I suck in a shocked breath. “Men?”
Standing to her feet, she marks some notes on a clipboard before dropping her eyes to mine. Although I can barely see them through the flashlight strapped to the thin belt circling her designer dress, it’s not bright enough to take away from their dark blue coloring.
I flatten my back until it becomes one with the wall when she discloses, “The men you’ll beservingfrom 5 AM tomorrow morning.” No amount of confusion could have me mistaking the way she snickered “serving.”
Ignoring my wide eyes and gaped mouth, she takes a mental calculation of my body. “Size two?”
“Four.” For a one-word reply, it’s extremely hard to deliver. I had to force it through the lump in my throat.
She jots down my details on her sheet. “It’s most likely your breasts increasing your dress size. I’ll talk to Roderick, see if we can get you some custom-made outfits by the end of the week. They’re not cheap, but they’ll do wonders for your overall gain. You’ve got plenty going for you to entice priceless gifts and bundles of money, but why not take advantage of your newness before the well dries up?”
After her eyes drift over my hair, face, arms, and the skin between my toes, she returns them to my eyes. She seems pleased I’m relatively untouched. Except for the mark I feel thrumming in my neck, I appear as pure as my title of virgin suggests.
“Do you have a contraception of choice? Most girls opt for the implant before backing it up with a diaphragm. If you’re not comfortable with that, we can look at other options, although I wouldn’t recommend condoms. Very rarely do the men use them, and even when you demand one, they sneak it off sometime between sliding from third base to the home plate.”
Men. Contraception. Condoms they refuse to wear when aiming for a home run. What? I don’t understand anything she is saying. I was sent to my death under the guise I was marrying Asher. There was no mention of other men.
Hearing my wheezy breaths, she lowers herself back down to my level. “Oh, sweetie, don’t fret. The men are gentle. . .” Her nose screws up as she pulls an uneasy expression. “. . . for the most part.” She rubs my arm in a soothing manner. It does little to eradicate my panic. “And the ones that aren’t pay well for the privilege.”
The room shrinks in on me as my lungs fight for air. I’m more panicked now than when Asher had me pinned to the wall by my throat.
Confused as to why I’m acting so skittish, the blonde peers over her shoulder. “Lenin?”
A man with inky black hair, a narrow face, and the height of Lurch from the Addams Family enters the partially cracked open door. He shakes his head when the blonde asks, “Shlyukha?”
My lack of conversation must have convinced her I’m foreign. I’m not. I’m very much Russian, which means I know what ashlyukhais. They’re the women my father lost himself in when my mother died, and what Uncle Nesti said I would become if I kissed any more boys in closets. I’m also not an idiot. I may be a virgin, but I grew up around rowdy, vocal men who had no shame sharing stories they weren’t aware a curious teenager was listening in on when she occasionally built up the courage to escape her ivory tower.
Before I can advise the blonde I’m not, and will never be a whore, Lenin answers her query, “Asher said she could pick betweenshlyukhaorgornichanya.”
Leaning forward, I clutch the unnamed female’s arm. “I pick to be a chambermaid.”
I don’t know why I sound disappointed. It’s not because I’m so desperate for male company I’m willing to do anything to get it. I’m more disappointed that Asher’s punishment didn’t stray from the one he issues everyday commoners. My family lineage isn’t as highly ranked as it once was, but I still deserve to be treated with more respect than this. We were friends—once.
My spine snaps straight as my heart whacks out a funky tune. Would you listen to me? I’m upset I’ve skated past death only to be forced to become a maid. Who am I, and why am I complaining?
I’m drawn from my thoughts when the blonde asks, “Are you sure this is what you want? No matter which position you choose, you’ll still be serving Asher’s men—but one is less favorable than the other. You could do very well if you open your mind to the possibility not allshlyukhasare here against their will. I’ve certainly done well for myself the past two years.”
“You choose to do this?”
She takes the disgust in my voice in stride. “Yes. It’s no different from any other job. When done right, the reward far exceeds the effort.” After standing to her feet, she lowers her eyes to me again. “Are you sure you want to be a maid? They’re old and. . .” A gag finalizes her sentence.
Stupidly, I take a moment to consider the mirth in her tone before nodding. I’m ashamed I didn’t immediately respond with a stern no, but the entertainment highlighting her question deserved more than a hasty response.
“Okay. In case you change your mind.” She hands me a business card from the many tucked at the top of her clipboard. “All my details are on the front, but if for any reason you can’t reach me on one of those, ask Asher to contact me on your behalf. He has other ways of reaching me.”
Some of the panic on my face morphs into jealousy. She said her statement with too much ownership to miss, and although it shouldn’t frustrate me, it does—a lot.
After absorbing the necklace I stole from my mother’s jewelry collection earlier today, the blonde heads for the door Lenin is blocking with his tall, lanky frame. She whispers something in his ear before darting through the tiny gap he isn’t hogging. You’d think her escape would inspire my own, but I’m too busy adjusting my eyes to the light Lenin flipped on a second after her departure so I can read her business card without squinting.
“Velika Yury,” I read off the card.
Well, there goes any jealousy thickening my veins.
The Yurys have been called many things in their lives. Incestuous isn’t one of them.
Chapter 6
Asher
