities when they show up, and how many more chest compressions can I do before I accidentally crack one of his ribs.
The pounding on the hotel room door leaves me no option but to get up and get this over with. “He’s on the bed,” I shout to the paramedic. “I don’t know what he took, but I think a boner pill? Viagra? I don’t know, I didn’t see him do it. I just got here.”
They immediately run back to the bedroom, and before I can grab my coat and put it on, a security officer from the hotel pushes his way through the door. “I’m going to need to see your ID, ma’am,” he says, blandly but commandingly.
“I’m nobody,” I say. I have done everything in my power to avoid any kind police since my divorce. Just seeing a man dressed up in uniform, gun hanging from his hip, immediately sends me into a panic spiral. I’m doing my best to hold myself together, but I feel like every single shot of vodka I drank tonight is hitting me all at once.
“Okay, nobody, I still need to see your ID,” he says. He grabs me by the arm with a little more force than necessary, and I can see in his eyes, he’s looking at me like the disgraced prostitute I look like. I worry for my safety if I end up alone with this man.
“Please, it’s in my purse,” I say. “You can get it out if you want.”
He rolls his eyes. “Go get it.”
I grab my purse off the coffee table, just as he told me, and I take off running like I’ve never ran before. I run so hard my lungs feel like they’re trying to explode out of my chest, but I don’t stop until I reach the stairs that lead to the fire escape. I take the steps two by two, not looking back over my shoulder even once. I try to convince myself the sound of footsteps behind me are just in my head. When I hit the first floor and push my way out the door and the cool night air hits my face, the adrenaline that got me here seems to vanish.
I walk to the nearest shrub outside of the casino and proceed to throw up on it. I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and look all around to see if anybody’s watching me. As I pace down the sidewalk, my brain tells me to turn around, go back, turn myself in. I didn’t do anything wrong, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Visions of the old man’s blue lips and bulging eyes haunt me almost as bad as the hungry look on that security officer’s face. I need to get out of here now before things get even worse. I need to go home and go to bed, pull my covers up over my head and pretend like this was all a bad dream.
I wave down the first taxi I see and pretend like the security cameras that line the entrance of the casino don’t exist, or maybe they’re broken. Whatever I have to tell myself to get through the night without freaking out in front of this cab driver. I slide in the backseat.
“Where to?” he asks.
My phone dings in my pocket and I almost have a full blown meltdown. I cringe when I realize it’s a message from Serafin. That part of the night seems like it happened forever ago.
“What’s your ETA?” the text message reads. I throw my phone back in my purse. Maybe going to Serafin’s birthday party might be the best thing I could possibly do right now. It would at the very least give me an alibi. If the cops come looking for me, I’d feel a lot safer surrounded by the Kings of Krakow than I would with Janka the flake who got me into this mess to begin with.
I can’t, though.
I know what happens to people who ask favors of Serafin and his men. I just got out of a relationship where I felt like I was constantly in debt. I’m not falling back into that trap again.
I need to figure this out on my own if I’m ever going to stop being such a loser.
“Can you take me to Weilki Gardens, please?” I ask.
He lifts his eyebrows. “You sure about that, miss?”
I know our apartment complex is in a rough part of the city to say the least. I don’t need this man to remind me, I just need him to get me out of here before the police come chasing after me.
“Absolutely positive, mister,” I say. “I’m in a hurry.”
He shrugs and puts the car in drive and I sink down low in the seat, making sure nobody can see my face through the widow. I’ve hit a lot of rock bottoms in the last few years of my life, with my marriage, my addictions, my moving in with Janka, and my financial destitution, but never once did I think I was going too far.
It was all for the greater good. All for my own happy ending.
Now I know I’ve made a grave mistake. A mistake that could cost me my life. A mistake that might have costed an innocent man his life.
I wonder if the cab driver can hear my heart racing or if it’s just the blood rushing to my ears. I try and think about better days ahead but my mind goes back to that place of fear I first learned the night Serafin was attacked in the alley. I was so helpless, I couldn’t do anything to stop his attackers. I just had to try and lay low and preserve myself. Hide. Just like I’m doing right now. I guess things really haven’t changed in the last twelve years.
6
Serafin:
“What the hell are you doing, cousin?” Rafal asks. I quickly slam my laptop shut, but it’s too late. He’s already caught me doing the one thing I swore I’d never do.
“Are you finally joining us in the twenty first century?” He picks up the screen to my laptop and I don’t stop him.
“It’s for work,” I say, knowing damn well he’s not going to believe me for a second. When Mia no showed my birthday party last night, I was pissed. It ruined my whole fucking night, and took me right back to that place where I was recovering in the hospital, waiting around for her to show up, waiting around for her to come make everything better. I don’t know how she has that power over me after all these years.
This morning, through my splitting hangover, I realized I invited my ex girlfriend who I haven’t seen in twelve years to a sex club. I’m glad she didn’t show up. She’s always been a smart girl. She was looking out for herself. For all she knows, I was setting her up for something. I’m proud that even after all these years she hasn’t lost her keenness. It’s always been one of the most attractive things about her.
I realized if I’m going to have a shot with her, I’m probably going to have to do things the ‘normal’ way, so I figured I would set up a social media account and track her down.
“We’re gonna have to take a good profile picture of you. This one definitely won’t work,” R
afal says, looking at the grainy dark picture I took from my flip phone. “You look like a creep. I mean, it’s the world wide web, you can be anybody you want. It’s not like you’re a bad looking guy. It’s about time you put yourself out there.”
“Fuck off.” I’m only doing this so I can keep tabs on my little mouse. She already knows who I am. I’m not trying to draw attention of the random hags who think they know who we are and think we’re the keys to a piece of the kingdom for them.
“Cross your arms over your chest and stick your shoulders back,” he says. I lean back in my chair and roll my eyes at him as he snaps a picture from his cellphone. “You gotta make a good first impression before you slide into their DMs.”
“I don’t know what the fuck that means,” I say, holding my hand up to my face as he continues to snap a bunch of photos. “I’m just trying to reach out to Mia.”
“Oh, dear Lord.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “We’re doing this again?”
“Doing what again?” Fabian asks as he steps into my office and slams his navy blue canvas messenger bag onto my desk. He slides up a chair, and pulls out his laptop, hooking his phone up to it with a long cord.
“Old softie here is trying to set up social media so he can track down his high school sweetheart.”
I shrug. “I know she’s in the city. I know she’s single. I know she still wants me.”
Fabian rolls his eyes and flips open his laptop.
“Well, you might not have to make too much effort to track her down. While you two dip shits were nursing your hangovers and having a photoshoot I was at the hospital with Jakub.”
The hair on my arm stands up. I was just talking to Jakub last night. Why didn’t he call me?
“What the hell happened?” I ask. “Is he alright?”
“He had a minor heart attack. He should be resting at home with his wife and kids by tomorrow morning.”
