I sniff. ‘Coffee and a chat?’ Everything seems so surreal.
She goes over to my bags and picks them up. ‘Can you walk or do you need help?’ she asks.
I cough. ‘I can walk,’ I say, and begin to limp towards the kitchen. She holds the door open.
The kitchen is fragrant with the smell of baking.
‘Are you cooking at this time of the night?’ I ask, my mind latching onto meaningless inconsistencies around me in my moment of shock and betrayal.
‘Yes. I don’t like waking up early in the morning. I prefer to work at night and have an extra hour in bed in the morning.’
I hobble over to a stool and sit on it. She puts my bags on the floor next to me, and slides a box of tissues towards me. ‘Now, let’s get you some coffee.’
I pull out a couple of tissues, wipe my eyes and blow my nose.
She puts a mug of coffee in front of me. ‘I’ve already put the right amount of sugar in it.’
‘You know how many sugars I have in my coffee?’ I ask, weirdly and helplessly exploring more meaningless inconsistencies.
‘Of course.’
I wrap my hands around the hot mug. ‘Did you know that he kidnapped my sister too?’
She nods. ‘I might have heard something to that effect.’
‘And Noah? Does he knows too?’
‘Of course. It doesn’t take a genius to work it out.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You come to this house in a tight dress—’
‘It was a uniform,’ I correct automatically.
‘OK, a tight uniform and run out like a bear was on your tail and three months later your sister gets kidnapped. In Aleksandr’s world, glaring coincidences like that don’t happen unless they are made to happen.’
I stare at her unperturbed face. ‘But you don’t think he has done a terrible thing?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. I don’t think it was so bad. It is an English saying no, “all is fair in love and war”?’
I throw my hands up. ‘This is unbelievable. Do you know how upset my mom was? We didn’t know what to think. She could have been dead.’
She shrugs. ‘We are Russian. We are not so emotional. We are more, how do you call it, stoic. No one was hurt. Sometimes it is only when something bad happens to the people you love that you come to see just how much you love them. It teaches you to appreciate them more.’
I hold my head. ‘You can’t seriously think what he did was not wrong?’
‘Wrong? What is wrong? One hundred years ago it was not wrong to buy a man and use him as a slave. In Aleksandr’s world it was not wrong to take your sister to have you. In his world she was bait he put on a hook to catch a fish he wanted.’
My God. How he must have laughed at me. Calling me rybka and letting me think it was a Russian endearment. ‘That’s so fucked up,’ I say, my voice quivering with anger. Little fish, my ass!
‘Aleksandr makes his own rules.’
‘And that makes it OK?’ I demand angrily.
She looks directly into my eyes. ‘Aleksandr makes his bed and he lies on it. You think it was an accident that you found out what he did today?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Aleksandr has many secrets buried inside him that he will carry to his grave. You will never know them even if you spend a lifetime with him. If you have found out something it was only because he wanted you to know.’
Then I remember his eyes, the way he watched me while he told me to take up yoga and meditation like my sister. There had been something there. He knew how I would react.
He wanted me gone.
I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand. ‘Oh my God! He doesn’t want me anymore and that is his way of getting rid of me.’ My heart aches with this new knowledge. It was better when I thought I was the one leaving him.
She shakes her head and sighs deeply. ‘You are too young to understand a man like him. He does not want you gone.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask instantly.
‘Have you ever thought it may be the opposite of what you think? Perhaps he wants you too much, and he is afraid of being hurt by you.’
‘Hurt by me? I’ll never hurt him,’ I deny hotly.
‘Look at you. At the first sign of trouble you’ve packed your bags and are running away with your tail between your legs. What good are you for a man like him? He needs a strong woman. A woman he can trust.’
‘Why, because he’s an asshole and a criminal?’ I retort, stung by her criticism.
She smiles a secret smile. ‘Have you seen him play the piano?’
I still with the memory. ‘Yes,’ I whisper.
‘Then you have seen the real man. The criminal is just the mask he puts on to survive. That man playing the piano.’ She drops her voice to a whisper. ‘That’s the real him. That’s the man who needs a good woman he can trust because he has wounds that only she can heal.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
She opens a drawer near her and takes out a thick, hardcover book and shows me the title. The Big Book of American Recipes. ‘They won’t give me the money back and it will be a useless buy if you don’t stay.’
I try to smile but I can’t.
She opens the book and looks at the random page she has opened it to. ‘I can make you fried pickle. You like that? Remind you of your home. Hmmm?’
I smile through my tears. ‘That’s Southern food. I’m not from the South.’
She raises her hands into the air dramatically and says impatiently, ‘So. I will make you Northern food.’ She taps the book and nods. ‘Recipes from all of America are in here.’
I rest my chin on my fists. God, what a mess I’ve gotten myself into.
She looks at me seriously. ‘Both Noah and I want you to stay.’
‘Noah? He doesn’t even like me.’
She laughs. ‘Ah, child! Sometimes you are like an American tourist. You need a map for everything.’
‘Those are Japanese tourists you’re talking about,’ I tell her.
‘Japanese, American, what’s the difference?’ she dismisses roundly. ‘Noah has always been on your side. He told me he arranged you on your bed in such a way that when Aleksandr came into your room later, he would see not a drunk slut, but a sleeping angel.’
I stare at her dumbfounded. ‘Noah did that?’
She nods.
‘Then why is he so cold and distant with me?’
‘Noah works for Aleksandr. There is a phrase, what is it, way of conduct—‘
‘Code of conduct,’ I correct.
‘Yes, that is right. Code of conduct. He cannot be too friendly with you.’
‘Why do you want me to stay and not any of the other girls?’
‘Because you are not like all the others. You alone can find a way to his heart.’
I look at the table sadly. ‘I don’t know if I want to. I’m not Russian. I was brought up in a different way. I can’t forgive him just like that for what he has done to my family.’
‘The path of love is a thorny one. Fight for your love.’
I smile wistfully. ‘He doesn’t love me.’
She fixes me with her dark eyes. ‘You do.’
I bite my lip. ‘What good is that? He won’t even let me close to him. When he caught me watching him playing the piano you wouldn’t believe how furious he was. He ordered me never to enter that room when he’s in it again.’
Olga walks away from me and switches off the oven. She dons oven mitts, pulls open the door, and takes out a tray of little buns.
‘Learn from the national symbol of your country. The eagle does not fight the snake on the ground. It picks it up into the sky and changes the battlefield. The snake has no balance, power or strength in the air. Take the fight into the air where you are strong and he is vulnerable.’
‘But I don’t know how to fly,’ I say.
She takes the mitts off her hands and looks at me, and quite seriously s
ays, ‘Then you must learn how to.’
Oh God! How the fuck do I learn to fly?
To be continued …
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Beautiful Beast
Published by Georgia Le Carre
Copyright © 2015 by Georgia Le Carre
The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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ISBN:978-1-910575-20-8
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Georgia Le Carre
Dedication
To my darling husband,
I couldn’t do without you.
One
SHANE
‘My milkshake brings all the girls to the yard.’
I stand at the bar, my hand loosely curled around a bottle of ice-cold beer, and try to imagine a hundred years passing inside these glittering walls. And in a flash I am connected to every sad, twisted fucker inside that cavernous former theater. In a century we’re all going to be nothing but a fistful of dust. But today … Hot blood throbs in my cock and I am still king of my empire of dirt.
I cast my eyes around—and everything is exactly as it should be.
Cool air filters out of vents in the ceiling, loud music beats on my skin like morning rain in the tropics, and roving spotlights pick up waitresses in fluffy white tutus. With their tight little butts on show, they glide around as perky as fucking swans.
Sometimes the spotlights stop to lick one of the scantily clad, insanely glamorous dancers sprinkled around the place like magic dust. They are the candy in my sweet shop. Because … Hidden in the cool shadows of the booths where the spotlights never go, soulless men in dark suits and bulging wallets wait with buckets of champagne and an insatiable taste for pussy. Not that they can actually have any while they’re in here, obviously, but hey, they can jerk off to the memory until their dicks drop off.
Yup, all is well in Eden.
I pick up my beer, bring it to my lips, and notice something that isn’t exactly as it should be.
Martin, my manager, is escorting one of the dancers out of one of the VIP rooms. His lips are compressed into a thin line of fury, and she looks shit-scared as she struggles to keep up in her seven-inch-high transparent, plastic shoes. They have red lights inside the wedges that flash every time she takes a tottering step. Fuck, my four-year-old niece wears trainers that flash. I have never seen her before, so she must be new.
A row of beautiful girls preening by the bar exchanges knowing looks. One or two giggle heartlessly when a discreet, black exit door draped with thick, red velvet curtains swallows the pair. Beyond is Martin’s office where the hiring and firing is done.
I take a sip of cold beer, my eyes swinging back in the direction of the VIP room they have just vacated. In an impressive show of clockwork precision, the housemother, Brianna, is already slipping into it. You can tell by her purposeful air and the veiled expression on her carefully made-up face that she is on a clean-up mission.
She emerges a few minutes later, smiling serenely, and nods to one of the girls loitering by the bar. The girl immediately starts walking toward her. They meet by the mirrored pillars, exchange a few words before the girl makes for the VIP room, and Brianna continues, unruffled, on her journey.
Problem solved.
The music changes and AronChupa’s quirky track ‘I’m an Albatraoz’ fills the charmed air. One of the club’s favorite dancers, Melanie, a sleek black girl in a skin-tight catsuit with geometric patterns, struts energetically onto the stage. The effect of her appearance is instantaneous: the atmosphere in the club becomes electric. The stage lights are switched off, and Melanie disappears. All that remains is the collection of fluorescent patterns on her costume working their way strongly up a pole. It is a marvelous sight and the audience erupts in a collective roar of approval.
I place my drink down and turn back to watch the curtained door. I don’t tend to interfere in the day-to-day running of my club. Why would I? Any fool can see that between Martin and Brianna they run a very tight ship. And yet something about flashing shoes has my interest piqued.
Perhaps it is because I can always tell an innocent with one look, and she is as green as they come. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is her first attempt at strip dancing. But mostly because I can never let an injustice pass. It used to get me into all kinds of trouble when I was a kid, but it’s in my DNA; I just can’t look the other way.
Less than five minutes later she tumbles back into the club. Her ridiculous wedges are still flashing, but tears are streaming down her face. Martin has cracked the whip. She has been fired. She lurches toward a side door that leads to the changing rooms. I walk quickly to the door nearest to me and enter my pass code. The door opens into the passage she has entered.
‘Oh!’ she exclaims when she sees me. In the bright lights of the corridor, her face, under its thick make-up, has a washed out hue, and her eyes are glassy and distraught.
‘Come with me,’ I say, and she silently follows me upstairs to my office. I hold the door open and let her precede me. Closing the door, I then walk toward my liquor cabinet.
‘Would you like a drink?’ I throw over my shoulder.
‘No thank you, Mr. Eden,’ she replies meekly.
I turn my head and meet her eyes. She is actually a stunner. ‘Call me Shane,’ I tell her softly.
She frowns with confusion.
‘Have a seat,’ I invite and pour two stiff measures of brandy.
Walking over to her, I hold out a glass. She accepts it with a murmur of thanks and I notice the sudden change in her body language. She thinks I am coming on to her. Unsure about my intentions, she has reverted to her usual routine. Sweet, really.
I have occasionally dated girls from the club if they’re totally irresistible and they get my ‘have cock will travel’ rules, but generally I prefer not to. It’s bad business all round. I move to my desk and, leaning my butt against the edge, cross my arms over my chest and smile at her.
She smiles back tremulously, her eyes moist with invitation. In a practiced gesture of seduction, she looks down and bats her waterlogged eyelashes coquettishly.
‘What’s your name?’ I ask her.
‘Bubbles.’
I hide a smile. ‘Right, Bubbles. Want to tell me what happened?’
She turns bright red. ‘Martin fired me,’ she confesses painfully.
‘Why?’
‘I … I … let a customer … uh … touch me,’ she reveals.
‘You must have known you’re not allowed to. Why did you do it?’
She looks up at me, her eyes large and begging. ‘I swear I didn’t want to. I told him no, but he said if I didn’t allow him to he would call for another girl. I’ve only been here for a week and I’ve hardly made enough to cover my house fees. He was the first man who asked me for a private dance. I didn’t want to break the rules, honestly I didn’t, but at the same time I didn’t want to lo
se my best chance to make some money, especially after he told me that everyone did it.’
She opens her left palm in an appealing gesture. ‘So I told him I needed to go to the toilet and I went out into the club and asked Nikki for advice, since she’s the best earner in the club.’
Her face becomes bitter. ‘She told me I’d be stupid to let such a high flyer escape. And that any of the other girls would have touched him without a second thought. “It’s totally harmless. Just touch him from the outside of his clothes and no one will be the wiser,” she said.’
I frown. ‘Were you not told there are cameras inside every booth?’
‘Yes,’ she admits sadly. ‘And Martin has just taken me to his office and made me watch myself act like a fool. But Nikki convinced me that the cameras are just there for show. That there is no film in them and no one actually monitors them. I know I did wrong, but I truly believed her. She is the star of this club. Nobody makes more money than her. I’m a nobody; I’ve just started working in this club and I’m no competition to anybody, so I never thought that she would play such a dirty trick on me. How wrong I was.’ Her voice is filled with regret.
She leans forward suddenly, her face intense. ‘I felt I had no choice. She told me that if I don’t start earning money soon I will be thrown out because I was taking the place of a girl who could be earning big money for the club. I really didn’t know what else to do.’ Her face fills with sadness. ‘I have commitments. My mother, my babies. I have twins in Brazil. My mother is taking care of them. I need to send money back. They need me to survive.’
She is so young, it never occurred to me that she is a mother. ‘How old are you?’
‘Nineteen.’
I nod and gaze at her. She lacks confidence, but Brianna did not make a mistake taking her on, and Nikki had good reason to try to eliminate her. She has something very special, and one day she will be a valuable asset to this club and great competition to Nikki.
I put my brandy down. ‘I’ll give you another chance, but if you ever break any of my club’s rules again, you’re out and, as per industry practice, your name will be circulated to all the other clubs.’
You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) Page 16