Page 18

MARGOT

THREE DAYS LATER…

I ’m in a crime lord’s house.

It makes no sense, but I’m just coming to terms with that reality, days after Arseni revealed it.

I didn’t think it was a lie, but it didn’t feel real until now as I’m being led upstairs by a mystery person to meet another mystery person.

It was hard to think of danger here beyond Arseni, and maybe that makes me naive. Or better yet, stupid.

“Faster,” the man behind me commands, shoving my back. I gasp and do as he says with more fear than I’ve ever given Arseni, and again, I’m struck by the difference.

But they’re the same. This degenerate has platinum blond hair and a lip ring, but he has the same merciless aura as Arseni. I wish he would’ve been my handler from the beginning. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so confused.

A delectable smell enters my senses as Lip Ring leads me into a dining hall, one newspaper-guarded person at the table among an abundance of food. Scones, eggs, bacon, fruit, pancakes, a whole feast that looks undisturbed.

The person, a man , lowers the newspaper as we approach and looks up at me with a blank expression.

As soon as our eyes meet, he livens with a friendly smile that shifts a mole above his lip.

Moles are strange things. On most people, they’re unfortunate marks of imperfection.

On a lucky few, they’re mere accessories, adding to beauty uneasily marred by defects.

This man falls into the latter category.

“Good morning, Margot,” he croons, folding up the newspaper. “How did you sleep?”

How did I…

What?

I blink at him, sweat prickling the back of my neck. Lip Ring told me I was wanted upstairs—three out of four words total he’s spoken—but I’m not sure this man is the owner of this home. He looks too polite to be a killer.

“Please.” The man with the mole gestures to the chair next to him. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I had Rosemary make a little of everything.”

My forehead wrinkles as I take in the spread.

This is for me?

And there’s a Rosemary here?

Does she know I’ve been kidnapped? Could she help me?

“Please, sit,” the man prods, a cheerfulness in his voice that eases pressure in my lungs. It’s silly, but after days of being disregarded, I can’t help but appreciate the pleasantness.

I sit where he instructed and take a plate he passes to me. He smiles, all lips, before taking a sip of his coffee.

“I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. I’m Nikita, Arseni’s friend.”

Arseni’s friend. Arseni, who’s barely said a word to me for three days. Who barely looks at me during his infrequent trips to the basement, feeding me just enough to keep the stomach pain at bay. I’m sure Arseni has said many good things.

“Nice to meet you,” I say while eyeing the scones. I cautiously grab one, the scent so heavenly, I bring the bread to my nose.

I take the first bite slowly, the fresh-baked pastry crumbling between my teeth before softening to a doughy ball of sugar.

I close my eyes and exhale, iced glaze sticking to my fingers.

I take care to go slow, concentrating on every chew, but eventually, it hits how ridiculous it is to worry about how I appear to the people who are starving me.

I shove pastry into my mouth, one hurried bite after another until it’s devoured. Eggs are next, the steaming yellow protein clouds collecting in a pile with every spoonful I topple onto my plate.

“Hungry?” Nikita asks with a laugh.

A laugh .

I freeze like I’ve been caught doing something naughty, sweet crumbs sticking to my lips. The serving spoon clinks against the dish as I return it then wipe crumbs off my mouth with the back of my hand.

“You’re a bit of a character, aren’t you?” He pushes his coffee away to lay his elbows on the table.

I squint at him while nibbling on cantaloupe.

“When the kid first told me about you, I expected a leopard-print wearing soccer mom with fake tits and bloated lips, but you are much sneakier. You look plain.”

Plain . I don’t respond to that. On anyone else’s lips, it would be an insult, but his voice is so light, it sounds like a compliment.

Why am I up here?

Is this…?

As my stomach turns, I rest the cantaloupe on the plate and pull a napkin onto my lap. My movements are smooth, unhurried, and though I avoid his eyes, I wonder if he can see the sudden onslaught of fear that consumes me as viciously as I devoured the scone.

This is my owner.

Of course he’d want to introduce himself. I’m not up here to have breakfast with a kind mystery man. I’m here so my master can get a better look at me.

Duh. Fucking duh.

I cover my mouth as the digesting scone lurches up my throat. It’s subtle, I think. I swallow it back down and keep my face turned away.

The disgusting part of this is that I should be relieved to be passed off from Arseni. This man is closer to my age. He’s handsome. Clean cut dark blond hair, polite demeanor. He’s like Austin, except with a lot more money and blood on his hands.

And still, I’m repulsed. Even more desperate for escape. The reaction only makes me feel guilty because my lack of repulsion toward Arseni stands out like a glaring red flag.

“I don’t mean plain to be boring. Just the opposite,” Nikita says, catching onto my discomfort. “The way you disguise yourself is admirable.”

I lower my hand and peek at him through my curiosity. “What?”

He smiles wide, showing some of his bleached teeth. I wonder if he and Austin even go to the same dentist.

“I’m referring to your taste in men, Margot. Or… boys.” He lifts a shoulder like the clarification is hardly necessary. But to me, it’s everything. It’s everything I’ve hidden, everything I hate myself for.

Cold dread hugs my face as blood drains. My heart stops beating.

How does he know?

“You know what I bet?” He shakes a finger at me while scraping his bottom lip with his teeth. “I bet you convinced the kid everything between you was his idea. You probably let him hit on you for a while before you gave in to the chase.”

Oh my God.

My heart palpitates until I feel faint, but I just stare at Nikita as calmly as I can. “And by kid you mean…?”

“Arseni. But I’m sure this applies to the rest of them.”

The rest of them .

I shake my head, but Nikita speaks before I can.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Margot. I didn’t really want you here. But now…” As he leans toward me on the table, I get the urge to shift away. I didn’t notice just how dark his eyes were before. I didn’t see the malevolence in them. “I think we could have some fun .”

I shudder at his enunciated word and can’t help myself from sitting back farther in the chair just to get another couple inches away from him. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at…”

The pull of his lips relaxes, unveils a face that strikes me as his true identity. This is definitely the boss. He definitely has blood on his hands. And he may wear a blue suit as good as Austin, but the comparison ends there.

He takes the folded-up paper and places it in front of me. “Is this you?”

I squint at the black and white, skating across an article about the city garden to one with my work photo—an unflattering pose where my eye looks lazy from twitching during the flash.

I hated that photo. Every time someone looked at my ID badge with it attached, I fought the need to slap my hand on top of it.

Now, the whole world can see.

My fingertips dig into my lips as I glimpse the article through wide eyes. I don’t need to read much to get the gist of what it says, but I still latch onto every word, my throat shrinking with each line.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

“You don’t have to be scared,” Nikita says, sounding perfectly relaxed. “The cops won’t touch you as long as you’re here.”

The cops .

I close my eyes as my lip quivers. The cops aren’t even on my radar. I could go to prison for the rest of my life, and it wouldn’t be as great a hardship as the knowledge of what everyone thinks of me.

This was my worst fear.

The source of every nightmare I’ve had for seven years.

I begged Arseni. I told him this would happen.

I should’ve begged harder.

“Don’t cry,” Nikita says when a sob bubbles out of me.

“Look at this as an opportunity… Kinks are not shamed here. I appreciate deviance from my guests. You’ll have opportunities to live out your fantasies in much more fulfilling ways than looking at kiddie porn.

All you have to do is let me and my guests watch. ”

I slowly turn my head his way, silent tears spilling onto the newspaper, smudging the ink.

My jaw is dropped a centimeter in remorse and an inch in shock at what he’s saying.

“This is a mistake,” I say, a whisper all I can manage.

I pick up the paper with a trembling hand.

“Nothing about this is true. I’m not… I don’t have a kink .

I have a lunatic who planted horrific photographs in my house because I pissed him off.

I would…” I suck in a breath. “I would never do what you’re suggesting. ”

Nikita scratches his shaved chin for a moment. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking as much as collecting himself. “You’d never, what?... Fuck a juvenile? Haven’t you already crossed that bridge with my young cohort? He’s as child-like as it gets.”

I shake my head, my arms wrapping around my cramped stomach. “That’s different. That… That wasn’t my fault . He made me?—”

Nikita holds up a hand. “Okay, this is getting boring.”

I close my mouth and watch as a palm sands his forehead before moving into his hair, disheveling locks. He slams his palm on the table, rattling glass and making me jump. “You know what, it’s fine.”

When he smiles, all friendliness is gone. I’ve disappointed him. I’ve let down everyone , but he’s currently the only person in the world I’m disappointing for the right reasons.

My heart is too broken to let fear of this mobster take first place in my mind. It’s there. I can’t ignore my current situation.

But part of me hopes he sinks a bullet into my head while I’m not looking. I wish he’d done it before showing me the newspaper.

“I’m always looking for a new maid.” Nikita picks up my plate and chucks it at the wall. I gasp as the ceramic shatters, its pieces clattering on the tile like rain. “Start now.”

The anger in his voice pushes me from the table on autopilot, bunching the clothed napkin in my hands.

“ No .” My heart leaps at his voice. “Don’t dirty my serviettes. Make use of your tongue if you wish to keep it. I don’t want to hear you speak again.”

Breath shaking, I set the napkin down and walk around the table toward the broken plate. As I pass Nikita’s chair, my arm is hugged to my tense side, as if he might reach out and snatch me. But he doesn’t. He watches as I drop to my knees and begin gathering shards of ceramic.

Every sharp piece I collect makes me think of cutting my wrist, even as I shake with fear of pain. How can I still be afraid of suffering while too mortified to live?

“Clean the wall , slave.”

My lips parted, I slowly lay the shards on the floor and turn to the splattered grease stain, bits of watery egg clinging to it.

I can feel his impatience behind me, the energy so violent I know he was serious about cutting off my tongue.

It would be fitting for him to choose today, of all days, to commit such a symbolically cruel act.

No one will ever believe I’m innocent, but without a tongue, I won’t even be able to speak the truth.

I wouldn’t put it past Him to have given Nikita the idea.

Rising onto my knees, I close my eyes and lightly run the tip of my tongue across the wall. Bits of egg collect on my taste buds, but it’s only sour shame that registers.

“What’s going on?”

Arseni’s voice. Cautiously curious.

I whimper at his arrival but don’t turn my head towards him, though I want to. I desperately want to.

My lungs wheeze as pain twists, and it’s stupid, but I want him to fix it. I want him to ask me if I’m okay. To kiss my tears away. To cradle me on his lap and talk to me like I’m a human being.

After his harsh desertion on Thanksgiving, I resented his presence. I’ve been grateful for his neglect.

But now, his rejection hurts. It hurts like an all-new wave of agony rushing over me, and I want desperately for him to understand. Because it occurs to me that he’s the only person in the world who might.

It’s Nikita who speaks next, his voice bunching my shoulders.

“Oleg! Take the slut back to the basement!”