Release

by A. M. Sexton

  I didn’t feel proud though. I felt dirty and powerless. “He’s been used enough.”

  “Who? Donato?”

  Of course she was thinking about the mark. Of course I wasn’t.

  “You’re not getting cold feet again, are you?” Anzhéla asked with obvious exasperation.

  I looked down at my hands, clenched in my lap. “No.” If anything, I wanted to go back now, not for Donato, but for the boy.

  “I hope you put on a better act for him than you’re doing for me.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “This is a job, Misha. Stop worrying about some slave from across the sea. I can’t have you going soft—”

  “Anzhéla,” Frey snapped. “Lay off.”

  A strained silence claimed the room. Me, still looking at my hands, wondering why Frey was defending me, and what was going on between them, but I was unable to look up. I felt if I did, I’d be intruding on something I had no part of.

  No words passed between them, but Anzhéla suddenly stood. Her steel-toed boots echoed across the wood floor. I jumped in my seat as the door slammed behind her. My shoulders slumped more. Not only could I not help the boy, but now Anzhéla was pissed at me as well.

  Frey went to the bar at the side of the room. He wore thick, heavy work boots, but his steps were cautious and measured. The only sound that betrayed him was the creak of the floorboards under his feet.

  He poured a drink, and I looked up at him as he came over and set it on the desk in front of me.

  “Drink.”

  I’d learned to recognize an order when I heard it. I picked up the glass and drained it in one swallow, then sighed as it burned its way down my gullet. Somehow, the harsh reality of that cheap grain alcohol searing my throat was good. It grounded me.

  Frey sat on the edge of the desk, crossing his ankles. “I know she’s callous at times like this,” he said. “But you don’t have to be.”

  I nodded, not because I agreed, but because I wasn’t sure what else to do.

  “You want to tell me what happened last night?”

  “No!”

  “You’re spooked, Misha. I can tell he did a number on you.”

  I looked down at my hands again. I was trembling. “It was awful,” I managed to choke out. “Sadistic.”

  “Do you mean it literally? It was about pain?”

  My cheeks began to burn. I’d never discussed anything as intimate as sex with Frey. I wasn’t sure I wanted to start now, but he was watching me with his quiet, dark eyes, waiting for an answer. “Yes. Not so much with me, but with the boy.”

  He looked down at his boots, pursing his lips as he considered his words. “Just because Donato likes inflicting pain doesn’t mean he’s bad. Sometimes, a person likes to give pain. They find somebody who gets off on receiving it. As long as everybody understands and agrees, there’s no harm, right? As long as there’s respect between them, it’s golden.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Can you be sure? Somebody who doesn’t know how things are between folks like that might not understand.”

  I shook my head. I knew what Frey was getting at. I had no real experience with the things he was referring to, but I knew it wasn’t what I’d witnessed. “No. This was different. There was no agreement here. And sure as hell no respect. It was about humiliation as much as pain. And this was a slave, not a willing partner.”

  He sighed. Nodded. “You’re right. That hardly qualifies as consent, and a slave probably has no way of making him stop if he crosses the line.”

  Which meant it was up to Donato to decide where the boundaries lay. What would Donato consider too much? I shuddered at the thought.

  “If what you say is true, then this is far more dangerous than any of us thought. Because getting off on inflicting a bit of pain with a willing partner is one thing. But causing pain out of sheer cruelty? That’s something else entirely. A man like that, he’s more than a sadist. He’s something far worse.”

  “I know.”

  “If you tell Anzhéla you want out, I’ll back you. I’ll tell her the risk is too great.”

  “I have to go back.”

  “If he finds out what you’re up to, he’ll kill you.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why stay in the game? Is it because of Anzhéla, or this boy?”

  “Somebody has to help him, and it sure as hell won’t be her.”

  “So it’ll be you? You’re going to be the hero? At what cost, Misha? Is it worth your life?”

  “If she could only see him—”

  “You’re right, Misha. If that boy were here, in front of her, she’d bend over backward to help him. But right now, she can’t let herself worry about him.”

  “No,” I said bitterly. “Her client comes first.”

  “No,” he said, and for the first time, he sounded angry. “Don’t pretend like you don’t understand, and don’t try to paint her as selfish. Right or wrong, this boy is too far down the ranks. Yes, she wants to serve her client, because that’s money in her pocket, Misha. There are nearly thirty kids in the den right now, and every one of them’s counting on her. You were down there yourself not so long ago. Sure, they work the streets, but who do you think pays the rent here and buys the food and fences the shit they steal? Who pays off the beat cops? Thirty lives in her hands, and that’s only in the den. It doesn’t count the people working this theatre, or pedaling cabs, or in the boxing rings, or any of her other enterprises. So don’t you dare sit there and insinuate that she’s only doing this for her own profit.”

  He was right. Of course he was right. I hung my head. “I’m sorry.”

  He sighed. He crouched down in front of me and put his hand on top of mine. He had beautiful hands. Despite the calluses on his fingertips, his hands were probably the only things that truly gave him away as not having been born male. Heavy silver rings adorned his long graceful fingers. I looked into his somber dark eyes, surprised that he’d make such a gesture.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen when this all goes down, Misha, but one way or another, we’ll get him out. I promise.”

  I closed my eyes against the tears that suddenly welled. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. Because he had put actual words to the thing I hadn’t quite been able to say.

  We’ll get him out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  To my surprise, Donato didn’t request me that night.

  I was relieved at first, but relief slowly gave way to worry. He’d tried to present me with a gift, and I’d responded poorly. I remembered with vivid clarity the anger on his face and the way his hair had fallen in wild disarray over his sweaty forehead as he’d grunted out his rage and his lust. I remembered the pain of being kicked in the stomach as I lay on the ground. Maybe my role as his whore was over. If so, I’d failed at my real job as a spy. I hadn’t given Anzhéla any useful information.

  And there was the boy, too. I thought of him often, trapped in Donato’s house, bearing the brunt of the man’s fury.

  It was with a strange mixture of relief and fear that I was told on the following evening that he’d asked to see me. For once, there was no costume. I wore a set of my own clothes as I climbed into the carriage. This time, we didn’t turn right toward the Plaza Gate. Instead, we turned left on the boulevard and drove into the first quadrant. I watched out the window as we passed the fishing docks and the commercial port. Finally, the carriage stopped at the gate of the private docks on the north end of the quadrant. The carriage door opened, and Donato himself offered a hand to help me down.

  My heart began to pound mercilessly at the sight of him. Fear caused my breath to lodge in my throat. If he chose to beat me again, there would be nobody to stop him. He helped me from the carriage, without meeting my eyes. When I was standing level with him, he leaned over to kiss the back of my hand, as if I were somebody he was courting rather than a servant he paid for sex.

  “I’m happy you were able to join m
e.”

  Did I have a choice? But I bit back the words before they left my mouth. “I was happy to receive your invitation.”

  A boy unlocked the gate to the private docks and held it open for us. Donato tucked my hand into his elbow and led me through it. On the other side lay row upon row of glittering yachts, some with sails rising high above the waves, some that I assumed were powered by steam and paddles. Beyond them, lay only the sea.

  My heart began to pound. Why was he bringing me here?

  At the end of the plankway, we met a man with a withered face and a sour sneer who I recognized from the party.

  “Darling,” Donato said to me, “you remember the harbor master, Elias?”

  Darling? Since when was I anything other than whore? But I held my hand out to Elias. When I’d met him before, I’d been playing the part of a woman, but this time, I greeted him as a man. “It’s good to meet you again, sir.”

  “You as well,” he said, but I was sure I detected a hint of disdain in his dark eyes.

  Donato led me on, past Elias and down the docks. “Elias is a crude, simple man,” he said in a hushed tone as we walked. “I despise dealing with him, but he’s important. A necessary evil, I’m afraid.”

  He turned me down a long, narrow plank stretching boldly over the rolling water. I’d never been on the docks before. They swayed beneath my feet, threatening to topple me into the inky sea. I found myself gripping his arm with both hands.

  Donato put his hand over mine and chuckled. “You’ll get your sea legs soon.”

  For half a second, I wondered if that was code for “you’ll be thrown overboard to drown,” but he stopped at last.

  “Here she is,” he said, gesturing to the boat in front of us. “My Miredhel.”

  I knew nothing about yachts. Looking around, I could see that his wasn’t the biggest on the dock, but it wasn’t the smallest, either. It had no sails, so I presumed it was powered by coal or steam. Maybe even gas. I’d heard such a thing was possible, although I knew nothing about it. “It’s wonderful,” I said, because it was obvious he expected me to say something.

  He smiled at me, and I was shocked at the brightness of his eyes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him so genuinely happy. “Not ‘it.’ ‘She.’”

  “She,” I corrected. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Indeed she is. Here, let me help you on board.”

  I wanted to tell him I didn’t need his help. I was a man, not a woman burdened by bustles and lacy skirts, but as soon as I put my foot on the ladder, I was glad for the firmness of his hand on the small of my back. The boat rocked, even under my relatively small weight. I felt the blood drain from my face. I couldn’t move an inch.

  “Don’t be frightened, pet,” he said gently. “One foot at a time. Once you’re on board, you’ll be fine.”

  I was too scared to wonder more at his new affectations toward me. My knees shook as I climbed the last few steps. I nearly collapsed with relief when I was finally standing aboard the yacht. He was right. The rocking on board was noticeable, but not as disconcerting as it had been on the docks. Here, there was a broad deck surrounded by a waist-high railing to keep me from falling overboard.

  The deck was empty except for a small round table and two heavy iron-framed chairs with drooping canvas seats. To my right was a door into some type of cabin. Another ladder went up the side of the cabin to a higher deck and a second, smaller room perched on top.

  “That’s where the driver is,” Donato said when he saw the direction of my gaze. “We’ll be underway soon.” He led me to the lower cabin and opened the door. Inside I saw a small sitting room. He pointed down a short, narrow flight of stairs. “I have a change of clothes in the bedroom for you. Something more comfortable for sailing. Why don’t you join me on the deck when you’re done?”

  Everything about him was so different from our last encounter. He was being too sweet. Too genuine. My throat was tight with fear, although I didn’t know why. “Yes, sir.”

  I turned to go, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Not ‘sir’ here. My given name is Miguel.”

  My fear began to feel eerily like panic. “Miguel,” I said obediently.

  “Good. And one more thing.” He held his hand out to me. “The pills you use? Give them to me.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the packet. I hadn’t taken one yet, and I wondered if I was about to be punished for it in some way.

  He took the sachet and put it into his pocket. “I have something more elegant planned for tonight.”

  When I was halfway down the cramped stairs, the boat lurched into motion, and I stumbled the rest of the way to the door. Inside was a bedroom. Across the bed lay a white silk robe. Nothing more.

  I undressed. I felt ridiculous putting on the robe. It was obviously made for a woman, cut in long flowing lines, with what felt like yards of fabric trailing around my legs. The silk was heavenly, thin and soft and white as cream. It felt decadent. It had ties to hold it closed in the front, and was long enough to drag on the floor as I walked. I had to hold it carefully out of the way of my feet as I went back up the stairs. I went out the door onto the deck and stopped cold, riveted by the sight before me.

  For the first time in my life, I was away from the city that had birthed me. It lay behind us now, jutting obscenely from the glory of the waves. From where I stood, it looked strangely like a lady’s broad-brimmed hat. The white wall formed a ribbon around its crown. Below that, the lower city spread in rolling, drooping curves toward the sea. Above it, the white dome of the hat stood, regal and bright. The sun was setting behind it, turning the sky orange. It sparkled off of the buildings, making the city a smoldering ember nestled deep at the base of the fire.

  “It’s different from here, isn’t it?” Donato asked. “Somehow both more and less impressive.” He took my hand and led me across the deck to the table. A single empty wine glass sat on it. Next to the table, a steel bucket held ice and a crystal decanter filled with ruby liquid. Donato gestured for me to sit. He took the other seat and filled the glass. He held it out to me. “For you.”

  He’s trying to poison me. But as soon as I thought it, I pushed it aside. Why would he? Still, my hand shook as I took the wine. I risked a tiny sip. It tasted like nothing I’d ever had before—a bit like the raspberries I’d stolen off the bush on the lane when was I was a kid. A bit like the slices of overripe peaches Anzhéla sometimes treated the clan to when she could find them. I savored it. If it was poison, it had to be the sweetest poison ever devised. I set the glass carefully on the table, still unsure of what was expected of me. “It’s delicious. Thank you, si— Miguel.”

  Donato hung his head, sighing in defeat. “I’d hoped we could pretend our last evening together never happened, but you’re not going to let me forget it, are you?”

  My heart pounded harder than before. I had to tuck my hands between my thighs so he wouldn’t see the way they shook. “I work for you, sir,” I said, weighing my words carefully. “It’s not for me to judge.”

  He sighed again, looking beaten. Then, to my surprise, he got down on his knees in front of me. He took my wrists and pulled my hands free so he could hold them in his own. He stared down at them, rather than facing me. “I’m a passionate man, my dear. I have violent, unhealthy desires. I know this.” He shook his head. “My wife knew it, too. She couldn’t take it anymore. She left me, years ago.” I hadn’t even realized he’d been married, but I didn’t respond. He was still talking. “I’d hoped having the boy would give me an outlet, and mostly it works, but I still feel this rage.” He put his right hand against his chest. “It’s here. Like some savage creature I can’t quite control. Normally, I have my hand on its collar, and I keep it in check, but once in a while it breaks free.”

  “Like the other night?”

  He nodded without meeting my eyes. “Yes. I’d only wanted to please you. To give you a gift.”

  “But I responded poorly.”

/>   “I could see that you were horrified. And disgusted. I should have simply sent him away and found another way to please you, but...”

  “My rejection made you angry.”

  “It roused that beast that rules me.” He leaned down to kiss the back of my hand. He kissed my fingers. Finally, he looked up at me, and the anguish in his eyes was heartbreakingly sincere. In the orange light of the setting sun, the blue tattoos across his right cheekbone were eerily akin to tears. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you it would never happen again, but I’d be lying. The only thing I can promise you is that afterward, I will always regret it. I will always seek to make things right.”

  All of my fear at his intent and my anger at what he’d done seemed to drain away. I hated myself for it, though. I didn’t want to pity him. I wanted to hate him. But when I looked down at him, I couldn’t hold that anger in my heart. I reached up to touch his cheek, to brush impotently at the tattoos. “Are you asking my forgiveness?”

  “Not asking. Begging. Do I have it?”

  “I don’t think it’s my place to give it. I’m only a whore.”

  “Some days, yes, but some days, you’ll be so much more. That’s what I want you to understand. I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to dread your time with me. I know I don’t make it easy, but I want you to be comfortable, and to find joy in the luxuries I can give you. I know days like this—days like today when I can be honest with myself and with you and tell you what I’m feeling—they’re fleeting, and even I don’t know when they’ll come. But when they do, take advantage of them, my love. Take as much joy as you can from them. And maybe it will be enough to get you through the next time that beast breaks free of my grip.”

  It was so much to take in. Could I forgive him? It seemed wrong, and yet, how could I not? How could I not have some pity for the man? He was as much a victim of his demons as I was.