by R. J. Lewis
I almost feel in control of myself when I approach the door. I linger for a moment outside it, my mind screaming at me to turn around. But I ignore it as I grab the handle and pull. The door shudders loudly but doesn’t open. It’s locked, and I freeze from surprise. I don’t think of trying again because when I look up, I see the pimply man from before lock eyes with me, and it’s not a welcoming look. I back away and turn, already moving hastily across the street when the screech of breaks interrupts my muddled thoughts. A loud horn honks and I jump back to the sidewalk, narrowly missing the car and feeling completely foolish I’d walked straight into traffic like a complete knob.
“Watch the road, you fucking junkie!” screams a driver as he speeds down the street, flipping me off.
I nod at him. Yes, yes, I’m an idiot. I deserve that. I’m so out of it, I probably do look like a junkie. This is all just brilliant. Coming here was a stupid idea. Why did I do it in the first place? I should be home snuggling into Scarlett in bed. I should never have stepped out in the first place.
I’m scolding myself, eager for a break in traffic so I can jaywalk without getting hit, when I hear, “Come inside, lapochka!”
I whip around and find pimply man opening the door, puffing on a cigarette before he discards it on the ground and motions me inside. I linger for several moments, cautiously looking him up and down. He waits patiently, not at all bothered by how slow I begin to move in his direction.
I walk past him and inside the quiet shop. The door shuts and the audible sound of the lock clicking in place has me looking nervously over my shoulder at him. He meets my gaze and I say, “I’m here for –”
“I know,” he interrupts me as he walks past me and in the direction of the backroom. “Follow me.”
I do, cautiously peering all over the shop along the way. There are two other men in here dressed to the nines and seated around the main counter with open binders in front of them. They stop talking when they notice me and their curiosity clings to me all the way to Nikolai’s room. I wonder how shocking I look… and now Nikolai will see it. Pimply man opens the door and leaves it open long enough for me to come through.
Nikolai is seated at his desk, talking in a clipped tone on the phone. I don’t understand what he’s saying, but he doesn’t look happy. I sense I’ve picked the wrong time, but it’s too late to turn back because pimply man shuts the door behind me.
The sound causes Nikolai to look up, and his words slow when he finds me standing there. He seems surprised for a few seconds, his lips parted, his breaths slow. Once it wears off, he takes the rest of me in and his eyes narrow at my dress, my bare legs, and my clownish face. I want to die on the inside. I think I slowly am. It takes everything inside of me to stand there and not bolt, but the trepidation runs through me at lightning speed, and I’m not sure if he can see it in my eyes.
After a few more words, Nikolai puts the phone down, his gaze still fixed to me. He doesn’t say a word as he looks me over curiously. The silence builds, and I’m itching to move backwards, even if it’s to a closed door, but I don’t. I remain still and look back at him because I have to hold my own, no matter what.
He flicks his attention for a brief second to his watch, and I know what he’s thinking. I’m not supposed to be here this late in the day.
“I couldn’t come earlier,” I start to tell him, my voice foreign to my ears. I sound skittish, afraid. I’m still shaken up after what happened.
“I said it more for your safety,” he replies. “Beautiful woman alone at night walking the streets here, I don’t like it.”
I nod, understanding. “I know.”
“And yet you’ve been walking the streets.”
“Yes.”
He eyes my dress again. It’s evident I’ve been up to no good. I have the guilt written all over my face, but he doesn’t ask. He leans back in his chair instead, waiting for me to continue.
This is harder than I thought, and I never thought it would be easy in the first place.
“I’m out of options,” I whisper to him brokenly, my hand already snaking up to my neck, gripping at my necklace.
“I didn’t know I was at the very bottom of your list,” he replies dryly. “Am I that detestable that you’d put your body out there for strangers instead?”
Now I cross my arms over my chest, feeling defensive. “Just because you buy juice and cigarettes, it doesn’t make you less of a stranger.”
The vacant look on his face hardens. “I’m less of a stranger than everyone else. You didn’t come to me for a reason. Is it my reputation that scares you? Or is it what you felt when you kissed me, moaning in my mouth the way you did like you were hungry for my tongue? Would you rather the tongue of the feral men on these streets?”
I freeze. I feel like someone’s doused me in ice cold water. “I didn’t whore myself.”
His eyes lap me again. “I know that.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’d be in worse shape.”
A chill runs down my spine. Memories of Mom, tears and blood rush through me, making me shiver on the spot. The things men have done to her after hitting the corners…
“You want to come a little closer, Alina?” he suddenly asks. “You look like prey. Are you worried I’ll bite?”
My body feels rigid as I move to him. I’m out of my element right now and he knows it. I stop behind his desk, and though he’s feet from me, it feels unbearably close. I look at him, my lips pressed together, my fingernails digging into my arms.
“Tell me what you came here for,” he tells me, his voice impassive, like I’m eating too much of his time.
He knows what I came here for, goddammit. He just wants me to say it, like he needs to hear it out of some sadistic need. It makes me want to turn back around and leave, but I know I’ll just end up coming back.
“I need money,” I push out bravely, my voice shaky.
I’m the most vulnerable I have ever been in my entire life. I’m showing someone I’m weak, and my eyes burn with shame as a result.
After he gets what he wants, I expect amusement in his eyes. I expect him to smirk in that way he does, the way that’ll make me feel like the end of some horrid joke. But he doesn’t. He just nods solemnly, his eyes tender as he says, “Come here.”
It takes me several moments to move. Every inch closer makes my spine more rigid. I feel a wall come up, like I’m getting ready to protect myself from what’s to come. I don’t know anything about Nikolai. He gets my blood pumping, but if he hurts me I know I’ll never look at him the same.
I stop at his chair and wait for his next instruction. I’m trembling, my eyes dart down to his hands, one is tapping the table, and the other is rested on his thigh. I wonder if he’ll make me drop to my knees. If he’ll wrap a hand in my hair and force me to pleasure him. If I can live with myself afterwards, and, worst of all, if I’ll like it.
“Have a seat,” he finally says, motioning to the edge of his desk. “Relax.”
I feel awkward moving in front of his chair. My bare legs brush against his suit pants as I lean back against his desk. I don’t sit on it, and it’s not relaxing either. In my new awkward position, I don’t look at him. I stare at a spot on the carpet, every bit of me on high alert as he continues tapping the desk thoughtfully, inches from my exposed body.
What’s he thinking about? What am I doing here, bruised, bleeding, dressed the way I am? Why did I feel compelled to come to Nikolai straight after I left that godforsaken bar? Nothing about him should make me feel safe, yet I came here seeking safety. How does that make any sense? So many questions blaze through my mind and never an answer to any of them.
Then he stands up and my heart stops for a breath of a moment as my gaze connects with his. He’s bigger than me and reeks of man in every way, but it’s his eyes that constantly put me on edge. They can change so rapidly, make me feel lusted after one second and intimidated the next. Right now there’s something en
tirely different lurking there. Something I don’t understand nor have seen in a man. It makes me uneasy, like there’s no way I can mentally prepare myself for what’s to come.
Nikolai’s hands connect to the desk on either side of me as he moves in close, caging me with his body. I’m about to lean back, away from his touch, when his scent hits me. Something about it calms me and prevents me from moving.
I stare at his face, his features almost too strong, too handsome. My breath thins as he drops his head, closing the gap between us, his mouth inches from mine. I think he’s going to kiss me, and all I visualize in that moment is another hundred dollar note in the palm of my hand and, more strangely, the feeling of intimacy I’m hungry for and only desire to come from him.
But he doesn’t break the short distance to my mouth. He hovers there, looking into me like he can see through every barrier I have put up. “Tell me the name of the man that hurt you,” he demands quietly.
I can’t have Franko dragged into this, no way. That would be an even worse shit storm.
“Nobody hurt me,” I tell him as convincingly as I can. “I fell.”
“Where did you fall?”
“Crossing the street just now.”
“Your blood’s slowed fast for someone that’s just fallen.”
My lies come swift and easy. “I waited for it to slow before I tried opening the door.”
He’s studying me again. His eyes harden for a fraction, like he can see through my lies, but he doesn’t push. Instead, his hand comes up to my face, his fingers touch at my lips, a delicate touch that stirs something warm inside me. I don’t breathe, not once as he peers at my mouth, at the cut that still hurts and pulses.
“You have any more plans tonight?” he asks, dropping his hand.
I give my head a small shake and breathe out, “No.”
With that his hands close in on my waist, and before I know what he’s doing, he picks me up like I weigh nothing and settles me on the desk.
“Relax,” Nikolai repeats, stressing the word, his accent thicker.
How can I relax when all I feel is the warmth in his hands on my waist? His grip is firm, but not in a bad way. When one thumb rubs idly against my dress, I tense. The contact is too gentle and after everything that happened tonight, I don’t trust it. He senses my discomfort because he instantly drops his hands from me, a small frown playing at his lips as he turns away.
He strides to the other side of the room and I watch him, looking over every inch of his body as he moves with the same ease I see in him every morning he’s walked into the convenience store. The small distance is enough to let me breathe easier. He stops in front of a fridge in the corner, next to a water machine and a counter covered in pastries I can smell from here. He opens the freezer part of the fridge and takes an ice cube tray out. Removing a few cubes, he wraps it around a nearby cloth and returns to me.
Invading my space again, he presses the cold cloth against my split lip. I look away from his sculpted face and at his grey waist coat. It’s smart looking and sleek, fitting him to a tee. He’s a wide man, very masculine. It reminds me of how sculpted he is underneath.
“You can look a little higher, I’m not biting,” he murmurs to me just then, his voice playful. “Not yet anyway.”
I slowly look up, but not before lingering on his chest and neck – and, fuck, if his neck doesn’t look so good. His chin is curved and pronounced, his lips full and pink. His cheeks are shaved, but they’re still darker than the rest of his tanned skin. His nose is long and round at the tip, his distinct cheekbones high. The bottom half of his face is narrow, the top half broad and shaded with dark eyebrows and full eyelashes and the bluest irises I think I’ve ever seen.
I’m unsettled by his handsome features and heavily tattooed body; it’s like combining sex and sin into a suited package designed to skew the moral compass of every female with a pulse.
I feel uncertain right here and now. There’s no way a man like this – so fucking beautifully raw and male – would pay for sex. All reputation, money and ranking aside, he can have anyone. And me? I’m not trying to be one of those self-conscious twats that underwhelms her beauty, but I’m not that fucking spectacular in the big picture of it all. At least, not enough to get money out of fucking.
“Is this a joke to you?” I ask him genuinely, looking into his eyes despite the warmth that accosts me when I do.
His brows pinch together. “Is what a joke?”
“At the store you told me to figure what you meant out about coming to you, and I did, and I feel foolish right now for coming here. For…thinking you meant it.”
“I did mean it.”
I take a few deep breaths. “You…seriously want to pay to fuck me?” The words sound so humiliating out loud, but I grind them out slowly and study his face closely as I do.
He looks deadly serious. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“You need money. I want no commitment. It works.” He says it so casually, like there’s nothing remotely wrong with this. I have no reason to question his sincerity. A man like him doesn’t need to lie about shit. I’m sure he’s brazen and carefree about everything in life. It’s in his nature, I can see it in the way he openly stares at me, in the way he comfortably invades my space, in the way he tattoos every inch of his body like it doesn’t concern him in the slightest the permanency of it.
A man like Nikolai just lives to…live.
I cringe to ask the next words because they’re so fucking cliché, it makes my stomach flop, but they come out anyway. “You can have anyone.”
He blinks slowly as he stares into my eyes. “I want you,” he mutters softly.
That’s all he says about it, and I’m too bewildered to question him further. Because I can tell from his expression, how captivated he is by me right now, he’s being genuine.
And it’s a clusterfuck for me. Because…why?
He shoves his hands in his pockets and watches me pressing the cold cloth to my split lip like he wants to do it himself, only he won’t come closer.
“Why don’t you want commitment?” I ask, just to fill the silence.
I wonder if the question’s too personal, like perhaps he’s had his heart broken one too many times, which is laughable because who on earth would want to break Nikolai’s heart?
But he shrugs casually. “I’m a busy man.”
“Busy collecting payments.”
This time his eyes harden. “That’s not your concern.”
“Does everybody owe you something?”
“Everybody wants money when they don’t have it. I’m liquid, they’re not. That’s why they come.”
“How did you get so liquid?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m curious.”
“Let’s just say I didn’t go without growing up.”
Family money.
I lick at my lip, over the swollen part. “There are a lot of rumours about you.”
Nikolai looks disinterested. “People talk. It’s what they do best.”
“They say you’re mafia.”
He chuckles dryly. “Very original.”
Thinking of Nat, I add, “And that you’re gay.”
This time he stills and his jaw tenses. I’ve hit a nerve. “And what do you think?” he replies, sharply. “When you kissed me and felt my dick go hard against your stomach, did you stop to wonder if I’m gay?”
I look down at the cloth and probe my swollen lip again when I answer, “I’m just telling you the rumours, not that I believe them.”
I peek at him, and he’s doing what he can not to show his irritation. I shouldn’t have asked those questions, but if I expect his dick to be inside me, I want to at least know him a little more. He calms down relatively quickly. Nothing at all like Grant who would have stormed up and down the room and backhanded me for blinking.
“Sorry,” I apologize softly. “I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”
&n
bsp; God, the silence is stifling. I want his face to soften at least a little bit. Slowly it does after my apology.
“Who hurt you?” Nikolai asks again.
“I already told you.”
He frowns. “Why lie? There are marks on your neck, like you’ve been strangled.”
Without thinking, my fingers shoot to my throat and I rub the area that’s sore. Still, I don’t answer him, but my guard is down.
There’s another flash of irritation in him that he’s holding back. “What are you so scared of?” he questions. “Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you think I’m scarier than whoever touched you?”
“It’s not about that,” I reply.
“What’s it about then? It’s like Ivan all over again. You have a sick sense of loyalty.”
“I don’t want trouble, that’s all.”
He points at my neck. “It’s too late by the looks of that.”
I don’t meet his eye. “I’ll handle this problem on my own.”
His nose flares, and his jaw ticks. He looks away from me and he’s absolutely fuming. It puts me on edge. Again, I have no idea what happens when Nikolai gets angry. And when he glances at me, his eyes darken. “You think I’ll hurt you?” he asks in disbelief, seeing straight through me. “Have I ever hurt you so far?”
I don’t answer, but I swallow thickly and his eyes follow the trail. Instantly his face clears, and he looks dead serious. “I don’t hurt women,” he tells me softly. “Why else would I let your mother go?”
That’s an interesting point, one I completely overlooked. I don’t know why I never gave it much thought. I suppose I wasn’t surprised my mother went to him. I’m pretty sure she’s tried every single person in the Estate for money. Who knows how much she owes? It’s probably why she’s fled.
Silence invades the room once again. I look at him from the corner of my eye every few moments. He’s still watching me, like he’s trying to figure me out. As the seconds pass, he moves back towards me and he cages me in again with his hands on either side of me. I feel the tips of his fingers lowering my hand with the cloth. He drops his head and inspects my mouth, and I’m utterly breathless.