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At least I didn’t spot a single cockroach in the hallway here. All of the lights were working and none of the doors looked like they’d been sealed with evidence tape of any kind. I figured Misha was classier than a slumlord, but then again, the rich tended to stay rich by keeping their boots on everyone’s throats. I was surprised he lived in a building this old, though. It was probably on some historic registry somewhere whereas he looked like he belonged in a modern monstrosity with automated everything.
Misha keyed us into an apartment and proceeded into the dark interior. “The bedrooms are this way.”
He didn’t bother turning on any of the lights. There was enough coming in through the windows that he didn’t need to. From what I could see, the apartment was the farthest thing from a monstrosity. It was… quaint? Quaint was the only word I could think of and it was not the kind of word I wouldeverassociate with a guy like Misha.
He led the way to a small bedroom, not the palatial guest suite I had first imagined. Laying the kids down, we took off their shoes quickly, tucked blankets around them, and made ourselves scarce. Waking up in a strange bed wouldn’t be the best thing for them, but at least they’d have each other. And anything was better than a sketchy foster home or some crack motel.
“Drink?” Misha asked in the hallway, heading back the way we came.
“Yeah.” I wasn’t thirsty, nor was I in the mood to get drunk, but I was suddenly too tired to refuse.
In the kitchen, he flipped on the under-cabinet lights and proceeded to pour two glasses of vodka from a bottle he pulled out of the freezer. He raised his glass to me and tossed it back in one go.
I sank onto the counter, propping myself on my elbows and holding my head in my hands. I was too drained for actual thoughts, especially with a myriad of emotions bombarding me from every angle. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness pressed in on me, slowly suffocating me. Helpless and hopeless. Like a hamster on a fucking wheel. I ran and I ran and I got nowhere. Despite everything I’d done to try and keep his ass on the straight and narrow, Axel was on the same path as Levi while I ran in my squeaky wheel, thinking it would make a difference.
Was Bri next? Turning tricks and robbing johns to scrape together enough money to buy shit that would numb her into oblivion?
Would this be Ezra in ten years? Another dealer-turned-user like Levi? Another hustler like his mother? Like me?
Fuck, I hoped not. I hoped I had my shit together by then and could take them away from Crystal before she let all of her kids kill themselves, trying to escape the misery she fucking created.
Misha’s hand gripped the back of my neck gently, pulling me away from the counter. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed as well.”
I didn’t even argue. What was the point? I’d known it was coming from Day One, no matter how many times he promised it wouldn’t lead anywhere. For once, I thought someone saw me without a fucking price tag above my head. I was such a fucking idiot.
With one hand on my neck and the other around my bicep, I let Misha steer me through the apartment, keeping me in some semblance of a straight line. I felt like a zombie—or a puppet—but I was too burnt out to care about anything, let alone being used by the guy who’d just saved my brother’s life.
Before we reached the kids’ room, Misha turned me toward the left, to what I assumed was another bedroom. The primal part of my brain flared to life, screaming out a warning as we crossed the threshold. The rest of me didn’t listen, though. For all of my defiance, I knew better than to bite the hand that was feeding me. Besides, it was easier when you went along with it.
City light slanted in through the windows, illuminating a fairly large bed in a relatively small room. I couldn’t tell what color the bedding was, but it was pale, glowing softly where patches of light fell. It reminded me of the kind of bed you saw in ads, piles of fluffy pillows and cloud-like covers. Funny… when it was all said and done that white bedding was never stained as much as I was. I wondered, could you bleach a soul, too? Or was that the kind of shit that only death could erase?
Misha flipped the covers back and sat me on the edge of the bed. Memory foam, by the feel of it. Soft sheets under my hands. Clean. Clean was good.
“You know I don’t have any money to repay you,” I said, my voice as hollow as the rest of me.
Dropping to one knee, Misha pulled off my shoes one by one and set them next to the nightstand. “I don’t want money,” he replied, not even looking at me. Why wouldn’t he just fuckingsayit? Call it like it was? Why did he have to drag it out like some… game?
Because, you fucking moron, he likes playing head games. That’s his whole thing. And you fell for it.
“Whatdoyou want?” The primal part of my brain shrieked the answer. Because there could onlybeone of two answers, and if money was already off the table… Well, the conclusion was obvious. It should have bothered me more than it did. It would have bothered a normal person but I was so fucking desensitized to it, it wasn’t worth the internal struggle anymore. I was more mad at myself for letting him dupe me. I fucking knew better than to let my guard down, even a fraction of an inch, so this was exactly what I deserved for being so stupid.
Misha got to his feet slowly and pulled me up with him, his eyes fixed on mine but completely unreadable. His fingers grazed my sternum and goosebumps broke out over my skin. The goosebumps traveled south each time he undid a new button until he peeled the shirt off of me and tossed it onto a chair in the corner, then they spread everywhere.
Even though I still had my pants on, I felt naked in front of him. Bare and exposed, revealing everything I’d been trying to hide, which was so stupid. He knew what I was, right? Hehadto. He was too smart not to. I might as well have had it tattooed on my forehead—will fuck for money or services provided.
I couldn’t make out much of his expression in the near dark; what I could see didn’t give me anything to go on. The fact he hadn’t answered my question did not go unnoticed, but I didn’t need the answer. I had it. My dick had it too and grew harder with each second. Conditioning at its finest.
Misha still hadn’t answered when he reached for my belt buckle. Expertly undoing it, he popped the button on my pants and pulled the zipper down, a grating sound that was way too loud in such a quiet space.
My breathing quickened as he tugged the black fabric downward. My pants slid past my hips and pooled at my feet in a flash, weighted by my phone and wallet.
“Sit,” he said softly, and I did, kicking my pants off the rest of the way.
He stooped to grab them, adding them to the chair with my shirt.
“Lay down.”
I wasn’t exactly in a position to refuse, literally or figuratively, so once again, I did.
