Very Wicked Things

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  In fact, the realtor had called, asking if she could show the building to a prospective buyer. I’d gotten thrilled, seeing an end to our troubles, but it was dashed when she said they weren’t in a hurry to buy, simply checking out prospective places to open a clothing store that also had living facilities. But still, it was a chance, so I went nuts, polishing the wood floors—although I wasn’t sure they’d appreciate it if they didn’t plan on using it as a studio. Whatever. I cleaned like a mad woman, dusting the apartment, taking out trash, mopping the tile in the kitchen. Sarah had let things slide and I understood it. She’d lost motivation for it. But maybe it was part of her disease, too. Maybe she didn’t notice the dirty dishes or the clothes piled up in the laundry room. Me leaving BA had been the right choice.

  I’d just sat down when my phone pinged.

  Come to the warehouse, Alexander texted.

  Revulsion shot through me at the thought of seeing him, but I left anyway, grabbing a handbag on the way out the door.

  Maybe I’d be back before Sarah got up.

  I arrived, and Blondie let me in, same as last time, waving me to the back. It felt surreal to know I’d been here three times in the past week to see Alexander, the man who’d forgotten me most of my life.

  Red opened Alexander’s office door for me.

  There he waited, sitting pretty behind his opulence.

  I didn’t sit this time, seeing him—seeing myself—clearly. He was a man with an enormous ego who had probably never cared about anyone his entire life. It wasn’t just me he had no feelings for. It was everyone.

  I crossed my arms. And waited.

  He flicked his eyes over my harem pants, tunic, and plain flats, studying me carefully. Yeah, that’s right. Crazy, mixed-up-outfit girl was gone, and real Dovey was back.

  I lifted my chin a notch higher. I was not his prey. I was not my mama.

  He let his pen fall to the desk. “I got an excellent report this morning from an old friend.”

  “Yeah?”

  He smiled at my brevity. “You make me proud, Katerina. You are a good Russian girl.”

  I closed my eyes at how wrong he was.

  Cut to the chase. “How many more times?” I asked.

  He considered me thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming as he took in my rigid shoulders, the tilt of my head. He tapped his fingers against the desk. “It seems you struck a chord with him. Perhaps it is because you did everything he asked?” He arched a brow, as if asking what I’d done to make The Man so enamored of me.

  I glared. If he thought for one minute, I was going to tell him about…

  “He wants to see you again. Only this time, it’s different.”

  I froze, my brain conjuring up all kinds of different. The Man had seemed normal, as far as normal goes for an older guy who liked to have virgins. But perhaps he wanted stranger things now. Darker. And that made me squirm.

  “Please explain,” I asked politely.

  His eyes gleamed. “It’s all been arranged. You’re going to Vegas tomorrow, and he’ll meet you there.” He shuffled some papers around and stuck one out at me. “Here are the instructions for your flight and hotel, all paid for by him, as well as incidentals. You will do as he says. You are his.”

  Breathe, breathe, breathe. Don’t throw-up. “And then it’s over?” Will we be free?

  He rubbed a spot on his desk, thinking. Silence ticked by, and I imagined I could see the wheels turning in his head, calculating figures. My eyes burned into him.

  We locked eyes, and when I didn’t drop mine, I think he could see that I was different.

  “Yes.” Simple and short, it sent a wave of relief through me.

  “You will leave us alone?” I had to hear it again.

  He gave me a small nod.

  Without another word, I whipped out of his office. I walked past them all, got in my car and drove home.

  WHEN I GOT back, Heather-Lynn met me at the door, a cup of tea in her hand. She hugged me but didn’t ask where I’d been. Maybe she knew by the set of my face or the slump in my shoulders. She gave me a squeeze and we went to the kitchen.

  Sarah bounced around the kitchen, talking about dinner. She never asked where I’d been because she hadn’t realized I’d been missing. We decided on spaghetti and salad. But Sarah couldn’t find some of her pots. I found the pan for the noodles, and Heather-Lynn conjured up the skillet to brown the meat.

  After we had everything simmering, I got paper, pen, and tape out. We wrote out labels for the cupboards: pans, utensils, plates, bowls, dry goods, medication. Heather-Lynn found a country station on the radio, and we listened as we busied ourselves adhering the pieces of paper to the drawers and cabinets. There. Now, Sarah could find whatever she needed.

  In the face of what Sarah dealt with every day, my problems were nothing.

  Later, after we’d eaten and Sarah had gone on to bed, I told Heather-Lynn about The Man and Vegas and how I was flying out see him in the morning. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone, maybe just a few days I hoped. She said she could swing watching Sarah until I returned.

  I’d decided to tell Sarah—if she asked— that I was leaving for a sudden audition with a ballet company in Atlanta. There had been a company there we’d looked at. I hated to lie, but it would kill her to know the truth.

  Heather-Lynn helped me pack. We tossed in pants and shirts and dresses and shoes, neither one of us caring if things matched or not. Things were moving faster than I could think, and I was on auto pilot mode, pushing the right buttons.

  I may have seemed calm, but I wasn’t. I busied myself because if I took the time to sit down and process everything, I might have lost it.

  The next day, I rose at seven, showered, and dressed in comfortable clothes. I called a cab, went to the airport, and boarded flight 328 bound for Las Vegas, arriving at three in the afternoon Pacific Time. It was practically done.

  “If I can have her, there’d be no reason to fear the dark.”

  –Cuba

  I WENT HOME that day after we’d made love in the barn, my head swirling with how to help her in a way she’d let me. I went round and round with it, testing out theories. One option was to tell my father and let him handle it, but he’d want to get the police involved. I kept replaying what Dovey had said about Alexander having cops in his pocket. I was afraid to take the chance. I didn’t want her running forever.

  Other ideas flitted in and out, and it wasn’t until the next morning when I parked in my spot at BA that it dawned on me. So simple.

  I jerked the car in reverse and squealed out, but slammed on the brakes when I saw Spider exiting his Range Rover. I paused, thinking about him and all these years he’d been Dovey’s friend.

  I rolled down my window. “Get your scrawny British ass in here.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at me but came over to the car, his gait long, eyes wary.

  Dude looked beat and I knew why. He loved her like I did. No, wait. He didn’t. Because no one loved her like I did.

  “This Englishman kicked your arse,” he snarked, leaning his arms on my car, smudging it up.

  “Sucker punch, asshole. Get in here. Dovey needs us.”

  “You her knight in shining armor?”

  Yeah. “Hell yeah.”

  He straightened up, gave me a weird look, but crawled in on the passenger side. I slid my eyes over him. “We good?”

  “Can I smoke in here?”

  “Fuck no.” I whipped my silver baby out of the lot and onto the highway.

  “You suck, football boy.”

  “We both suck, guitar prick,” I said.

  Because I should never have let her leave our barn yesterday.

  He peered out the window. “About what happened. She’s got a shitty past, and she’d never do that if she wasn’t in a corner. You get that, right?”

  I took my eyes off the road to examine him. “I love her, man. I don’t give a shit what she did or who she did it with or why she did it or how ma
ny times. I can’t fucking breathe without her.”

  His eyes widened as realization dawned. “Right, then. Tell me what to do to help.”

  And there it was. Our common thread. And the guy whom I’d disliked for as long as I’d wanted Dovey, well, he kinda became less of an asshole. I was holding out on if I liked him or not. No need to rush.

  We ditched school and went to save the one girl both of us loved.

  IT SEEMED LIKE the longest day of my life by the time we reached her house in Ratcliffe. Heather-Lynn met us at the door, carrying her yipping dog.

  “You’re too late,” were the first words out of her mouth.

  My body clenched. Shit. What had happened? It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d seen her.

  “Where is she?” I asked as Spider stood beside me, inhaling the cig he’d lit as soon as he got out.

  Heather-Lynn glanced over her shoulder—looking for Sarah? She stepped out onto the old porch, closing the screen door gently.

  “Alexander sent her off to Vegas to meet that man. She’s supposed to stay until her debt is paid.”

  The porch spun and I gripped the railing of the porch. My entire body shuddered at the thought of her lying under someone else.

  No, no, no. I was not letting it happen. I was never letting anyone hurt her again.

  She studied her watch. “Her flight’s already left. She’s supposed to be there at three and—oh, wait a minute, let me go get the paper.” I fumed and tapped my foot as she rambled back into the house, coming back in a minute with a crumpled piece of notepaper. “Here’s her information. If there’s any way you can—”

  But I was gone, running straight for the Porsche. Spider followed.

  I called back out the window to Heather-Lynn. “Tell me where to find Barisnsky.”

  She pursued her lips. “I’m not sure I should—”

  “Dammit, Heather-Lynn. Do you want me to get her back or not? Spill.”

  She beamed at me. “Big Daddy’s Pawn, on 54th and Central.”

  We pulled out from the street, and I had her at seventy before we reached the first red light.

  Spider read through the note aloud, and I memorized the flight number and hotel deets. Shit, shit, shit. There was no time to lose. She was going to beat me there no matter if I left within the hour. I tossed Spider my phone and wallet. “Call every airline at Dallas Fort Worth and get me a one way ticket out to Vegas in the next…” I checked my watch, “two hours.” I still had Barinsky to deal with.

  Hopefully, that gave me time.

  While he called, I went through my plan and what I was going to say to that bastard.

  But then Spider blew it all up…

  “No flights out this morning. Your best shot looks like a seven o’clock flight with Delta.”

  Too late. By the time I arrived, she’d be with her date.

  “Fuck,” I yelled, slamming the steering wheel with my palm.

  Then…

  “Call Dovey. Tell her I’m coming, to not go to that hotel room,” I barked at Spider.

  He dialed but got nada.

  “Try again,” I said for the fifth time. He kept at it, his digits doing the work. My eyes darted over to him every so often, willing him to reach her.

  “She’s got it turned off for the flight,” he said, staring out at the passing scenery. Dude seemed calm, but I knew he wasn’t. His hands shook.

  What if her date did things to her she couldn’t come back from?

  What if…

  I sped the car up, weaving in and out of traffic.

  Finally, we spun into Big Daddy’s Pawn, a run-down place that was no store at all. That much was obvious from the high dollar cars in the parking lot and the barbed wire than rimmed the property.

  I threw her in park and jumped out.

  “Slow down,” Spider called. “You’re going in there half-cocked. What’s the plan?”

  He lit a cig. Could he not go five minutes?

  “The plan is this: everything I say, you nod and look serious.”

  He sucked in a long drag. “Even if you get him to call off his dogs, you’re never gonna make Vegas.”

  Dude was a downer. I tightened my lips, not giving up, not when I’d gone through so much to finally realize that I was worth love.

  Yeah, we were going into the unknown, into the den of a major player, but nothing was stopping me. I had to because she was depending on me—although she didn’t know it yet. And I know that I’m just a young guy without much experience with bad dudes, and yeah, I’m fucking scared, but I love her, and I’d do whatever it took to make sure Barinsky would never bother her again.

  We knocked on the rusty metal door, and a mean-looking guy with red hair opened it, eyes hard.

  I told him who I was, causing those ginger eyebrows to hit the roof.

  Yep, money talks. Being a Hudson meant something in this town, even in this shithole of a neighborhood.

  He opened the door for us and we went in.

  “I didn’t come to Vegas for the shows.”

  –Dovey

  I ARRIVED ON time, got my bags, and caught a cab bound for the Bellagio Hotel on Las Vegas Boulevard. The weather cooperated. It was one of those cloudless days, the sky a perfect blue. A far cry from the cold I’d left in Dallas.

  I didn’t enjoy any of it.

  I’d never been anywhere outside of Texas my entire life. When you’re poor, traveling is never on your list of priorities. So, I got lost a bit in the scenery, or rather the spectacle that created this city smack dab in the middle of a desert. Neon billboards flashed everywhere, in front of small and large casinos, restaurants, and shops. I doubted I’d do any of those things, but the deluge was a welcomed sensory overload. I sat back against the vinyl seats, missing Sarah and Heather-Lynn. I even missed the dog.

  The cabbie drove by the famous fountains of the hotel and pulled under the covered portico. Immediately, two bellhops rushed to help me, and I had a flashback moment to the night at The Dorchester. I cringed. At least Cuba wasn’t here to see how much further I’d fallen.

  I checked my watch, noting that I had three hours until The Man arrived.

  The well-dressed lady at the desk gave me my room key, and I headed up to the suite on the twentieth floor, passing elaborate sculptures and exotic flower arrangements that dotted the lobby area. I rode up in the black-mirrored elevator, amid wealthy looking patrons, feeling like an imposter.

  The room wasn’t a suite like some of the ones I’d read about on Google, but it was beautiful, the furnishings modern and tastefully done in shades of dark blue and silver. And I guess it didn’t really matter how big the room was. And it wasn’t like The Man wanted to impress me. I was bought and paid for already.

  I gazed out the window to watch the water show below in the fountain. With operatic music and bright lights, it kept my mind occupied. Soon though, fear overtook me, and what lay ahead banged around in my mind. But I soothed myself with the thought that this was the last time, that after this I could go home to Sarah and Heather-Lynn, that I could continue with ballet.

  Two hours left.

  I unpacked, trying to stay busy and not think about the ticking clock. According to the instructions, he was in a business meeting, but planned to arrive by six o’clock. He’d also requested I wear a dress. I didn’t think it would stay on long.

  After clothes and toiletries were put away in the closet, I sat down in one of the velvet covered chairs and clicked on the television. It popped up on a news channel, and I stared at the screen, running my hands over one of the soft pillows.

  One hour left.

  I got up, knowing I had to get ready. I chose my blue lace dress, even though I’d bought it last year with Cuba in mind after he told me he’d dreamed about me in blue. It had been lying tucked away in the back of my closet in Ratcliffe, hidden behind some old sweatshirts and dancewear. Wearing it for The Man would mean that I’d truly let go of me and Cuba.

  I smoothed
out the wrinkles. Yes, tonight.

  By 5:45 PM, I’d showered, applied make-up, and dressed, the minutes ticking down one by one. I sat back in the velvet chair and waited.

  By 6:30 PM, The Man was late, and I was getting anxious. I called down to the desk to see if he’d left me any messages, but he hadn’t. I’d had my phone turned off, and I considered turning it back on, but I didn’t want to communicate with those who loved me. I wanted to push them all away and just get the job done.

  By 7:00 PM, I ordered room service. My appetite was iffy, but I figured why not, charging it to the room. So I went all out: strawberry salad, filet mignon, steamed asparagus, and crème brulee, all en route to my room. I didn’t know if I’d be able to eat, but I had to do something that involved action. Because I felt like I was going to die in this room.

  Tap, tap, tap came the knock at 7:10 PM, and I snapped up, tugging at my hem.

  Panic struck and I breathed through it, preparing for another performance.

  Was it him or room service?

  A few seconds ticked by and bang, bang, bang the knock came again, this time more insistent.

  What would happen if I didn’t answer? I could hide in the bathroom. I could step out on the small balcony and climb down the fire escape. But there was no fire escape. Heck, this wasn’t some ratty motel. It was the Bellagio.

  Yes, there was no rewinding. I put one foot in front of the other.

  I opened the door slowly, adrenaline spiking.

  The world stood still.

  I took Cuba in, his shoulders slumped against the door frame as if he were exhausted, his hair tousled. His eyes pinned me, making me freeze, making the hair rise on my arms, my nape, and into my scalp. I stopped breathing, staring at my Greek god, at the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. He blinked those long, dark lashes as he stared at me, as if he couldn’t believe I was there. Ditto.

  “What? How—”

  He came at me full throttle and wrapped me in his arms. I squeezed my eyes tight, letting the warmth of him seep into me.