AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There’s a ring of truth to his words that brings me up short. I could swear that he’s telling the truth, that he means what he’s saying–orthinkshe does, at least.
“You really want me to believe that you walked into this place, for no specific reason, and you wantmeso much that you’re going to go to these lengths?”
“Have you looked in a mirror?” Mikhail laughs. “You’re stunningly beautiful and a talented dancer, more so than anyone else here. You drive me insane, Athena, so yes. If I have to pay, I will. You’ll excuse any fantasies I might have that one day you might want me for myself–but as long as it takes a fee to buy your time, I’ll happily pay it.”
“My time. That’s it?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“What doyouwant?”
He grins, sprawling lazily on the couch as he watches me. “I want you, like I said. I want to spoil you, take you out, make you a little happier than you are now–and I’m prepared to pay you for all of it.” He reaches into his pocket as he speaks, pulling out a small box, and leans forward at the edge of the couch, pushing it forward onto the stage.
I glance at him confusedly, caught off guard. “What is this?”
Mikhail shrugs. “Open it.”
I do, cautiously. To my surprise, glittering under the pink lights, is a pair of gold thread earrings with teardrop-shaped diamonds dangling at the end of each. They’re beautiful, and under other circumstances, I would have been thrilled to receive a gift like this, but I can’t help but feel suspicious.
“This is too much. An allowance, the gifts from before, these earrings–” I snap the box shut, narrowing my eyes at him. “What else do you want? Therehasto be something else.”
Mikhail shakes his head slowly. “Nothing else, except what I’ve already told you. I want more ofyou, of course, but we’ll talk about that when the time comes. For now, if you agree, I want to take you out again tomorrow night.”
I shake my head. “I’m supposed to dance tomorrow night. I’m on the schedule–”
“I’ll handle it.” Mikhail looks at me coolly, his expression one of absolute certainty that something as small and insignificant as my work schedule can’t possibly get in the way of his plans. “If you need me to compensate you for the missed work as well–”
“No–that’s fine. Depending on the allowance–”
When he names an amount, I nearly choke. It’s more than I could expect to make in a week or more of dancing. “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him quickly. “We can meet tomorrow. Wherever you’d like to go.”
Mikhail smiles, a pleased expression on his face. “Good. I’ll send you something to wear again.”
“You don’t have to–”
“I insist.” His tone flattens, brooking no argument. “I want to see you in the thingsIchoose for you.”
Fair enough.I start to dance again, finding the rhythm of the music, but all I can think about is tomorrow night, and what else might come after that.
If this continues for long, I’ll soon have everything I need to be free of this place–and I won’t have to think about Moscow, the Cat’s Meow, or Mikhail ever again.
I’ll be somewhere else, far away.
Mikhail
The next morning, it’s difficult to remind myself, that I have another job to do.
Valeria isn’t known for being a patient woman, and I can’t afford to let my own personal mission get in the way of a contract.Just as I can’t allow my own unusual feelings to get in the way of my personal revenge.
I sit on the edge of the bed in the late morning light–still earlier than I would prefer, given how late I was at the club last night, and how long I stayed up after thinking of her here in this bed–and reach for the wallet on my side table. I need to remember why I’m doing this, the purpose that I have. It’s not to fall into wild lust with a woman who was once above me and is now far beneath, and it would do me well to remember that.
It’s been days since I looked at the photograph. It was once a near-daily ritual, a means to rub salt in the wound and remind myself of why I’m still here, to grind the hate and anger that I feel deeper, until it’s a part of my blood and my bones and my very soul.
I unfold the well-worn photo, running my fingers over the slightly faded surface. And I realize, as I touch the faces of the woman and the small boy in the picture, that at some point, I’ve forgotten the sound of her voice.
I’ve forgotten the sound of his laugh.
My hand flexes around the photo, nearly crumpling it as a burst of rage washes over me, tightening my gut in a painful cramp.I’ve forgotten.I can still hear the imagined sounds of her screams and his cries in my nightmares, but I’ve forgotten the sound of their joy.
