Confident no amount of water will douse the raging inferno, I plant my foot onto the gas pedal of my Shelby. With recent rain making conditions muddy, the tires slip and slide in the wet conditions before they eventually grip the tiny shards of gravel Vladimir laid to ensure none of his guests at his house of horrors would get bogged down.
The knowledge of the courtesies he offered his ‘guests’ has my jaw working side to side. The woman seated next to me has clearly been used and abused, yet, I’m still putting my needs above hers. And for what? Because she reminds me of a girl I hardly knew and a past I’d give anything to forget.
Clearly, I need to cut back on the drugs. My head is getting too fucked-up.
Six
Trey
For most of our trip through the sloshy fields, the blonde in my passenger seat keeps her eyes fixated on the side mirror. She watches the black plumes of smoke rising from Vladimir’s compound until it becomes one with the pitch-black night.
Although hues of orange are seen for some time, within minutes, her focus shifts from the past to the present. She stares at her reflection for several long seconds, moving closer the more the sticky night air combs the knots out of her hair.
The wind whipping past her face from my fast speed makes quick work of her tears, but I don’t need to see wetness on her cheeks to know she’s crying. I can smell the saltiness of her tears lingering in my nostrils. It’s an addictive scent that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is.
When I take a right at a T-intersection, I spot what the muted blonde wrote in the condensation her heavy breaths made to the side mirror. It’s the letter K.
“Is that what your name begins with? K?”
The tightness in my jaw grows when she scrubs her fingertips over the gleaming glass. I’m not frustrated she’s putting massive barriers between us. I wouldn’t have expected any less from a woman who’s been through what she went through. It’s the thinness of her wrist that has my molars grinding together. I could circle her wrist with my thumb and index finger, and I guarantee there’d still be a gaping hole between us.
“When was the last time you ate, K?”
She’s shocked about me calling her K, however, it’s barely seen through the truth on her face that it’s been a very long time since her belly has been full.
Her bright blue eyes snap to mine when I slam on my brakes before completing an illegal U-turn. Although Clarks has enough food in its industrial confines to feed an army, it’ll take the once-whores a good twenty to thirty minutes to rustle something up. I can’t wait that long to put food in K’s stomach. If I do, guilt will eat me alive, and we’re not going to mention the ghosts of my past, or I’ll force her to eat until her stomach pops.
With the night still early for Vegas locals, I pull straight up to the Sonic drive-in speaker without needing to wait. “What do you want to eat, K? You can have any fucking thing you want. Beef, chicken, wings. You can have it all if you want.”
K’s stomach growls in hunger, but she remains as quiet as a church mouse, only gasping when my desperateness to show her not all men are pieces of shit sees me placing an order for one of everything on the menu. I might be an asshole, but not even the hardest gangster could look at someone as frail as K and not offer them a bite of their sandwich—not even Nikolai. You’d have to be completely heartless not to feel some kind of remorse, and mine is ten times worse since I knew the game Vladimir was running, and I didn’t do anything about it.
Yeah, I could be accused of treating the whores at Clarks like shit, but they’re there because they want to be there. K and the women currently being transported to Clarks never had a say in the matter. Even pimps treat their hookers better than Vladimir treated his captives.
The bills I toss to the cashier at the window haven’t been laundered, but since I don’t see much of it landing in the cash register, I’m not worried.
With my order obsessive, I anticipate for my car to be full to the brim with bags of greasy food. It would be if I didn’t tell the cashier to hold all the drinks bar two. I can’t guarantee K won’t hurl the instant one of the burgers reaches her stomach, so I’ll keep her drink selection to plain ole’ bottled water.
“Are you going to eat something?” I ask K after tossing the final bag of food into the back of my car and recommencing our trip.
I don’t get words, but she does shake her head. Her response frustrates me more than the whore who took herself for a ride on my cock yesterday morning. I’m finally capable of doing a good deed, but the person I’m testing the rarity out on doesn’t want my help.
What the fuck?
“Why not? You’re hungry, aren’t you?” A tick impinges my jaw when a reason behind her hunger strike pops into my head. “You won’t be expected to repay me for the meal. You don’t owe me shit. I can get my dick sucked without handing over a dime, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
I don’t know whether to be pleased or pissed when she continues clutching several grease-laden bags in close to her chest. I’m glad she isn’t holding back because the idea of sucking my cock repulses her enough she’d rather starve, but still, I wish she’d eat something. Just looking at me is making me hungry, and no, I’m not solely referring to the feast only women can serve me.
* * *
K’s breaths come out ragged when I pull my car down the long driveway of the Popov compound. People usually drool over the thirty-plus room mansion. K looks far from impressed. She’s more panicked now than she was when she spotted my gawk from afar forty minutes ago.
Her worry is warranted. P’s is elaborate, but no amount of glamor can mask the scent of desecration.
The same can be said for my aftershave.
I angle my head to hide my smirk while saying, “I need to drop something off real quick. You can come with me or stay here…” My words trail off when K tugs bags of food in closer to her chest, denying my request without words. “Alright. I’ll be back in a tick. Don’t go anywhere.” My last comment was more in jest than a demand. Manned guards are on every corner of P’s. Even if she wants to run, she won’t get far.
After slipping out the driver’s seat, I hotfoot it up the side entrance most of the once-whores-now-maids use. Just as I reach the foyer, Nikolai and Justine enter from the other side. Considering she was sold tonight to a bunch of worthless pricks with more money than sense, she looks well put together…ifyou exclude her out-of-control body shakes.
