by J. L. Drake
He chuckled and tipped the bottle to fill my glass.
I held my hand up in a stop motion. “Nyet, spasibo. I’ll take my chances with truth or dare. My body is still recovering from the long weekend.”
Without a glint of remorse, he generously filled my glass anyway.
I slumped my shoulders and sighed. “Maria Sharapova or Anna Kournikova?”
He wrote down his answer and then asked, “Rafael Nadal or Roger Federer?”
Duh, remember my affinity for Spaniards? We went back and forth until we each had five answers on our papers.
“I’ll go first. Nadal, Wilson, three, DeNiro-in-his-twenties, nun.”
He showed me his paper. “Four out of five.”
“Bravo. Nice job.” Jeez. He was good at guessing my sexual preferences. “Your turn.”
“Three, three, three, three, three.”
“Um, you win.” I crumbled up my sheet of paper and downed my vodka.
“Let me see,” he said.
I got the angry eyes when I hesitated a split second before I tossed it to him. He uncrumpled my paper and smirked when he saw five consecutive threes written on my paper.
“Lucky guess.”
“You won. Why lie? Are you not capable of telling the truth?” He downed his shot.
I lied because I was afraid you’d be angry. “Okay, I won. You drank your vodka. I need to finish dinner.” I went to the stove.
He stood up. “Not yet, weasel.”
I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the bubbling pasta sauce. If he came at me, I was ready to defend myself. I wouldn’t go down without a fight. I was crazy to have willingly walked back into that death trap, but better to leave broken than in a body bag.
Don’t challenge him, Sophia said.
I took her advice and changed up my losing game plan. “Sorry, I lied. I was embarrassed about the whole thing. I can’t believe I let you talk me into that.” I snorted. “Can you teach me how to play poker instead?”
I kept my focus on the simmering sauce. I couldn’t handle seeing his angry black eyes that were surely bearing down on me like the Christmas Eve incident. But then I realized he was walking away, over to the drawer where Vladimir kept his gun.
I held my breath.
He pulled out a deck of cards.
Thank heavens.
***
When Vladimir came home from work, his lips curled into a smile when he found Boris and me with a big pot of cash between us, heavily invested in a Texas Hold ’Em poker game. He had probably expected to find me rocking on the floor in the fetal position instead of partying down with my abusers. If I wanted The New Deal to work, I had to entertain them. The boss didn’t want to play with a broken toy either.
I had my tennis visor down low, covering my eyes, while Boris sucked on an unlit stogie. I had synced my music to the sound system and was blasting my Dance Party playlist throughout the house—Boris’s idea.
“You might have to toss in the Ferrari keys, boss. The stakes are high,” Boris said over the music.
We were in the final round of our game. There were five community cards on the table: two eights, a king, a three, and a nine. Boris had given me a quick rundown on what the hand rankings were, but I didn’t remember what beat what. I just knew it was good to have high numbers and cards that matched.
Vladimir rubbed his hands together and laughed. We needed a distraction. Sophia was more powerful than the devil after all. She didn’t leave me in my time of need; she just had to readjust her strategy. Brute strength-wise, she couldn’t overpower him, but she did have the wits to outsmart the son-of-a-bitch.
The boss poured himself a drink and refilled our shot glasses. He put his arm around me. “What are you getting yourself into, angel?” He rubbed my back and played with my ponytail as I rocked my shoulders to the beat of the music. His eyes were soft and loving—not angry like they were on Christmas Eve. I knew I could steal Vladimir away from the pakhan.
He checked out the pile. Among the bills was one piece of lined notebook paper with a handwritten wager on it. I had burned through the bank Boris had given me to start off with. In order to stay in the game, I had had to add something to the pot.
“Oh, no. Our little gambler is out of control again.” He picked up the paper and read it aloud. ‘Truth or dare.’
“That’s what he wanted. You know I can’t back down.”
Boris turned over his two cards. With the community cards, he had two pairs.
I glanced at my hand, then at his. “Does this beat?” I turned over two nines. That made three of a kind when added to the one already on the table.
“Double or nothing.” Boris retrieved the cards.
“Wait. Did I win?”
Boris downed his drink.
Vladimir kissed me on the top of my head. “Yes, you little fox.” He handed me a shot glass. We toasted, clinked, and downed.
“So I should quit while I’m ahead, right?”
“Unless boss wants to take my place,” Boris said.
He had to be the best wingman in the history of mankind.
Chapter 41
Forever
Boris got up and gave his chair to Vladimir. “I’ll deal.” Boris collected the cards.
Sneaky little weasel that I am, I reached into the pot and tried to retrieve my wager.
“Double or nothing means it all stays in,” Boris said. “Now you have to add something. What do you want to put in, boss?” Boris shuffled the cards.
Worried he might toss in the car keys, I slid the notebook across the bar and rolled him a pencil. “Make it good.” I stared him down and rocked to the beat.
“Hmm.” Vladimir contemplated his next move, marked his wager, folded his paper into a square, and tossed it in the pile.
I twisted my ponytail. “What does it say?”
“You’ll find out if you win,” Boris said.
“Your turn, angel.” Vladimir slid the pad of paper and the pencil back to me.
I rested my chin on my fist as I thought about what to write. I couldn’t think of anything. I was wasted. I exhaled and sketched out a picture of a heart with angel wings. I drew an arrow through it and scribbled the word forever across it. He would take whatever he wanted from me anyway. Following Vladimir’s lead, I folded it up and tossed it on the pile. “Deal.”
As Boris dealt the hand, I tried to think two steps ahead as I bounced to the music. If I won, Vladimir would continue to raise the stakes until he came out ahead. I already had two wagers in the pot, which was enough. I would blow the game and let him win already, but I had no clue what I was doing.
I bobbed to the beat and peeked at my hand. Luckily, my cards were crap, a three and a five. Boris set out the community cards, a four, a six, and a two.
Shit. Cards in numerical order were good, too.
Vladimir slid the notebook to me.
I thought for a moment. “I fold.”
“Are you sure? You’ll lose everything.” He nodded at the pot.
“I’m cooked anyway.”
Vladimir picked out his wager from the pile, slid around the counter, and slipped the paper into my back pocket. “I’ll share the winnings with you, angel.” He kissed my cheek.
“Well, that figures.” I threw back my vodka.
The guys laughed. I think we could all agree that Vladimir winning was the best possible outcome. He removed the sweat-stained visor from my head and tossed it on the counter.
“Now, to collect my prize.” He left the thousands of dollars in cash on the table and went straight for my wagers. He flattened out my truth or dare paper and stroked it like a fine fur. He didn’t open up the secret wager; rather, he slid it in his shirt pocket and patted it as if I had handed over an Imperial Faberge egg.
My belly fluttered. It wasn’t butterflies per se, more like the sensation of bats thunking around in an empty bucket.
Boris went to the bar and came back with a new bottle to refresh our drinks.
“Truth or dare?” the boss asked.
“Should we eat dinner first?” I touched Vladimir’s arm. “You must be starving. I don’t want to make you wait.”
He twisted his lips.
Oh, oops. That came out a bit skanky. How many shots had I downed? The vodka or maybe the music had me a little frisky. I covered my mouth and giggled.
He enjoyed my loose and playful alcohol-induced demeanor. “Truth or dare?”
Say truth, say truth, say truth, say truth, say truth—
“Dare.”
Judging by their incredulous reactions, Dad was right. I belonged in a mental hospital. I bet Vladimir expected the wrong answer from his naughty, self-destructive little plaything. Boris shook his head and mumbled to the boss in Russian.
I downed my third or fourth or whatever shot of vodka and jammed my pointer finger into Boris’s chest. “Zip it. You stay out of this. Vladimir won.”
“I wouldn’t dream of interfering, lapsha.”
I tapped my hand on my leg in time to a hip-hop song. The thought of what he was going to make me do was exciting. If I survived the next few weeks, I was certain I would be strapped down and locked in a padded room.
The boss downed his drink and licked his lips. “Dance.”
“What do you mean? That’s not a dare.”
Boris refilled our glasses.
“You’ve been swaying your body to the music since I got home. That’s what you like to do with your friends, right?”
“Da.”
He picked up my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. “I’m your friend. Dance with me.”
I shot a stupefied look at Boris and then back at the boss. “That’s it? Crank up the jams.” I was fully expecting something like naked cartwheels or a striptease, but even though Vladimir was of questionable character, he was a gentleman. Well, at least when he was relatively sober, and that battleship was about to sink. Maybe I was giving him too much credit. He still had the other wager to cash in, whatever the hell a winged heart with forever scribbled across it meant.
Vodka flowed like the river Styx in that house. Alcohol and music helped ease my tension and loosen up my body. I was sure these two fine gents already knew that. I would have to keep my mojo in check. I was rather notorious for my dirty dancing. Of course, after my Friday night blitz, they knew that, too.
I scrolled through my music. “Old school, country, pop, classic, oldies, Euro, grunge, garage band, disco, hip-hop, R&B, or Broadway show tunes?”
He tapped his fingers on the counter as he thought it over. “A love song.”
I scanned my play list. “R&B it is.”
The boss whisked me away to the other room, but before I left the kitchen, I latched on to the doorframe and gave Boris a warning. “Dad will release the bloodhounds if I’m not home by ten o’clock. He has me on a short leash these days.”
He checked his watch and nodded.
Vladimir had on a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a rich paisley tie. I couldn’t figure out why he was chasing me. He could have any woman he wanted. Why did he have to turn me to the Dark Side?
He squeezed my hand and twirled me around to face him. I caught him checking me out and covered my mouth to hide my embarrassment. Unashamed I’d busted him, he lifted his shoulders. “I’m just a man, Carter.”
I cracked up. Part of me was ready to stop resisting. In Moonstruck, Ronny had to convince Loretta to sleep with him by carrying her to the bedroom and ravaging her body. It was sexy.
Vladimir is the hottest guy I have ever been in the same room with. Maybe I should give in. Wait. That’s the devil talking. Was he on Vladimir’s payroll? Where did Sophia fly off to? God must have fired her for doing a shitty job.
As the guitar intro played through the sound system, the boss hooked his arm around my waist and rested his hand on the small of my back. He led me to our makeshift dance floor in front of the glass doors that led to the back patio. He spun me around, held up my right hand, and placed his other hand on my hip. He was so much taller than me, my head was level with his chest.
I settled in and inhaled his cologne like a junky huffing on a crack pipe. My brain knew he was bad for me, but my body couldn’t resist him. We swayed to the rhythm of the sexy R&B song I had selected. By the time the chorus played, his neck was sweaty. I ran my finger around his collar and fingered the tight little curls I had admired for so long.
My body trembled, but not from fear. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my body into his. His erection poked against my belly as we rocked to the beat. My cheeks warmed, and I tried to blink away my embarrassment, but my body ached for him. I rubbed against him to encourage his arousal, and Vladimir loosened my ponytail and ran his fingers through my hair. I slid off his suit jacket, flung it on the floor, and wrapped my arms around his luscious body.
Sophia and the devil were officially at war.
Vladimir moaned a deep, primal sigh as I ran my hands across his backside. He kissed me so hard and deep, I thought the weight of our entangled bodies would drop us through the floor. He led us to the couch and lowered my body on top of his. I loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and admired star tats on his shoulders and a bounty of religious icons inked on his chest and all the way down his tight abs. The devil above his pecs kept his eye on me the whole time I sexed up his host. Did he have an angel?
“Say something sexy in Russian, boss.” I lined up our bodies and grooved my chest against his decorative torso. I moved my hips and moaned as his hands cruised around downtown. I slipped my hand inside his pants and ran my fingers along his length. I wanted him. I wanted it.
“I’m ready for you, boss. Take me to your bedroom.” I nibbled on his ear. “Or we can go to your office.” I traced one of the star tattoos on his shoulder with my fingernail.
“Vladimir.” Boris towered over us. “Boss.”
I stopped ravaging Vladimir and looked up to my keeper. “It’s okay. I want to.”
The boss reprimanded Boris in Russian.
He argued.
Vladimir patted my cheek. “My apologies, angel. Boris is going to take you home now.”
“Why?”
“Your papa is here to see me. It’s urgent.”
Oh, shit. If he knew what I was up to—drinking, gambling, and stripping the suit off his boss—he would sprout dragon wings, fly over the castle, and burn the devil’s den to the ground, with me in it.
Chapter 42
Party Foul
Boris drove me home, and I finger-combed my hair and tied it back into a spare ponytail holder I kept in my bag. He sent me into Starbucks to get a Frap to sober me up before he dropped me off. Dad wouldn’t be home—he had urgent business to discuss with Vladimir—but Karen probably had orders to give me a visual frisking when I walked in the door.
I slurped my drink, but otherwise the car was quiet.
“Want to listen to some music?” Boris asked.
Slowly, I turned my head and shot him the evil eye.
“My bad,” he said.
“Do you know what my dad wanted? It’s about me, isn’t it?”
He tipped his head.
“What’s going to happen now? Things have gone too far.”
He didn’t answer.
I felt sick. “Pull over.”
He did. I got out of the car, dropped to my knees, and party fouled in the parking lot of a Burger King. I misfired and got it all over my shirtsleeve. I dragged my body to the curb and sat on the edge of the parking lot between the snow-covered landscape and the icy blacktop. Boris got out of the car and blanketed me with his long gray shadow.
“I can’t cruise through the front door of my house reeking of vodka, Vladimir’s after-shave, and vomit.”
Boris drove us to a shady motel and got a room. “Clean up and I will get you some fresh clothes. We still have time to make your curfew.”
It was the fastest power shower of my life. When Boris returned, he tossed me a l
ong-sleeved pink t-shirt, a pair of sweats, and a toothbrush. I closed the bathroom door, changed, brushed, and came out ready to dash back home.
Boris sat on the edge of the bed. “I have spoken to the boss.”
“And?”
“Your papa went to the tennis club this evening. Your lies have caught up with you.”
***
When Boris dropped me off, Dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but the house was illuminated in full interrogation mode.
Karen met me in the foyer. “Are you all right, Carter?”
I acted surprised. “Of course. What’s up?” My tone sounded a tad chirpy.
“Where have you been? Why is your hair wet?”
Lifting my wet ponytail I answered, “At Kiki’s. Is it a crime to take a shower after a workout? We did, like, an hour and a half of Zumba.”
“Heads up, Carter. Your father called Kiki’s dad, and he knows their family is still in Florida.”
Shit. My dad’s headlights flashed on the wall of the living room when the Camry turned into the driveway.
“Your father is worried sick about you. You have some explaining to do.”
I sat on the couch with my head down, elbows on knees, and hands folded in the parental smack-down ready position. When the front door opened, it occurred to me Dad might not be okay—like Coach. He stepped into the living room looking messed up, not in a bloody or beaten kind of way, more like deflated.
“I went to Vladimir’s house. He explained everything. Did that bastard hurt you?” Dad was so stressed, his right eye was twitching.
Say what? I blinked in confusion. “No, no. Of course not.”
Karen put her hand on my dad’s back and stared at him like he had ceremonial war paint smeared on his face.
Dad clutched my shoulders, and eyed me in strict parental mode. “I know you’ve been lying to me about your whereabouts the last few weeks, but after speaking with Vladimir, I understand why.”
I fluttered my eyes in mock confusion. “Why did you speak to Mr. Ivanov about me?”