Page 9 of The Allure of Ruins

But he took hold of my chin, lifted it, and then kissed me so sweetly, so gently, that I tumbled right into his trap.

He’d been amazing since he met me, and I wanted to show him my gratitude with a gift.

I had one thing to give him, and that was my virginity.

And of course, by that time, I realized that he was beautiful and so very sexy.

With his glossy black hair and midnight-blue eyes, everyone fell at his feet.

There were women and men, all drawn to his power, money, and the immediate need to become his possession.

Much later, when I was broken, I watched gorgeous, proud, wealthy women beg him to come home with them.

Men who were bigger, stronger, would willingly submit to being taken, in front of others, tied down, put in chains, anything to please him, as long as Gen would make them his.

The trouble began when he was done, when he had whoever at his mercy, and once the fog of passion cleared, that was when he would invite others to take them as well. For a price…

I had started as his love, moved into my own apartment, showered with gifts, supported to get my GED and then start college. He paid for everything, and I was on his arm. It was, in the beginning, a fairy tale I’d never imagined.

Yes, I knew he still had sex with other people, but he came home every night to my bed.

Yes, I knew he was a criminal, but he also took care of widows and orphans and protected everyone who worked for him, as well as their families.

The requests, when they came, started slow. He wanted a threesome, and then he wanted to watch the fun. Then a new threesome without him, instead with friends. When strangers showed up at my door, I packed my things and ran. I got as far as the bus station.

He showed up and swore he was sorry, said I’d never made it clear I didn’t want to be shared, and promised me it would never happen again.

It was always fine for a while, but inevitably, the pattern would be repeated.

The amount of times I left, and then allowed myself to be talked into returning, was far too many to count.

It was easier to listen to him, to believe him.

The gutter beckoned if I ran away. And even the time before the last, when I moved out, got a new apartment and a new job, when I was attacked by a junkie on my way home, it was him, stepping from the shadows, there to save me.

I was leaning up against a wall, hyperventilating, when he stood there with me, rubbing my back, telling me everything would be all right.

I went home with him that night. But always, always, it would start again.

He would point out some man in the crowd at the club. “He thinks I’m so lucky because you’re so beautiful. Come on, let him touch you one time. I’ll be right here.”

“Why would you want any other man to touch me?” I’d asked, not understanding, my own desire always to have him all to myself.

The last time we were together alone, when I still cared, when I still loved him, I was giving him head, and suddenly there were hands on my hips.

When I jolted and gasped, that was it, there were three men clustered around us, and when I reached for Gen, he laughed and shoved me away.

When he walked out of the room and left me, my heart broke in two.

I lost time after that, days, weeks, and when I eventually came to, I was in the hospital. He was in the chair beside my bed, and he seemed wrecked. Rolling my head sideways, I was staring at him, and he startled when he saw I was awake.

“Fuck, baby,” he’d gasped, and I couldn’t pull my head away when he cupped my face in his hands. It was a fight even to try and keep my eyes open. “I didn’t know they would leave and take you with—I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find you, and…but it’s over now. They’re gone.”

Gone meant he’d killed them. They were dead.

Normally news of his protectiveness, his possessiveness, came with a surge of happiness.

He’d made someone pay for touching me or hurting me, and it made me feel loved, prized.

But not that time, and never again. I finally knew better.

He saw me as something he owned, nothing more.

He couldn’t make money pimping me out if I was gone.

I closed my eyes after that, too broken to look at him.

Once I left the hospital, I was taken to his mansion in Beverly Hills, and I had a room, just like the others.

Sometimes he slept with me, sometimes men who worked for him showed up, and men he wanted to be in business with.

He hit me because I was a robot. He wanted me to love him, but that was gone.

He showered me with jewelry and watches, so many clothes, made my suite an oasis, and beat me because I no longer gushed.

The light in my eyes, he said, had gone out.

My spirit had been extinguished. He hated that he’d done that even as he gave me to others, the money and favors they offered too much to turn down.

People wanted me whether I was willing or not.

It didn’t matter to them. They enjoyed themselves either way.

Life went on, and while he thought of me as lifeless, that wasn’t the truth.

I was hatching a plan. I waited and listened.

Because no one watched when he put things in his safe, but I saw all the numbers as he pressed them.

It needed his handprint and the code, and there was only one shot at it.

If he messed up, it locked down for the day, and while he grumbled about it, he liked the security.

The last night I was there, I was my old self with him.

He actually cried; he was so happy. We had sex, and he never suspected that I’d drugged him.

While he was loopy, I walked him to the safe, pressed his palm to the plate, and dropped him on the floor.

He didn’t move. I then entered the code and cleaned out the safe.

There was a hundred grand in cash, fake passports, a pouch full of diamonds, and an eight-terabyte hard drive.

Fortunately, there were ten of us in the house, four women, six men.

It worked out perfectly. Each person I released from their locked room received ten grand.

I didn’t mention the diamonds, and nobody asked.

I was sure they probably had etched serial numbers on them, and I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.

I took them purely because Gen was probably holding them for someone else, or they were a deposit and would be exchanged for cash later.

I didn’t know, didn’t care. I simply took them.

I didn’t ask if everyone was escaping with me, I knew their hearts.

They all wanted out as much as I did. We’d all fallen for Gen in the beginning, each taken to his heart and his bed.

Not one of us didn’t feel regret, shame and, mostly, that we were, without a doubt, the stupidest people on the planet.

To be so gullible was insane. But it was a new day and not one person didn’t accompany me to the airport.

Every single one hugged and kissed me and then got on a plane.

I got a ticket for later in the day and called Erast.

“Holy shit, Pax,” he barely managed to get out. “I’ve never seen Gen so—he’s foaming at the mouth, I swear to God.”

Somehow, I didn’t have that need to run like the others had. I mean, I did, I was not sticking around, but not immediately. I had something to do first.

“I know you’re working with the FBI,” I told him. “I’ve heard you on the phone. I’ve followed you and seen you talking to them.”

Silence on the line.

“I didn’t tell Gen because, let’s face it, if I had, you’d be dead.”

Shaky exhale then. “Yeah.”

“I hate you for doing nothing, but I hate him more.”

“Listen, Pax, I?—”

“Here’s what I want,” I began. “I want you and your FBI contact to come to the airport where I’m sitting outside the security checkpoint at terminal three. I will be here for two hours, so you better fuckin’ hurry.”

I hung up then. Exactly twenty-seven minutes later, he walked in, hands in his pockets, followed by a well-dressed tall Black man in a navy suit and two other men, one in a terrible, ill-fitting gray one and another in a Hugo Boss that fit him like a glove.

“You stay back,” I instructed Erast. “I only want to talk to him.”

The man strode forward, the confidence and an almost regal air rolling off him. He took a seat beside me, then pulled his credentials from his breast pocket at the same time so I could see the badge and the ID with his picture.

“I’m Special Agent in Charge Mike Lattimer,” he said, offering me his hand.

I took it and was amazed at how warm his grip was.

“You’re freezing,” he told me, replacing the badge, his brows furrowed. “You look a bit pale as well.”

No big surprise there. “I don’t want to stay,” I said flatly. “Promise me I don’t have to.”

“You don’t have to stay, Mr. Walsh, and from what Erast said, it doesn’t sound like I can even call you as a witness. You’ve had no access to Mr. Antonov’s business dealings. Isn’t that right?”

I nodded.

“You’re a victim who finally fought back. It’s impressive.”

“It was cowardly, but it’s done,” I said, unzipping my backpack. I passed him the hard drive. That must have caused Erast to move, because both agents ordered him to stay still.

“What is this?” Lattimer asked me, holding it in his hand.

“I have no idea. Erast probably does. There might be pictures or video of me being assaulted on there, as well as the others. If it’s just full of people like me being hurt, please use it as you see fit.

I suspect, though, that there might be some actual murders on there, and maybe even some blackmail material. ”

His face scrunched up a bit—probably because the idea of me and others being violated was painful for him to consider. I didn’t know, but I felt like it was a safe assumption.