“Thanks, man,” I mutter to Maykl as he holds it for me, too. I try to push away the gnawing sense that I fucked up. “She has made it on talent,” I insist when we’re out on the street.
“Right. I know,” Sasha says quickly. “Kayla’s talented, for sure.” I hear the lack of conviction in her voice and want to strangle her. She’s an actress, too, and she modified her dreams because of her forced marriage to Maxim. Things have worked out for her here, though. She got the leading role in the Anna Karenina musical recently.
I would never ask that of Kayla, though. Her heart is set on making it big.
The sun is out, but the April wind whips off the lake and through us as we walk the few city blocks to the gyro joint. Maxim and Sasha order first, then I place my order and pay and join them at a table.
“So?” Sasha rubs her hands together like she’s excited. She’s making it easy on me, and I’m humbled by the fact that they’re even here listening to me.
I look from one to the other. “Real estate in Los Angeles seems like it’s always a safe bet,” I begin.
Maxim flicks his brows—whether that means he’s in agreement or surprised by the topic, I’m not sure.
“I’ve been doing some research, and the median cost of a home in Los Angeles is 950 grand. The prices have trended upward at a rate of 11.8 percent year-over-year. I believe that means a large number of residents have to rent. Investing in a small but upscale apartment building could prove lucrative as a long-term investment. I called about one when I was there—twelve units plus a penthouse suite for five million, eight. There’s a pool on the roof.” I take a long, desperate sip of the Dr. Pepper I ordered. My mouth is so damn dry.
“What do you propose?” Maxim asks.
“I have eighty-seven grand saved. That’s not even close to ten percent, but I wondered if you’d either consider financing my mortgage, or becoming an outright business partner with me.”
A server brings our gyros to the table, and we dig in.
“You’d manage the property?” Maxim wants to know.
“Yes.” It’s not completely out of my wheelhouse. I’ve seen how Ravil manages his properties and lent force or muscle or whatever he required when he required it.
“Full-time? On-site?”
I keep myself from flinching at the question. “That’s my idea.”
“Have you talked to Ravil?”
“Indirectly. He told me he won’t let me out. But then he said no one’s going to hand me the life I want—I have to take it. So this is me taking it.”
Maxim’s lips twitch. “Sounds like you could be on the right path.”
A whisper of relief blows over me.
“So?” I look between the two of them.
Maxim turns to look at Sasha.
“Yes!” she exclaims, clapping her hands. “I’m so happy for you.”
Maxim watches his wife with amusement. To me, he says, “You know it’s all contingent on you keeping Kayla happy, right? Because that’s clearly all Sasha cares about.”
I swallow. Not because I don’t want to keep Kayla happy. But because there’s never been a job I’ve been less qualified for. I have the emotional range of an icicle. I’ve never had a girlfriend. I know how to satisfy her sexually, yes. But other than that, I know nothing about keeping a woman. But I nod because that’s what this means. That’s why I need to be in L.A.
Maxim finishes his gyro and wipes his lips with a napkin. “I’ll work on terms.”
I barely stop the sputter of surprised relief coming from my mouth. “That’s it? You’re in? That easy?”
Maxim smirks. “You haven’t seen my terms, yet.”
“Right.”
“Or Ravil’s,” he adds. “You won’t walk free, I know that much. He may want a taste of this venture. Or for you to set up another one on his behalf.”
“Of course. He’s the pakhan.” I wouldn’t chafe against any terms Ravil set up for me. Maxim’s a different story, but at the moment, I’m inclined to feel nothing but gratitude.
This past week my brothers have shown me they are brothers in the truest sense. Not just in bratva business but beyond. It’s more than I ever believed possible.
“Does Kayla know?” Sasha asks.
I shake my head. “Don’t say anything. Not until I’ve worked out the details. —Please,” I add.
Sasha finishes her gyro and crumples up the paper it came wrapped in. “I won’t. And Maxim is right. This all hinges on her happiness. You fuck her over, and I’ll bury you. Understand?” She picks up a plastic fork and points it at my throat.
I’m feeling so light, I actually smile as I snatch it from her hand. “I will never fuck her over.”
Hurting her is another issue.
It’s something I do on a regular basis, on purpose and on accident.
That’s the thing that terrifies me the most.
Kayla
I hold the plastic keycard up to the hotel room door and push it open when the lock lights up in green. As soon as I’m inside, I follow orders and call Pavel.
It’s Saturday afternoon and Pavel isn’t here yet because his boss wouldn’t let him come yesterday—I guess he had a job to do. I don’t know—I didn’t ask, of course. Business is off-limits. He called me this afternoon to tell me he was getting on a plane, and I needed to come to the Four Seasons and check in for him.
“I don’t want you waiting in that lobby turning all the men on every time you cross and uncross your hot-as-fuck legs,” he told me. “And I don’t want you carrying your own bag in. Let the bellhop do it. You get your glass of champagne, get in the room and call me when you’re there. Hopefully I’ll be off the plane by then.”
He picks up now. “Are you there?”
“I’m here, Master.”
“Strip.” It sounds like he’s in a car. Oh God, I hope he didn’t Uber here and a driver can overhear.
“Are-are you here?”
“I said strip, little slave. The only answer should be yes, Master.”
Excitement flutters in my stomach at his dommy tone. I don’t know why I love to be bossed around so much. Maybe I do need therapy, but at this moment, I don’t care. I’m desperate to be with Pavel again. To have him in charge of me, controlling me, making me submit.
Not that he ever has to make me. I’m not the kind of submissive who requires taming. I’m a service submissive, always trying to please.
“Yes, Master.”
“Good girl.”
“Um, are you staying on the phone?”
“Yes. Put me on speaker while you take off your clothes.”
I obey, dropping the phone on the bed as I shimmy out of the body-hugging sweater dress I’d put on. “All of them?” I ask. I sound breathless.
“Are you wearing heels?”
“High heeled boots.”
He groans. “I’m biting my knuckle, little slave. But take them off. You can put it all back on when I’m done with you. I’ll need you to show me the sexy outfit you picked for me.”
“Yes, Master.” I unzip my boots and pull them off, then strip out of my red panties and bra. “I’m naked, sir.”