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The Bratva’s Curvy Girl

Page 31

by Imani Jay

I back up till my ass hits the glass wall, cold, and there’s nothing behind me but the ocean.

He stops in front of me. Close. I have to tip my head all the way back to see his face.

“You can throw things,” he says. “You can scream. You can call whoever you want. You can walk out that door right now and go wherever you want in this whole house.”

“And if I walk out the front door?”

He puts his hand flat on the glass next to my head.

“Try it,” he says.

* * *

I go through every room I can find.

There’s a lot of them. A gym. A movie theater. A wine cellar. A kitchen with an island so long you could land a plane on it, and a man in a white chef’s jacket standing at the stove, who looks at me, naked and furious, and says, “Good morning, miss. Eggs?”

I scream at him too.

Downstairs there’s a living room with a wall of glass and a pool that just ends, right at the edge of the cliff, like you could swim right off the side of the world. Next to the front door, there’s a stack of boxes with DYLAN written on them in black marker. My bear’s sitting on top. Somebody put him there on purpose, facing me.

I go out the front door, naked, and run down the driveway.

It’s a long driveway. Palm trees. Big old oaks. My bare feet slapping the stones. I run till I come around the last bend, and there it is.

A gate. Twelve feet high. Black iron. A camera on each side. And a little booth next to it with two big white men inside. They’re both holding rifles.

They look at me. Naked. Panting. Braids all over my head.

One of them very respectfully looks at the sky.

The other one picks up a radio. “Boss. She’s at the gate.”

I walk all the way back up the driveway with my arms over my titties.

* * *

He’s waiting for me on the balcony off the bedroom. Leaning on the glass railing in a pair of black sweatpants, with the whole city spread out under him and a cup of coffee in his hand.

I walk out there and stand in front of him.

“Let me go home.”

“You are home.”

“Sasha. Please.” My voice breaks. “I’m asking you. I’m begging you. Let me go home.”

He sets his coffee down on the railing.

Then he picks me up by my thighs and sits me on the railing.

I scream. There’s nothing behind me but air. Three stories down to the pool, and below that, the cliff, and below that, the whole city. My arms fly around his neck. My legs wrap around his waist on their own.

“Sasha… Are you crazy…”

“Hold on.”

“Put me down!”