by Lana Sky
Maxim waves his hand toward the table, and the woman nods before taking off.
“Did you really read the contract?” he wonders after she’s gone. His eyes flick up to mine and narrow a dangerous fraction of an inch. “Be honest with me.”
“Yes?” It’s the Melanie in me that wants me to lie—but the man intimidates even my fucking genetics. “No.”
“You didn’t,” Maxim says, deciding for himself which answer of the two is correct. “I suggest you educate yourself, kotyonok.” He bends forward, rummaging through something at his feet. A bag? He withdraws a folder from whatever it is. “Read.”
He tosses the stack between my legs.
It’s black, containing a pile of pages that flutter as I flip it open and smear blood over them. It’s the same list Lucius showed me, but this time, I inhale every fucking word. It’s more than just a catalog of injuries and their corresponding prices.
So much more.
To start with, my eyes pick up where they left off: In the event of accidental death, the designated relatives of the aforementioned party will receive a lump sum amount of $500,000.
I wheeze, sucking in air. The rooms spins for a second, but I keep reading.
Clause 4: The aforementioned party will remain with the undersigned for a duration of specified time, not to exceed forty hours per week.
Clause 5: The aforementioned party will submit fully to all terms stated by the undersigned. To void the contract at any time, the aforementioned party must invoke the use of the designated “safe word,” nullifying the contract and forfeiting the entirety of the remaining payment.
I tear my eyes away from the page and find Maxim watching me.
“I’d have to stay with you?”
“Read silently,” he warns. “When you finish, we will discuss it all.”
My throat jerks to swallow as I keep reading. It’s all I can fucking do.
When I finally finish, my palms are slick. I can’t seem to breathe in deeply enough. The light in the room is blinding. At the same time, it’s too dark. Maxim’s face is covered in shadow. I can only make out his smile: pure-white teeth in a beautiful, lethal row.
“I’m finished.” I set the folder aside, letting it slip through my fingers and onto the edge of the table. It slides off, but Maxim doesn’t reach for it and something warns me not to even try.
His eyes cut over my shoulder, just as the waitress appears beside me. On one of her hands is a steaming plate of food: steak, potatoes, and roasted vegetables. In the other is a mug of dark liquid. Coffee, I guess.
Maxim nods toward the table, and I start to climb down.
“No.” His hand grabs my thigh, pinning me in place while the waitress sets his plate down right between my legs.
The hot rim sears whatever bits of my thighs come into contact with it. I fling my legs apart as far as I can, only to graze the mug of steaming coffee with the left one as the waitress sets it down too.
“Thank you,” Maxim says, sending her off.
He turns his attention to his food, sizing up every item on his plate before reaching for a fork. I’m partially sitting on the one his fingers settle over, but he doesn’t prompt me to move my thigh. He clenches the handle instead and pulls. Sharp, harsh pain bites so deep that I can taste it. My eyes flutter shut.
“Open, kotyonok.”
My vision snaps back into focus as he stabs at a roasted carrot and raises it close to my chin, allowing the smell to tickle my nose. A frown tugs at his mouth before I realize what he meant. Open.
I pry my lips apart far enough for him to slip the piece of carrot between them. Shit. It’s too hot. I have to choke it down, my eyes watering.
“Good,” Maxim growls, and I instinctively know what action satisfied him: not my obedience, but the pain.
He reaches for a steak knife and I shift my weight to lift my right thigh slightly in case he grabs it the same way he did the fork. His fingers close over the handle of the sharpest one. He pulls and then flips the blade at the last minute so that the edge bites into my skin regardless. Not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to sting.
“I didn’t say you could move,” he warns before cutting into his steak. Pink liquid pours out from the first cut. It’s cooked rarer than most people I know would dare to eat. Without batting an eyelash, Maxim slices off a piece and spears it with the fork. “Open.”
I obey. As the minutes pass, he winds up feeding me more of his food than himself. I quickly pick up on the method to his madness: He takes his time, giving me every morsel that wafts the most steam. After each bite, he watches me chew and I wait for his silent cue to swallow. He nods afterward. I breathe.
“Good, kotyonok,” he tells me before taking a bite of steak for himself. “Very good.”
My heart skips a beat, riding a merry-go-round of pain and fear. I think it’s over. He doesn’t seem interested in the final slice of steak and lets it linger on the edge of his plate while he samples the veggies. It’s the very last thing left when he finally stabs it with the fork and raises it.
He sighs, his eyes between my legs. My skin is on fire, but I don’t dare look away. I just wait.
Slowly, he lowers the steak. Too low. I can’t fight the noise that breaks from my throat when he drags the meat along my inner thigh.
“I wish I could taste you myself.” He sounds curious. Hungry. He wishes he could taste me, but I know why he can’t.
I’m bleeding. I could be dirty. Lucius mentioned something about a blood test I have yet to take.
“Soon,” Maxim says, shattering any coherent thought into a million pieces. “As for now, open, kotyonok.”
I obey, turning my brain off as he places the blood-stained meat on my tongue. I don’t think about it. Not the taste. Not the flavor. I simply swallow, but a sharp pinch on my hip stops the food from going down.
“Not yet.”
I have no choice but to let the food sit there, at the back of my throat. His eyes stare into mine, pinning me in place. Daring me to make a move without his say so. It feels like hours before he lowers the fork and nods.
I choke the meat down.
He smiles—or at least his lips lift higher than their usual stern line. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.
“And now—” He sits back in his chair, tilting his head up to meet mine. “You may now ask your questions.”
The folder is still on the floor. I glance at it and Maxim smiles again.
“Start with the one I know you can’t stop thinking about.”
I have to suck in a breath to get the words out. “I gotta—”
“Sentences.” My punishment is a pinch on my hip, sharp and demanding.
“I mean, I would have to stay with you?”
He’s right. That damn clause keeps circling my brain. Only the look in his eyes keeps me from dwelling on it. That dangerous promise. I only want to hurt you.
“Yes,” he says while my heart shrivels up. “Three nights a week for the first week. To acclimate. Five nights after that.”
“But I have kids.”
His face doesn’t change, and I can’t tell if he thinks it’s a lie or not. Slowly, his gaze returns to my pussy.
Oh. “T-they’re not—”
“You may have a few days to make arrangements,” Maxim says over me. “If you need additional funds, contact Lucius.”
“But I—”
His eyes flash in warning. “Anything else, kotyonok?”
“Kotee…” I give up trying to parrot the term. “What does that mean—”
“Next question.”
My brain changes tactics automatically. “T-the safe word?”
According to the contract, it was the only way out of this agreement. One word that could end it all. A kill switch.
“Yes?”
“What is it?”
He brushes his jaw with the tip of his thumb. “The women typically decide that for themselves.”
The women. More
than one. More than me. Desperate enough—pathetic enough—to do for anything for cash.
“What do they usually pick?”
He cocks his head and seems to think for a minute. “The usual tropes. Red light. Stop now. Enough please. However, I suggest you select something you would never typically say. Once you utter the safe word, our contract is null and void. You only need to say it once.”
Pick something that I would never say? Melanie herself, showing up once again out of the blue to fuck up everything, made one choice pretty fucking tempting.
“What will it be?” His tone demands an answer.
“Happy.”
That creepy almost-smile shapes his mouth again. He sits forward, his hair framing his face. “It is typically a phrase. Something you would never say.”
“Then I’m happy. I am happy.”
I can’t tell what he thinks of it. He just nods. “As you wish, kotyonok.”
“So…” I lick my lips, flexing my fingers against the table. “M-may I ask another question?”
“Ask away.”
“When would I start?” My voice catches, sticking the words at the back of my throat. It feels like asking about my execution date. “And get paid?”
Maxim flexes his arms at both wrists, straining the muscle coiled beneath his shirt. “You can contact Lucius within forty-eight hours once you’ve made your arrangements,” he says. “As for payment.”
He lunges forward and I flinch, but his hands reach between my outstretched legs, toward his feet. He snatches something else from what’s there: a briefcase I see when I crane my neck. Whatever he lifts from it is black. Thick. An envelope.
He slides it onto the sliver of space in front of his plate. “Take this in advance. A taste.”
He stands, flicking the edge of his collar between a forefinger and thumb. “Wait ten minutes before you leave,” he tells me. “Don’t move. I don’t even think you should blink—not for as long as you can stand it. You leave so much as a second too early?” His thumb grazes my chin again, still red with my blood. “You will be punished when I see you again. Do you understand?”
I nod and he turns away from me. I watch him go, and he draws attention with every step he takes. It’s only after he leaves that the other diners finally seem to notice me. Sitting here, half naked. Shameless. Motionless.
In the end, I don’t wait ten minutes before leaving.
I wait fifteen.
Chapter 6
I always used to fantasize about what I’d do if I won the lottery or something and had enough cash to kiss my jobs goodbye. I’d stroll into Penney’s and bitch-slap fucking Meryl before telling her that she could fuck off forever. At the diner, I’d buy a round of pie for everyone and make it rain dollar bills over old Mr. and Mrs. Johansen, the owners.
But it’s funny. With more money than God tucked into my pocket, it seems like all I can do is just scuttle from one place to the next and fill out the necessary paperwork without doing much else. When I’m asked for the reason why I’m quitting, I shrug and mutter, “Something came up.”
To be more specific, Maxim Koslov came up—presumably while cutting me. Hurting me.
“I only want to hurt you, kotyonok.”
Once I’m completely unemployed, I take the bus out to the nearest mall. Without even touching the envelope, I buy Daisy a coat for her goddamn trip. Mikie gets a game system. Ainsley gets a doll. The twins get some toy set that looks violent and loud. At the register, I pull out the stack of Maxim’s money and withdraw the first few bills while the cashier watches me in confusion. It’s more than enough to cover it all.
Then I keep moving. I buy a new cell phone and put minutes on it. I also buy myself a new pair of shoes. Nothing fancy. Just something black. To hide dirt. Scuff marks. Blood…
After that, I head home, my arms bruised and sore as the weight of the bags bites into my skin. The kids aren’t home when I stagger through the front door. The money is still there, lying in a row by the sink. I pick up each bill one by one and shove them into the veggie bag at the back of the fridge.
Then I haul myself up the stairs, climb into the tub, and run the faucet, lying here while the water slowly fills it. I’ve made it too hot though. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, my skin burning and turning an angry pink. By accident, I did it. Accident.
But at least I can think clearly for five damn minutes, and as always, only one thing matters: money.
And, after today, I only have one route to getting more.
I’ll have to leave Mikie in charge, considering that Daisy just fucked up her last chance. I can’t risk Melanie coming back and taking even more than she already has. I can’t.
That’s the only damn thing I’m sure of when I leave the tub and get dressed in someone’s jeans and someone else’s tank top. I snatch the black envelope from my other pants and shove it into the pocket of a pink sweatshirt I grabbed off Daisy’s bed.
When I leave the house again, I head straight for downtown and don’t stop until I reach the rental office. I pay three months in advance—that’s how much the money in the envelope will cover. There’s still enough left over for the gas and electric.
I used to think it would be fun having this kind of cash. In reality, I just feel numb. My body remembers what it had to do to earn it. What I had to suffer.
It’s not worth it.
No, it is worth it.
It’s worth it.
I tell myself that over and over until I’m back inside the house and the sounds of shouting drown the thoughts out.
“I SAID GIVE IT BACK!”
“Shut up.” I don’t even have to yell—not that I could. It’s only as my voice rings out over Ainsley’s that I realize just how fucking awful I sound.
“Are you sick, Frankie?” Daisy wonders while I slam the front door behind me. “You sound awful.”
Her concern is easy to shrug off once I make out the chaos unfolding in the living room. They found the stuff. A graveyard of cardboard and plastic bags litters the floor. Ainsley got to my suitcase and stands in the middle of it, still wearing her muddy, tattered shoes.
“Frankie!” She observes me, her hands on her hips, lips pursed. “You want to hear what happened today? Bobby R. sat with Amy at recess and gave her his cookies! Then you know what he did?” Her eyes widen. “Then he poked her in the forehead and ran off with his friends. Amy says it’s because he likes her. He likes her, so he hits her? Ugh boys are so weird. I told her she should punch him back—”
“Shut up,” Eric calls from across the room. “No one cares! Hey Frankie, look at what I got.” He brandishes one of his new toys.
Seeing them like this makes it all sink in. Maxim gave me two days to “make arrangements.” I should take that time to find a way out. Steal his money. Ride off into the sunset. What memories does this piece-of-shit house hold that I couldn’t find somewhere else? After all, Melanie taught me that nothing in this world is worth tethering yourself to. Not even your own damn kids.
“I have to go away for a few days,” I say.
“Why?” They all try to speak at once.
“Can I come?”
“Where?”
“I don’t want to go to fucking school—”
“Mikie’s in charge,” I say and they all shut up again.
Daisy watches me, her eyes wide with fear. Or maybe it’s guilt.
Mikie steps forward, blocking her from view, and I shove every last dime I have into his hands. “If anything happens, call me.” I give him my new number, and then the questions start all up again.
Though they aren’t questions, really…
“Did Mom get that for you, too?”
“Did you see what she got me?”
“I can’t believe the bitch actually came back.”
Breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut and suck in air. In. Out. In. My hands clasp together, the nails of each finger digging into whatever skin they can reach. Pulling. Raking.
“F
rankie?”
“I’ve got to leave…” I stumble toward the suitcase and snatch it by the handle with Ainsley still inside. She falls out and starts to cry. Daisy’s the one to comfort her while I race up the stairs.
They’re watching me. Whispering. Talking about me.
But that’s not the fun part. Melanie. They think Melanie would really give a shit about them long enough to drop off a dollar, let alone hundreds worth of shit. That Melanie would sell her body and soul for rent.
That Melanie actually gave a fuck.
I’m not angry. Not even as I break into the one corner where Daisy still keeps her shit. It’s at the very back of the room she shares with Ainsley in a cardboard box marked Mom. I dump it all onto the floor and find myself laughing out loud. Ainsley’s shoes have holes in them. Daisy went without a winter coat all of last year, and so did I because the two youngest grew out of theirs too fast and needed new ones.
But, of course, even when she’s not fucking here, Melanie has the nicest shit in the house. I think some of it is even designer. Shirts. Pants. Stuff she never came back for. She could always con some horny fuckface into buying her more, after all. A fancy handbag was her price tag.
Would she let a guy like Maxim do whatever the fuck he wanted to her? Maybe. But not for me, or any of the others. She’d probably up her rate and do it for two fancy handbags.
“Frankie?”
I flinch and find Daisy creeping near the doorway. The floor creaks so badly that I should have heard her. I can’t think. My thumb pecks at my forefinger. Hard. Harder. Harder.
“Frankie…I… Mom came back, and I gave her—”
“I have to go.” I snatch up the rest of Melanie’s shit and shove it all into the suitcase. Daisy’s still talking when I push past her and take the stairs two at a time. I should say goodbye or something. Kiss them all goodnight. Probably.
But I don’t. I just push the door open and shove the suitcase out onto the stoop. “If anyone skips school, I will hunt you down and kick your ass.” With that, I slam the door behind me.
Now, I can think. Three months with Maxim would give me enough money to survive for a year. I can’t comprehend that. I can’t dwell on it. I just latch onto the reality: a year of not worrying. Not hiding. Not fucking scraping and crawling to get by.
