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Greetings are exchanged before he says to Krakov, “I’ve reserved a room at the casino in town for a few selected guests. It’ll be an honor to have you as my special guest.”
Krakov’s mouth twists and he shrugs. “I may be too busy with my babushka, tonight. I’ll let you know.”
It’s a poorly-kept secret that Clayton part-owns Getty Casinos and likes nothing better than to help The Villa’s guests offload even more of their money at his gaming tables. I can almost see the dollar signs in his eyes as he attempts to reel in Krakov. “Of course. And naturally, Lucky will accompany you if you do decide to join us.”
I will my stomach not to turn as I smile at both men. “If you’ll excuse me for a second, I’ll just go a take a quick peek at the schedule.” Edward Krakov, like most men, have their Villa favorites—in his case, me—but he also likes to sample other wares during his three-day stays. Remi, Clayton’s long-time PA, who also doubles as a receptionist, keeps an electronic schedule on her discreet mini tablet. If I’m lucky, Krakov will have booked two or three other girls, leaving me free of his vile attention for five or six hours per day.
Edward Krakov holds the dubious honor of having been my first client at The Villa. To date, I’m not sure how much he paid Clayton for me, but judging by Clayton’s smile as I was delivered to Krakov’s room the night of my seventeenth birthday, it had to be a small fortune. For his part, Krakov took pleasure in using my body to satisfy every sick perversion, the Russian’s proclivity for pain-edged sex a rough and shocking introduction to a world far removed from the fumbling teenage efforts that robbed me of my virginity two months before Ma died.
His only saving grace is that Krakov has a pencil thin dick, which causes discomfort but not lasting hurt. Of course, what he lacks in the cock department, he more than makes up for with his hands, his mouth, and a copious amount of sex toys.
I suppress a shudder and start to turn away.
Clayton catches my arm. “Did I not mention it earlier? Edward has booked you for the whole three days.”
This time, I don’t quite manage to keep my horror from showing. A cold look enters Krakov’s eyes. I need to appease or I’ll pay for it later.
I return to his side and slide my hand down his arm. “In that case, I’ll just go powder my nose. You must also be getting hungry. Shall I have the chef prepare you some borscht? Or would you prefer pelmeni this evening?”
His beady gaze slides over me and he licks his lower lip. “You can help me decide a little later, myshka.”
“Okay. Let me pop into the little girls’ room and I’ll be right back.”
My smile stays on my face until I enter the lavatory. Then I cling weakly to the sink and struggle to keep from throwing up.
Three days with Krakov. I can barely stand him for three minutes, never mind three days. My feigned illness during his last visit was because he wanted to fuck me without a condom. For an extra five thousand, Clayton allows that. The thought of him inside me with no barrier caused me enough distress to become physically ill, a fact that didn’t please him.
Today, I know both he and Clayton are on board. That I can’t stop it from happening without causing serious issues with Clayton. Issues I can’t afford to bring down on top of my head with suspicion already aimed at me.
I stumble into the bathroom and try to calm my racing mind. Five minutes pass without a clear resolution as to how I can avoid being bare-backed by Edward Krakov.
I flush the toilet and exit the stall.
To find Ridge leaning against the vanity, arms crossed.
Naked fear freezes me for precious seconds. Then I step back into the stall and slam the door. Or I attempt to. He blocks me easily, his superior strength making a joke of my efforts. And he’s not even expending much energy.
“Easy, girl. I’m not here to hurt you,” he rasps.
“Then let go of the door,” I reply, fear making my voice and body shake.
“I’m just here to talk, but I’m not talking to a fucking closed door, Lucky. You come out, or I come in.” The sick relish in his voice is at variance with the just talk line.
I kick myself for picking the rarely used, less posh toilet nearest the kitchen, instead of the snazzy one the girls prefer nearer reception. I wanted to put a bit of distance between myself and Krakov, totally forgetting Ridge and the loaded looks he’s been sending me all day.
“I can hear you just fine from here,” I say, injecting as much power into my voice as my shaking will allow.
“Not happening. Come out and let’s get this over with. Clay’s gonna come looking for you soon.”
“Yeah? And what do you think he’s going to say when he finds you in here?” I challenge.
“I heard you in here, crying. Came to investigate.” I hear the shrug in his voice. “You locked yourself in here because you don’t want to fuck that asshole. I’m trying to talk you out.”
The answer sounds pat. Well thought through. My heart lurches as I wonder how long he’s been planning this.
“Come out, Lucky. You can’t stay in there forever.”
My arms quiver from the strain of trying to keep him out. Mild terror threatens to scramble my brain. I tell myself he could’ve entered by now if he wanted to.