by R. J. Lewis
“It’s not that simple.”
“What is simpler in your situation right now? You gotta break some laws, oh well. Just do it and feed Scarlett.”
Apparently that’s your job, I want to say. But he’s a coward and a piece of shit. He wouldn’t give her scraps if it meant giving up his own addictions.
“What do you think of Nikolai?” I ask curiously.
I hate him more than mother – which says a lot – but Grant is impossibly honest and he knows everybody around the Estate. I’m sure he’s dealt with Nikolai a time or two.
He stills when I say Nikolai’s name, and then he gives me a strange look. “Nikolai? The Russian with the pawn shop?”
“Yeah.”
“Your odds are better with Franko. Nikolai doesn’t help people easily, not unless he gets something good out of it. I wouldn’t go to him. You don’t want to be in his pocket.”
A shiver runs down my spine and Nikolai’s words flash through me.
You don’t want to be in my pocket. It’s not a nice place, rybka, and you will hate me for it.
Grant’s phone rings in his pocket. He curses and throws the food down – all over the fucking couch – and retrieves it.
“Yeah,” he barks into it, licking the tips of his fingers. “Okay, got it. Be there in twenty.”
He pockets the phone and immediately gets up, wiping his hands on his pants as he tells me, “I gotta go now, precious. If you see Sandra, you tell her to call me. That bitch owes me.”
“Owes you what?” I ask.
He shoots me a dark look. “None of your fucking business.”
I roll my eyes. “Alright, whatever.”
“Yeah, whatever. There’s that golden attitude of yours shining through.” His entire mood shifts as he gathers his trash, and then thinking against it, he throws it back down on the table and all over the couch. “You ought to show me some fucking respect,” he rants at me out of nowhere. “You forget all I’ve fucking done for you. Don’t forget I can fuck you up in a heartbeat, princess. Have you crawling like a dog again. Remember that? You liked it, didn’t you? Better yet, maybe Scarlett would like it too. I can round up an audience, make her mewl and crawl. You think she’d want that more than you did? Think about it, huh? Fucking bitch.”
He storms out of the room and slams the door so loud I jump, my stupid heart exploding in my chest.
I sit in the silence for some time, my entire body quaking. I feel so violated. I glare at the couch, at all the wrappers. I can smell his scent in the air, that body odour thick and disgusting. My hands close into fists. I bend over the couch and close my eyes, breathing deeply as the feeling of rage settles over me.
“We need out,” I whisper, my voice dead to me.
Dear god, we need out more than anything.
For the first time in a long time I don’t curl up and pity myself and the situation I’m in. I’m far past that point. I’m just really pissed off. The kind of pissed off that trumps all other emotions.
I get up and bin all of the food, including Scarlett’s share. I don’t need that fucking man’s handouts. I kick the bin back, feeling more tingles of anger. Then I stomp around in search of those knives. It takes me an hour.
I find them in the empty fridge, a place he knew I wouldn’t check anytime soon.
Chapter Thirteen.
“You wait until you’re sure you’re going home with him,” Natasha explains as she looks around the bar in search of her next victim. “Franko’s going to be giving him the drink and you wait until he’s had all of it before you leave with him. The pill won’t take effect for about an hour, and that might mean putting on a show, so don’t be surprised. Understand, Alina?”
I stiffen a nod and try to get comfortable in the tiny black dress she’s given me to wear tonight. Natasha’s shorter than me and the dress is only a couple inches past my ass. I feel absolutely ridiculous in it.
“Stop wriggling like that, you look like you’re having a fit,” she hisses, narrowing her green eyes at me. “You’re meant to be sexy.”
“I’m not sexy,” I hiss back at her, waving a hand down my body. “I look like a prostitute, Nat.”
“That’s the whole point.”
I haven’t seen myself in the mirror yet, but I know I probably look exactly like her. She’s wearing a similar dress to me. Her dark hair is loose down her back and her face is loaded with make-up. Mine feels heavy, like it’s weighing my bloody cheeks down with all that product, but I know it’s probably psychological.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, shaking my head to myself as I glance around the room. I meet the eyes of several men already and look away quickly. I loathe the attention. It makes me feel like a filthy slut.
“It’s better than Nikolai,” Nat replies. “You know they say he used to be a Russian spy? He probably works for the KGB.”
I roll my eyes. “The KGB stopped existing long before you were born, Nat.”
“Whatever the equivalent is then.”
“That’s stupid.”
“They also say he’s killed a bear with his bare hands when he used to live in Russia.”
I groan into my hands. “You know how unlikely that is, right?”
“It could be true,” she argues.
“Okay, Nat.”
“He’s also gay.”
I drop my hands and gawk at her. “What?”
She nods, convinced. “Yep, he’s gay. You didn’t know that?”
“Why do you think he’s gay?”
“Because my friend Tori said her friend Pompom, who works at a strip club by the way, went to this event and lap danced for Nikolai, and when she ground herself against him, he wasn’t hard. She said that’s never happened to her before. She’s got a giant ass, you hearing me? Every guy has gotten hard with that ass and Nikolai was a noodle.”
I gape at her, speechless. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m here with Nat. Somehow I convinced myself this was better than turning to Nikolai. I still believe it. Because he’s unpredictable and I don’t know what it would mean going back to him. He might brush me off after our last encounter. Whereas this…this is bad, sure, but I’ve known Nat all my life and she has worked these streets since she was sixteen. I know what I’m getting with her, but I’m still scared shitless right now.
“I don’t think he’s gay,” I mutter.
“You don’t know that.”
I want to say that I do, but acknowledging what happened between us would make it real, and I’ve just spent the last few nights lying to myself that it never happened.
“I’m just saying, that’s why he never gave you a loan. You can’t do things for him if you don’t pay him back.”
“Yeah, and I’m here instead.” I scoff. “I don’t know what’s worse.”
“You’re not killing anyone.”
“You’re right. I’m just committing a crime, no biggee.”
“Look,” she says, “you’re not robbing some broke ass dude who lives in a shack, okay? We’re going after people who clearly have a bit of extra coin in their pockets. It’s really simple. You don’t even fuck them, Alina. It’s easy money. You want to live in your shithole and pay the bills and rent and still be able to feed Scarlett? This is a good start. You hearing me, babe?”
I nod again.
“It took me a lot to put you next to me. I can’t afford you flaking out on me. Franko’s going to steal my cut if you do and he’ll still be short. You can’t do that to me. Promise?”
I swallow hard. “I promise.”
“Straighten your spine and pretend you’re having a good time. We’re two hot girls. Have some confidence and pretend you’re not starving your little tits off.”
I do as she says and follow her lead. She’s touchy with me, smiling and looking over her shoulder every few moments. The bartender, Franko, gives Nat a shake of the head every time she motions to a different guy. He seems to know who to reel in and who to pass, and I d
on’t know why until he catches my look and explains shortly, “You’re looking for people not from around here.”
I don’t know how he knows who is from around here or not. But then again I’m too tired to focus. I’ve been feeling uneasy since this morning. I couldn’t go back to sleep after Grant left, and the crazy man from last night never returned; I’m half-convinced I scared myself more than he did. Still, I took a while just to build the courage to open the door and step out this morning. My heart had been in my throat, my grip around Scarlett painful as I led her out. I dropped her off at Roberta’s and felt a prickly feeling travel up and down my arms the entire time I made my way out of the building. I had this unnerving knot in my stomach, like I was being watched. It’s entirely in my head, I know that, but it doesn’t make the fear lessen.
I need to move. That’s another reason I need more money as soon as possible. Need, need, need, the list goes on, a never ending issue I fear I’ll never resolve.
A palm suddenly slams down on the counter in front of me. I jump and meet Franko’s dark gaze. He has a filthy expression as he grits out, “You need to concentrate, blondie, or you’re not getting shit.”
I glare at him but resist retorting. This dickhead doesn’t scare me half as much as Nikolai does, but I need him hell of a lot more right now. So I swallow my curses and resist thinking about how far fucked I am.
“I’ll do the work,” Nat whispers to me, her eyes on the back of Franko’s head. “He can get violent, so don’t talk back to him.”
“I didn’t.”
“You looked like you were about to.”
“I didn’t,” I repeat, firmly.
She goes back to scouting the bar and reading Franko’s expression every time she sees someone. I do whatever I can to not unravel from the ball of anxiety I feel within.
This is wrong.
“Score,” she suddenly voices out.
Moments later two men approach us. They’re friends and they’re young and good looking. Natasha does all the talking at first before she introduces me. She calls me by a different name, and I don’t catch it in time before one of the guys breaks off to talk to me, sliding in the empty seat next to me.
He’s a talker. I think it’s because he’s had a lot to drink. His eyes are cloudy and he’s overly touchy. I flinch away from his fingers every time they skim along my bare knee. It’s nothing like Nikolai’s touch. He tells me his name is Louis. It’s a totally harmless name.
I try to make small talk. I tell him I’m a waitress and live at home with my parents. I pretend I’m just going out for some drinks to unwind from a long day at work. It’s all such bullshit, but he buys my short lines because he wants to. Because his eyes are dancing along every inch of my body and he wants to feel it.
Nat was right. This is very easy.
But I don’t feel any part of me unwind. I feel gross actually and guilty. I tug on my necklace constantly; a habit I do when I’m nervous. He doesn’t notice, not when he’s getting closer to me. I force myself still, put on a fake smile even though my lips feel stiff and horrible.
I hope he goes away and I can leave, but Louis likes me. He’s all over me, and I have no choice but to grit and bear it. I feel Franko’s eyes on me as he journeys up and down the bar. I avoid looking back at him. He’ll just see my hesitation.
I can’t do this. I really can’t. I don’t want to, either.
Oh god, this was all a terrible idea.
When Louis goes to the toilet, I slip out of my seat and search for Nat’s face. She’s been dancing with her man for a while. She meets my gaze from over his shoulder and I simply shake my head at her. She frowns and looks in Franko’s direction. I don’t follow her line of sight. I grab the purse she let me borrow from her and leave the bar in a hurry.
I’m a coward. She put her neck out for me and I just fucked her over. I thought my desperation would prevail, that I could rob a guy so long as neither of us were getting hurt, but it appears my desperate attempts at money have their limits and something this depraved is one of them.
I hurry down the street and barely make it ten steps before a hand grabs at my arm. I know it’s Franko the second I get shoved against the nearest wall. I struggle against his iron grip, even when my breath has been knocked out of me and my spine aches from the force of the slam.
“You get back in there,” Franko orders. “I already have his drink ready –”
“I can’t do it,” I interrupt tightly. “I can’t.”
“You don’t have a fucking choice.”
My voice hardens. “I won’t do it.”
His hand wraps around my neck suddenly, and he squeezes so tight my lungs burn. He moves closer just as people walk by, and in the angle in the darkness, he looks like another man with his girl. I struggle for breath as he continues gripping me so tight my eyes feel the pressure. Panic hits me hard, and I fear he’ll bleed every last drop of breath out of me.
“You are going to go back in there, and he’s going to take you to his place and you’re gonna give me a call when he’s passed out. You hearing me?” He doesn’t let up with his grip so I can’t respond. All I think about is Scarlett. She needs me. I need her. I can’t go this way.
“And then I’m going to come by and take his shit, and because you’ve been a fucking headache this whole night, you ain’t getting your cut. This is what happens when you cross me. You understanding me right now?”
He gives me just enough airway for me to nod. When he lets go, my hands fly to my neck as I cough and suck in air. Goose bumps break out along my arms and legs, that panic still a noose around my neck as if his hand is still there. Anger twists inside of me, especially as he leans over me, his head hovering inches from my distressed face. He looks relaxed and in control, a look of dominance I’ve seen countless times in men who have stolen from me.
“Don’t fuck this up, girl,” he continues to tell me. “You don’t want to see me angry –”
I cut him short by slamming my knee into his balls as hard as I possibly can. It’s so hard, even my knee throbs. The move is so unexpected, so out of nowhere for him, the look of shock is present in him as he topples to the ground, covering his hand to his balls, groaning in agony into the air. He’s red, his mouth sputtering and spitting, his entire body bent and tight.
I take a step over him, but his other hand grabs at my ankle and I fall face first, smashing my face against the concrete, pain flooding me. I feel like someone’s cut open my lips. His hold on me is tight, even while he’s writhing in agony. I kick at him as hard as I can, landing my heel harshly against his face.
He lets me go, growling in pain as blood pours out of his nostrils. I scramble to my feet and I’m out of there in an instant, hurrying down the sidewalk without looking back once. I duck into alleyways that cross into other streets. It’s like I’m seventeen again and running from creeps, zigzagging so I’m not on one street long enough to be seen.
It’s dangerous what I just did. Desperation didn’t pay off and I’m thoroughly fucked. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, or what dangers lurk for me from a man like him. All I know is I couldn’t do it. I had to run.
After I get far enough away, I settle against a dumpster in an alleyway and wait in the darkness for any sign of him. I poke my head out and search the streets and then I move back to the dumpster, prepared to jump into it in case he, or anyone else, appears.
My adrenaline hasn’t let up once. My chest is heaving, and I’m shaking so bad, my scraped knees hit one another. I taste blood and wipe it, wincing as I rub against my split lip. I hold my palm against it, slowing the blood down by pressing on the gash. I close my eyes several times just to get my mind clear and focus on my breaths.
In and out.
In and out.
It’s all such a familiar feeling, it’s almost nostalgic just as it is pathetic. I’ve once again fucked up and I’m in no better shape than I was before. In fact, physically I’ve got scrapes across my body and
a nasty looking mouth.
Franko will not forget this.
I open my eyes when my heart’s finally slowed down and the blood has stopped running. When I know he’s not coming for me, I move slowly at first, trying to get my legs to loosen up. Then I plod along at a normal pace, my hand skimming the brick store-front walls along the street I’m on. I use it for support, because my legs are still wobbly and I worry I’ll collapse any second.
I stop several times and look over my shoulder. My body stiffens as unease comes over me. I hate shadows. I hate darkness. I hate night time.
“Stupid girls deserve to get hurt when they put themselves in stupid situations,” Grant used to say.
Maybe he’s right. I’m stupid for walking the streets alone this late. And I’m stupid for listening to his advice. I should never have gone to Nat. What was I thinking going after men with a bit of money in their pockets?
Who the fuck am I?
I purposely turn into another street, a busier one, in the opposite direction of home, closing in on the pawn shop I was too proud to go into the second time. It takes me fifteen minutes to get there, and when I do, I lean against the wall and stare at it. It’s like déjà vu. The only difference is I’m dressed like a hooker and more desperate than before.
I feel indecisive as I peer at the shop for a long time. I think about turning back at least half a dozen times. I only see a couple people inside Nikolai’s shop. There will be no waiting around like last time. I don’t know what I’ll say to him, or what he’ll expect me to do. This is why I can’t move. I have no plan.
Just go, Alina!
I finally cross the street when the traffic breaks. It’s times like these I wish I wasn’t locked in my body feeling the nervous energy running through my bloodstream. I want to be detached, but knowing I’ll be seeing him again has me trapped inside my skin, both frightened and excited of what’s to come.