Dynasty

by Jen Davis et al.

  “Good to see you. We missed you. How was your Christmas?”

  “Cut the bullshit,” I said.

  He cocked his head, stunned by my disrespectful tone.

  “I know you’ll hurt the people I love if I don’t do what you say. You win.”

  “Are you wearing a wire?”

  “No. This is between you and me.”

  It was clear in his face, in his posture that he was unsure of the purpose of my declaration. I handed him a plain white envelope. He slid on his reading glasses and lifted out the paper inside—the rental agreement for our apartment. I had worked so hard, scrimped, saved, and sacrificed to finally bust down the door to adulthood, and there was no way I would let the Russians hijack my freedom.

  He stuck the letter back in the envelope. “Congratulations.”

  “Spasibo. I have a problem, though. You get what you want from me, but what do I get in return?”

  He seemed intrigued by my strength. After being away for two days—Dad wouldn’t let me leave the house any sooner—I had color back in my face, the bags under my eyes were fading, and I had wolfed down protein bars to gain some weight back. Over the last few weeks the Russians had cranked me through the sausage grinder, but they failed to break me.

  “Continue.” The car was still in park.

  “If I do what you say, everything is good. My friends and family stay safe, right?”

  He glared at me and waited for me to continue.

  “But statistically speaking, I screw up a lot. Then what? The next time I make a mistake, you’ll kill my family? Game over? That doesn’t work for me. I have no chance to win. I can only lose.”

  Boris tapped his fingers on his leg. “I’m a reasonable man, Carter. What do you want? Money? Car?”

  “An exit strategy. Is it true Vladimir is going back to Russia soon?”

  “You heard this from your papa?”

  I nodded.

  “Da.”

  “Perfect. Here’s the deal. I’ll play along with this sick game. I’ll be nice, wear beautiful clothes, and be a delightful young plaything. We’ll reset the game clock and go back to the way it was before Christmas.”

  He rubbed his chin. “That’s right.” He put his hand on the shifter to put the car in reverse.

  I wrapped my hand around his and stopped him from pulling his hand back. “In return, I want to walk free from this deal when the boss goes home. I’ve finally done something right,” I pointed to the rental agreement, “and I am not going to mess it up this time. The boss can have me while he’s here, my family and friends remain safe, and for my participation we part ways for good when his business here is over.”

  When I dreamed up this plan, this was the moment I envisioned Boris would lean over and choke me to death, but actually, he seemed impressed he hadn’t extinguished my fire.

  “I like it. That’s a nice deal. Good girl.”

  I stared at his hand, waiting for him to pull back the shifter.

  The weasel alarm sounded.

  He tapped his rings on the steering wheel. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  He turned off the car and set the keys on the dash. “We’re not going to get any more unexpected visits from your boyfriend?”

  “I broke up with him. Will you please undo whatever you did to his truck?”

  “You are willingly going to spend time with the boss?”

  I hesitated for a split second.

  “What are you up to, weasel?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Dear, I’ll cut you a break because you are so young, but you do know what part of the body controls man’s mind?”

  I nodded.

  “And you know men don’t like to be teased by curious little blondes?”

  I nodded again.

  “And if you try to pull your bullshit—”

  “I got it. Please don’t hurt my family. I know what you expect me to do but—”

  “But?”

  “I have one condition.”

  No more Mr. Nice Negotiator Guy. “Say that again?”

  “I will be a fantastic girlfriend, curl up on the couch, drink, hug, and even make out with him if I have to, but I will not let him rob my virginity. And if you try to pull anything on me like you did on Christmas Eve, you will have your way with my cold, dead body.”

  He blinked his eyes like he was about to short circuit. “You’re giving me orders?”

  “No. No way. Remember, you’ve already won. I’m here against my will. I know what you’re capable of. I surrender.” I raised my hands to drive the point home.

  He leaned back in his seat, possibly turned on by my flattery.

  “What I’m proposing is a different matter altogether. Ask yourself, which Carter do you want? The fun to be around Carter before Christmas? The happy, competitive, slightly problematic college girl? Or do you want the bruised and battered Corpse Bride you turned me into over the weekend?”

  I took my jacket off to remind him of the damage inflicted on me during our Holiday Adventure. “It can’t continue like this. My dad cornered me about my condition. He bought two at-home drug tests from the pharmacy. He made me pee into a cup to check for illegal substances. When that theory didn’t pan out, he became convinced I have an eating disorder. He threatened to check me into a mental hospital.”

  Boris’s gaze drifted to my battered arms.

  “You think this is bad?” I lifted up the bottom of my shirt to show him the damage he left on my gut. “That’s nothing. You should see your boot print on my back.” I took a deep breath. “Someone will eventually figure out something is wrong. What if Dad finds out? Then what?”

  I was right, and he knew it. He stroked his beard.

  “Vladimir would never force me to be with him. Don’t you think he’ll be happy with the pleasure of my company without going all the way?”

  “Nyet.”

  “I think he’d be crushed to see me walking around his house like an alley cat maxed out on her ninth life. Everything will be fine as long as—”

  “As long as what?”

  Tell him, Sophia said.

  “As long as he doesn’t drink too much.”

  “You’re a brave girl, Carter.” He let out an exacerbated sigh. “Brave or stupid. I’ll see what I can do to remedy the situation.” He lifted the keys off the dash and started the car.

  I know it was sick, but I was giddy Boris hadn’t hog-tied me and dumped me facedown in the trunk of the Caddy. If all I had to do was hang out with Vladimir, talk, eat, drink, and have fun, knowing it would end when he went home—I could live with that.

  Just like old times, Boris turned on the Russian music, and I ate my almonds, trying to suppress a winner’s grin.

  Chapter 40

  Broken Toy

  Back at the house, Boris guarded me in the kitchen as I worked. He questioned me relentlessly, trying to catch me off-point as I prepared dinner. “You have kept your mouth shut?”

  I nodded.

  “Eating good?”

  I nodded.

  “No one has seen your bruises?”

  I shook my head.

  “The football player doesn’t suspect anything?”

  “I broke up with him, remember? I haven’t spoken to him outside of a few texts.”

  He held out his hand. “Let me have your phone.”

  I gave it to him.

  He slid on a pair of reading glasses and ran his finger down my screen. “Your little friend is boy crazy.”

  I sucked in my bottom lip. Kiki had been texting me pics from Florida of hot guys sunbathing on the beach, which prompted us to play a game we had made up a few years ago. Why didn’t I delete our last conversation?

  Kiki: Dirty blond surfer or stubbly lifeguard?

  Carter: Beard burn.

  Kiki: Fo sho.

  “What does it mean?”

  I stirred the sauce on the stove. “Um—” I felt my face flush. Boris knew he had me on some
thing, but he hadn’t figured it out yet. He studied my body language, and then went back to reading our conversation.

  Kiki: Six-pack speedo or tattooed parolee?

  Carter: Three-way.

  “Explain.”

  My face was hotter than the tomato sauce simmering in the pan. The last thing I needed was to piss him off on an otherwise uneventful day. “It means what you think it means.” I lifted my eyebrows. “The pics of the guys on the beach? Who would you rather?” I winced with my hand up waiting for him to finish the sentence.

  The answer registered on his face. “Naughty game. Want to play with me?”

  I couldn’t say no. I wouldn’t let him rattle me. Over the last two days, I had time to regroup my game plan. I had come to the realization their goal was to not hurt me, instead of the other way around. What they wanted was for me to do what they said. When I resisted, I got hurt. If I could stay in their good graces until my newly renegotiated Indentured Servant Contract expired, I could come out of this ordeal with a pulse.

  “Sure. It’s fun. I’ll teach you how to play the original version instead of the abbreviated text version. We need some paper, a pencil, and a bottle of vodka.”

  Boris rounded up the supplies while I explained the rules. “Okay, so each of us calls out the names of two famous people. They can be sports figures, movie stars, politicians, etc. Past or present works, too. Like you could say Elvis Presley or Kurt Cobain and that’s all good, da?”

  “Da.” He was radiant knowing he had officially broken my will to fight him.

  “After I say two names, you can either write one down on the paper, or you can put down ‘priest,’ or in my case ‘nun’ if you would rather become celibate than have sex with either of them.”

  “Humph.”

  “Oh, and you have one more choice. You can write down a ‘three,’ as in you would have a three-way with the two aforementioned hotties.” I had officially lost my freaking mind. “Can you handle it, or is too much for you?”

  “What’s the vodka for?”

  “This is a drinking game. If I correctly guess more of your answers, you have to drink. If you get more right than I do, I drink. Or, if you’re the loser, you can pick truth or dare instead if you don’t want to imbibe.”

  He tapped his pencil on the paper. “This is what college girls do for fun?” I had never seen him in such a good mood.

  Aha! Suddenly I understood. Boris liked the feisty me much better than the scaredy-cat version. Everyone feared him. He commanded respect and submission from his underlings, but from day one I gave it back to him in a way no one else dared. I was his little plaything, too. I batted my eyelashes. “Only the sad, lonely ones who can’t go out and play.”

  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.

  Snea
ky 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.