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37
DEMYEN
Bambi’s words keep echoing in my ear.
Clara’s face keeps flashing in my mind.
I thought it would be easier to wash her clean from me, like I could suddenly no longer be addicted to her touch, her taste, her smell. I went cold turkey, and now, I’m lying in bed, tossing and turning because I can’t shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong.
That I did something very, very wrong.
“Raizo, Greg Everett… they’re setting you up. They’vebeensetting you up.”
“She’s been prey her whole life… She had to adapt.”
I sit up and run a hand through my hair. Then, on a sudden, violent whim, I yank it hard by the root, hoping the pain will distract me from my own thoughts.
Spoiler: it doesn’t.
There’s a saying I’ve heard Pavel say before, and it’s echoing in my head alongside Bambi’s irritated voice.
“Better to believe and be wrong, than to not believe and be wrong.”
If I believe Clara is innocent, and it turns out that I’m wrong… well, yeah. I can just get rid of her as easily as I did tonight. And then I’d definitely be able to wash myself clean of her.
But if I don’t believe Clara is innocent, and it turns out that I’m wrong…
I jump out of bed and shrug on the first shirt I see.
In a matter of minutes, I’m grabbing keys to whichever car beeps in response to the fob in my hand. I don’t need to text my men for backup; the fact that I’m barreling through the compound is alert enough.
The Bratva is coming.
The first Yakuza hand that touches my chest to stop me gets broken.
The next one gets the same.
That’s all it takes to get the message across. As two of their comrades howl in pain, clutching their ruined fingers to their chests, the other Yakuza guards step aside. They recognize me—and, more importantly, they recognize that I’m not fucking around. One of them is wise enough to open the door and step aside to let me through.
The suite is filled with women, half of them sleeping in various corners and the other half staring listlessly off into nothingness. I quickly scan their faces, hoping to find Clara…
But she isn’t here.
I make my way over to where Raizo’s set up camp at the desk. The man himself is reclining in the chair counting stacks of cash. He smiles at me knowingly when he sees me approaching.
“Demyen! Decided to get comfortable, I see.” He eyes my plain t-shirt and sweatpants with a chuckle. “The night’s been a massive success. You and your staff did an excellent job. Well worth the wait.”
Soft sobs catch my attention. Down on the floor, nestled between his legs, is a woman on her knees with ruined makeup.
My heart leaps into my throat the same time my stomach bottoms out.
Clara?
No. Not Clara, but the resemblance makes my blood chill. This woman has similar dark curls and almost the same creaminess to her skin. But, unlike my Clara, the woman cowering beneath Raizo is all skin and bones, her cheekbones jutting from a worn face.
Is this what she’ll become?
I’m no stranger to the sex industry. I have an entire team of professional escorts, for fuck’s sake.
