by Kitty Thomas
As soon as they'd come into the room, Gabe knew something was very wrong about all this, despite the exquisite packaging. He'd been assured Dmitri's girls were all here freely. Given the differences in their houses and that Dmitri didn't cater to a specifically kinky set, Gabe had known going in that there would be more to these girls' stories than he was told. Bad childhoods, poverty, maybe drug addiction. The idea that outside of a kink, women would just line up to be badly used by selfish wealthy men was insane on its face. There were too many risks and nothing in it for them.
Even so, Gabe had assumed a level of willingness that wasn't reflected on any of these girls' faces. Instead, what he found when he looked at them was fear and defeat. They were clearly being abused, threatened, most likely brought here against their will from the start. Had they been tricked somehow or just taken off the street?
Gabe glanced around the room at the men. It was lascivious smiles and anticipation all around while erections tented the fronts of otherwise nice pants. They were entirely oblivious. They were so used to using women however they saw fit—as if women existed as decorations and tools only—that they refused to look too deeply behind the facade of pretty lingerie and painted faces and long flowing hair gently curled for their aesthetic pleasure.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Griffin?" Dmitri asked.
Gabe forced all trace of disgust from his face and plastered a fake smile on top. "No. Everything's fine."
"Wonderful. You will get first pick. You may take more than one if you like to any room in the house you prefer to take your pleasure in."
"Thank you."
Gabe's gaze roved over the girls. Despite how he routinely treated girls like his sex slaves while training them at the house, he wasn't sure if he could stomach having even the most vanilla sex with one of these women. They didn't want to be here. As distasteful as the whole thing was, he might have to make some half-hearted attempt in order to get out of this house alive. If he seemed in any way bothered by things, they might decide he was the liability. Funny, because he'd been thinking the opposite.
His roving gaze stopped. His heart and breath stopped as all the air and life were sucked from the room.
No. Not her.
About halfway down the line stood the girl he'd been trying to forget about for months. Julie. She wore thigh-high black leather boots, a black lace bra, and black lace mini-skirt that left nothing of her body to anyone's imagination. Shocked hazel eyes met his, then she quickly averted her gaze and stared at the ground, silent tears moving down her cheeks.
Dmitri's voice rose to fill the ballroom. "Mr. Griffin, if you'll be so kind as to choose your entertainment for the evening. The girls have been given very strict instructions and told that you have some rather unconventional desires, and that they are to comply with whatever you wish."
Keep it together. No emotion. Be cold. Be Brian. In all his time at the house, Gabe had never thought there would come a moment when he longed to be more like the house sociopath.
Gabe walked down the row of girls, pretending to consider each one. He went down the line fully twice. Every single one of these girls seemed to mentally shout Not me, not me, please not me. But none broadcast this most urgent desire more than Julie.
Finally, when he thought it appeared that he'd actually deliberated on this, he stopped in front of her. She cringed and seemed to fold in on herself as if trying to escape his notice even though she already had it. He placed a hand under her chin and raised it, but even so, she refused to meet his gaze.
"Are you sure?" Dmitri asked. "Julie is not our best. We're thinking of retiring her."
Gabe forced down every emotion that threatened to burst to the surface. "Yes. This is the one I want," he said. "I'm sure she just needs a firm hand. She will give me everything I demand of her. I like it when they resist a little, then I get to teach them their place with me." This wasn't in any way true. That was much more Brian's game than his, but it was a credible lie that coaxed a smile of approval from Dmitri.
A small whimper escaped Julie's mouth.
"Very well, if you insist," Dmitri said.
"I do insist." Gabe resisted the urge to wipe the tears from her face, and instead touched her shoulder and let his hand gently trail down her arm to take her hand in his. It was the most reassurance he could give her with so many eyes on him, though he was sure it didn't penetrate the cloud of fear that surrounded her. And if possible, it seemed to scare her more.
He led her from the ballroom, down the hall, and up the staircase to the second floor. He took her to a large bedroom at the end of the hallway. Quiet, private. It might not remain so as the other men came to find rooms of their own, but at least it was at the end of a hall instead of sandwiched in the middle of everything.
Inside, he shut and locked the door and took a look around. The room was gaudy and flaunted Dmitri's wealth. Definitely trying too hard. Half the furniture had some actual real gold on it somewhere. If the clientele wasn't so rich themselves, they'd probably take doorknobs and dresser handles with them on their way out the door. This room was decorated mostly in a rich green of varying shades. The drapes were a heavy dark green brocade. There was lighter green and cream-colored bedding. This room had its own attached bathroom and a giant window that overlooked the property, or it would have if the curtains weren't pulled for privacy.
He sat in an overstuffed dark green chair in the far corner and loosened his tie and observed her. There seemed to be shock, fear, and shame, all directed his way in equal measure.
"If it's a comfort, I'm very surprised to see you, too." He'd thought maybe he could tease a smile out of her or put her at ease—let her know all that downstairs was just an act—but the easy way she'd had about her once was gone.
"Julie, tell me what they've done to you. I can help you. You can trust me."
Her lip trembled and she looked at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. "I-I don't know what you mean. I don't need any help." But the tremble moved from her lip, down her arms, to her hands.
He was amazed she was able to stand under her own steam. She seemed so terribly thin and frail to him.
"Julie, don't lie to me."
Her gaze jerked up to his. "Please, I'm not lying. I just want to please you."
More lies. She just wanted to survive. And whatever she'd been told about him, combined with his own not so subtle hints on their one and only date some months ago, he knew she was convinced this was all some sort of trap, that he was setting her up only to betray her and watch the life go from her eyes when Dmitri sent one of his armed minions up here after her.
He'd hoped she could find it in herself to trust him though he knew there was no reason for her to. How the hell was he going to get her out of here? Because he was getting her out of here, or he'd die trying. She might not be into the things he was into, but it didn't change how he felt about her, how she hadn't strayed far from his thoughts for one moment since the last time he'd seen her, how every woman writhing beneath him somehow had her smile. He'd wished over and over that he could rewind time and find a way to have something more with her. To make her his.
"C-can I go to the bathroom first?" she asked. Likely anything to buy herself time. Maybe it would calm her nerves and they could speak more reasonably when she returned.
Gabe gestured to the open bathroom door. "Of course. Take all the time you need."
***
Julie locked the door behind her and slid to the ground, her head dropping into her hands. She couldn't believe he was really here. Somehow in her imagination he hadn't been the bad guy. She wasn't sure what was worse, that Gabe Griffin—her bad boy crush to end all crushes—had seen her like this, or that he'd turned out to be as bad as he'd implied.
She wanted to believe and cling to his offer of help. She wanted to see something good in him. Maybe his brief, passing interest in her months ago would be enough to gain that help. She'd happily pay him with her body for the freedom so long as it was a one-t
ime deal and not yet another prostitution ring. She was sure she could handle his unconventional desires if it was just once... if it meant getting out of here. Over the past several months she'd learned she could handle a lot of things she didn't think she could.
She was sure if she got free of this place she'd have a breakdown, maybe stare at a wall for a few weeks straight without speaking as the full realities she'd shoved to the corners had nowhere else to hide and were forced into the stark light of day. But for now she was surviving, getting through each moment and each day. The other women who lived in Dmitri's basement helped. Having them there made it that much easier to survive because at least someone cared. Someone understood. It wasn't some distant counselor who wanted to make a difference but had never known any real trauma in his or her pampered, privileged existence.
Even if they couldn't change their circumstances, at least they had each other. And somehow all the petty snipping back and forth made it all feel normal—or like they were a weird slightly dysfunctional family. When everything felt like that during the day when they were doing chores, or when they'd settled in at night, Julie could sometimes pretend she worked in a high-end brothel of her own free will. Despite this not matching any part of her personality, she would pretend she was a different type of person. Maybe imaginary Julie was into the risk and danger. Maybe she got off on fucking strange men. Maybe they were paying her really well and she lived in a penthouse overlooking a beautiful city skyline. Maybe she was living the dream.
She shook herself back to reality. She didn't have time to contemplate and daydream and pretend she wasn't dying inside. He'd miraculously brought her to a room with a bathroom that could give her the smallest window of privacy. She never thought she'd get a second chance to attempt escape... but here it was... and this time, if they caught her, she wouldn't go quietly, no matter what that meant for her.
Gabe wasn't here to swoop in like an avenging angel and rescue her from her plight. It didn't matter if she'd fallen asleep fantasizing about him doing just that every night since she'd been taken. These nighttime comfort stories didn't suddenly make a safe protective Gabe a real living breathing thing.
Dmitri had been very clear about the honored guest and his intentions. Gabe was one of them. Just as bad, and from all whispering she'd overheard for the past week leading up to this, probably a lot worse. Standard blow jobs and sex with boring mostly old rich guys was one level of ick. But whatever Gabe was into went far beyond that. She'd only gotten the smallest taste of it that night in her apartment. But he'd stopped. He'd shown restraint with her then. Maybe he would again.
No, that wasn't real. She had to remember that fantasy Gabe and real life Gabe were two very different people. And even if he wanted to help her, what could Gabe do? She couldn't see any realistic way he could get her out of here. Maybe he could go to the cops but it would only implicate him as well.
If it weren't for the fact that he'd told her himself he was a bad man, she might have held onto the ludicrous hope that maybe he was part of the sting operation Carmen kept praying for.
There was a light knock on the door. "Julie, are you all right in there?"
"J-just a minute," she said.
Except for that awful thing he'd said in the ballroom when he'd picked her, he'd been very civil. What if he really could help her and wanted to? But what if he didn't? She couldn't imagine being subject to pain and humiliation at Gabe's hands, not only for him to see her like this, but to participate in her degradation. She just couldn't.
Carefully and as quietly as possible, she unzipped and removed her boots and crept to the window. She ran her fingers over the sill. Her fingertips dipped into the grooves where the bars came up to lock the windows, making escape impossible when they were in the house cleaning during the day. But the bars went down when a client would be using a room—couldn't ruin the thin veneer of respectability. Bars made it clear that this was prison and nobody wanted to be here.
With the bars down, the windows could be opened. Except for that first night, she'd never attempted it, mostly because she'd never had this much space and time to do it before. When clients were in the house, there were more armed guards. But like the first night, she had to take this opportunity.
Deep down she knew she didn't have a chance in hell of escaping. There wasn't a convenient guard shift change she could utilize or some area of the property that was less well-guarded that she could make a beeline for. This was a suicide mission. Not once had she even gotten this close to freedom again, but she wasn't deluding herself. They would gun her down before she was halfway across the property. At least she'd be outside in the open air when she died and not like some rat in a cage. Not like those blood stains in the basement. She couldn't take another night of this. Not another minute.
She couldn't go back out there, not to Gabe. Anyone but him. She was sure that whatever noble intentions had held him back on their date—caused him to spare her—were absent now that she was just some used-up whore.
The window was large enough that it was easy to climb out; the tricky part was the descent. At least it was the second floor and not the third. There was a balcony one door over, if she could manage to cling to the side of the building and edge her way along the thin ledge to that...
She held her breath and moved very slowly along the ledge, every second fearing Gabe would knock down the bathroom door and catch her. What would happen if he caught her? She'd probably startle and fall off the ledge. That might actually be the best way things could end.
After an endless space of time, she finally breathed as she gripped the railing of the balcony as if it were a life raft in a storm-tossed sea. She climbed over it and hid behind a large potted plant to figure out her next move.
Manka and one of the clients were in the room that connected to the balcony, so she couldn't go back into the house. Manka's cough had finally subsided, and whatever sickness she'd had months ago seemed to have cleared up. Though that wasn't much comfort because she had to be back upstairs now.
On the other side of the balcony, there were what looked to be some very strong vines growing thickly against the wall. They hadn't been feeding Julie well here, and she'd always been tiny. Still, she wasn't sure the vines would hold her. But short of jumping from a second story balcony, it was her only way down. And even if it was a suicide mission, she kept hoping somehow that there would be some tiny slim chance she could escape. However unrealistic it might be, she wanted the chance even as she knew there wasn't one.
Julie waited until Manka and the man moved to the bed out of clear view of the glass door, and then she half walked/half crawled to the other end of the balcony. She tugged hard on the vines, but they held solid.
She took a long, deep breath, screwed up her courage, and swung a leg over the railing of the balcony and grabbed onto the vine. Slowly, she eased her way down the side of the building, wincing as the vines scratched her skin and tore at the scraps of lingerie that barely covered her.
She was only a few feet from the ground when the vine snapped and she fell. The ground smacked her hard for such a small drop, but at most she was bruised.
Her gaze darted around the grounds, her heart pounding so loudly she couldn't hear her own thoughts. Dmitri's property was too open. It was the main reason escape was so impossible. This was the inevitable final outcome she'd been delaying for months, and now she was sure the delay hadn't been worth it.
They'd all been warned about running and what happened to girls who tried to escape, but Julie didn't care anymore. She was sure Dmitri planned to kill her after tonight anyway because she couldn't fake servile contentment as well as some of the others.
She'd only been running for a couple of minutes when one of the guards spotted her.
"Stop!"
A feeling of resignation and vague dread washed over her. She could barely find the will to keep running. Just stop, let it end now. But she couldn't surrender.
A couple more guards
saw her and began to converge on her as well. She kept running. The grounds were too big. She couldn't run that distance and outpace gunfire. But would they start shooting with guests here? She wasn't sure. Maybe they'd try to catch her and bring her back quietly, or take her somewhere discreet and pull out one of the smaller guns with a silencer and finish her off with that. Maybe they'd make one last use of her services first. She shuddered at that thought. That wasn't an option. She was leaving this place tonight, even if it meant leaving this plane of existence altogether.
Julie shifted course and ran back toward the house and the parking lot. The one thing she knew was they wouldn't shoot at the clients' fancy cars. Footsteps pounded behind her as she zigzagged in and out of shiny Bentleys, Rolls Royces, Maybachs, a stray Bugatti or two. Her bare foot hit a rock, and she went down hard.
The guards caught up, and all at once three large black scary-looking guns were aimed at her sprawled and trembling form.
"Gentlemen, hold your fire."
Julie looked up to find Gabe coming from the house and heading right for them with a frightening sense of purpose. The guards seemed confused and unsure of what to do. Dmitri had obviously not run them through this potential scenario before.
"Mr. Griffin, we're sorry you had to see this, sir."
Gabe looked pissed off. Of course he wouldn't help her—if he was this angry she'd try to run from him. But what could he expect her to do in this situation? She'd been right to run from him. He held his cell phone out to one of the guards. "Dmitri would like to speak with you."
"Ummm..." A guard who only spoke English took the phone, his hand a bit shaky as he did. "Yes sir. Uh huh. Yes sir. Of course sir. I understand." The guard ended the call and handed the phone back to Gabe. Then he turned to the other guards. "We are to return to our posts and let Mr. Griffin leave with the girl." One of the guards translated in Russian for the others.