Chelle
The next morning I’m practically giddy. It’s not about my arrangement with Nikolai-definitely not that. It’s that I scored the deal with the skateboarders, and they want me to be their publicist not Janette.
Okay, maybe it’s both.
I should be terrified about the Nikolai thing.
I literally did make a deal with the devil.
But I can’t find it in me to be afraid. Nikolai just isn’t that scary to me. I mean, logically, he is. I know what he did to Zane was violent. But it’s possible it wasn’t merciless. He seems to operate by a code or set of rules, and I don’t think they involve hurting me or selling me to sex traffickers.
I’m not entirely sure what those rules are though.
Even though I’m operating on four hours of sleep, I take an extra long time in the shower, shaving everywhere and thinking about all the things that might happen tonight.
I will definitely be getting laid. I climb out of the shower and smear my mango-ginger butter lotion everywhere, then put on my sexiest matching bra and panties-the black lacy ones. Of course, Nikolai probably won’t even see them because I’m supposed to be naked when he gets home. And another of course-I have time after work to do this stuff. I don’t have to do it now. But I want to.
“Echo,” I shout into the kitchen. “Play Flo Rida’s ‘Low’.”
I guess I’m feeling sexy. It was my favorite high school party song. When it comes on, I’m lured to the kitchen still in just my bra and panties to hear it full-blast. I stand in front of the Echo like it’s my dance partner and slide my hands down my body, singing at the top of my lungs, slapping my booty and dropping into a squat at the appropriate times.
When “Low” is over, I ask Echo to play Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream,” and I bebop to my bedroom to get dressed while singing like I’m thirteen.
I call Shanna on the way to work, even though I know she’s still asleep. I can’t help it. I have to leave a message on her voice mail. Somehow, I think she’d be proud of me.
“Well, I’m taking your advice. I’m finally having some gratuitous sex. Which is kind of a stupid term. Like when is sex not necessary? Oh, I guess gratuitous also means free. Well, this sex isn’t free. It’s worth thirty thousand dollas.” Yes, I’m talking like a gangster. Or a thirteen-year-old. I’m being ridiculous, but it feels great. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.
I guess Shanna really was right.
“Call me for the deets when you wake up,” I sing into the phone then end the call with a goofy smile on my face.
Yep, that’s right, bitches. Today is my day. I’ll be bargaining for a promotion at work, and I brokered a deal worth thirty grand to get my brother off the hook. A deal that includes me getting laid on the regular for thirty nights.
Do I sound like a dude right now? I sort of feel like a dude.
Who knew all I needed was a little no-strings-attached sex to feel this empowered?
Nikolai
I’m in love.
I rewind the video feed of Chelle dancing around the kitchen in her bra and panties five times with my dick in my hand.
She’s so. Damn. Hot.
And adorable.
And goofy. It’s the goofiness that really disarms me. I liked uptight firecracker Chelle a lot. But seeing her with her guard down? It gets under my skin.
Makes me desperate for her to reveal that side of herself to me. To let her hair down. To be vulnerable. To look so happy and carefree.
Was it landing the deal with Skate 32 that made her so chipper this morning? Or was it our deal?
I hadn’t found it in myself to regret the deal yet, and now I’m even more satisfied with my decision, even though I already know it won’t end well.
At least there will be plenty of orgasms along the way, right?
Chelle texts me at lunch time. I’m upstairs, sitting at the breakfast bar with Sasha and Maxim. What about my spin classes?
I smile. I am open to negotiation. You can earn privileges.
She writes back, Does that include going to the Red Room Wednesdays to see my BFF?
The memory of her getting hit on by that mudak makes me grind my teeth. No fucking chance. Not without me, anyway.
Are you buying?
Now she’s flirting. My smile returns. If I take you out, I’m buying. But you haven’t earned it yet.
Sasha snatches my phone from my hand.
“Hey!”
“You’re texting a woman!” she declares. “Is she the one from Rue’s last night?”
I hold my hand out. “Give me the phone, Sasha. It’s none of your fucking business.”
“Watch your mouth with my wife,” Maxim growls at me.
I ignore him because we both know she’s being a pain. Brat is Sasha’s middle name, but she’s hot as fuck and came with oil wells worth sixty million dollars, so Maxim doesn’t mind their arranged marriage thing.
She tries unsuccessfully to unlock my phone. “I saw, If I take you out, I’m buying,” she announces triumphantly. “So what’s the deal? Are you dating this woman? Hmm?”
“Yes, what is the deal?” Story appears from Oleg’s bedroom with my giant bratva brother behind her. “Last night was a strange scene. How did that even happen?”
I shake my head. I’m not as tempted to tell Story to mind her own fucking business because she’s too kind and also because Oleg would legit kill me.
Oleg outs me, though, signing, She is the sister of a guy who owes us money. Story interprets out loud because she knows sign language best although the rest of us get the jist of it now without her interpretation.
Sasha, who majored in theatre, gives an exaggerated gasp and claps a hand over her mouth. “Nikolai! Gospodi, did you take his sister as payment?”
Maxim grunts, and I realize they’re all staring at me waiting for my answer. Like they think it’s true.
The fact that it is pretty close to the truth burns me.
“Shut up. All of you. My arrangement with Chelle is none of your business.”
“Oh. My. God.” Sasha sounds delighted. “I can’t believe it. You did!”
“I thought we had a no sex as currency rule,” Maxim says mildly. Like he’s not going to sweat me for it, but he’s curious why I broke the rules. He’s right, of course. The thirty grand Zane owes isn’t mine to fuck with. It belongs to the bratva. I pay Adrian and Oleg out of it and a percentage always goes to Ravil.
“Stop.” I make my voice as cutting as I can.
It only works because I’m the guy who never raises his voice. It’s hard to get a rise out of me over much of anything. But Chelle will be here, in this building, for the next thirty days. I can’t keep any secrets from the bratva. Not without shit blowing up in my face.
“I made a deal,” I admit. “But if one of you mudaks says one word to her about it, I will kill you. Understand?”
Sasha smiles but makes a show out of zipping her lips, locking them and throwing the key over her shoulder.
Story’s brows are down, like she doesn’t like it, and I suddenly feel like the worst kind of bastard.
I scrub a hand over my face. “Don’t judge, please. I like this girl.”
Story’s face clears. All of them soften, in fact. Like I suddenly became the subject of their empathy, rather than the criminal who took someone’s sister as payment for a debt to the mob.
“We’ll be nice,” Sasha promises. “I didn’t talk to her much last night, but she seemed cool. Maybe I can hire her publicity firm for the theatre’s next show.”
A thread of relief flows through me. They’re dropping the inquisition and accepting Chelle into the fold, just like that.
It’s one of the many miracles of my life in Ravil’s cell. They are family in the best sense of the word. I don’t know why I was feeling like I didn’t belong lately.
“Yeah, and what’s the deal with Skate 32?” Story pipes in. “Do you think they’ll really use our music in their videos?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but I’m sure Chelle would try to make it happen if you’re into it.”
I think that’s true. I hope so, anyway.
I catch Oleg’s eye. “You ready to do some enforcing?” I ask. It’s Friday, which means we make the rounds to collect money we’re owed.
I don’t think Oleg loves his job, but he’s stoic as ever. He nods, then signs to Story and gives her a kiss.
For the first time since Dima left, I don’t feel the sharp stab of jealousy at witnessing that intimacy. The sense of being left out.
Because tonight, I won’t be sleeping alone.