I shake my head. “I can’t…I can’t pay that. That’s worth more than my house.”
“I believe you are making wrong comparison here.” Cheslav steps closer to me. His demeanor going from amused to menacing in a hot second. “Is that amount worth more than your brother’s life? That is the real question you should be asking.”
Horror ices through me, and I struggle to show a calm composure. “You’d kill him? Over money? I mean, you’re a hockey player. Killing people who owe you money can’t be a good look.”
“You are correct, I am merely a hockey player,” he agrees with a cool nod. “But I am also a man with a certain reputation. These games of mine…they are extremely exclusive. Trust is very necessary. Yet, your brother slipped past my background check. So will I kill him?”
Cheslav casts his eyes to the side as if honestly considering my question. “No, of course, I will not do that. But a month from now, will he suffer an unfortunate accident that ends his career and makes it so he cannot walk for the rest of his life—one that the authorities will assure you has nothing to do with me?”
He shrugs again, but lets me know, “That is for certain.”
For a moment. For several moments, I am unable to speak. Fear crawls up my spine, while I grasp for my voice.
But I’m still the same Billie who scraped up enough money to get her brother the rest of the way through college and changed her life for the better.
I make my voice strong to point out, “That’s insane. This is an illegal game. Completely unsanctioned. And you’re a professional hockey player, and if I go to the press with your threats…”
“Yes, I’m professional hockey player,” he agrees, somehow looking both amused and bored. “Very famous. Very well-liked and sought after by many women. Also, my family is very powerful. Here, and back in Russia. So if you go to press with claim they will either not believe you or my very powerful family will make sure story never sees light of day. Either way, my threat will be promise made true while your threats are nothing but little nips at my heels.”
Once again, I find myself struggling to swallow. I want to fight. I want to figure out a way of my brother owing this monster so much money. But at the end of the day, I don’t think he’s bluffing. About his family or what he’ll do to my brother if that debt isn’t paid.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll sell my house. I’ll get you the money.”
He crooks his head, the amused look coming back over his face, but not reaching his eyes. “Do you really think you’ll have enough time to come up with this money before your brother’s unfortunate accident?”
I blink and translate. “So you’re saying I only have a month to come up with this money or Clem gets hurt?”
“Or five days,” he answers.
I scrunch my forehead, not understanding. “It’s going to take me more than five days for me to get my hands on that kind of money.”
A beat of silence passes. Then he stares at me with an unwavering intensity as he says, “Or you could give me something I want in that five days. Something worth this amount of money.”
My heart stutters in warning but somehow I manage to ask, “What do I have that would be worth that much money to you?”
He picks up his drink and takes a sip. “You. For five days. Doing whatever I want, however I want it, until it is time for you to go.” He gazes at me over the rim of his glass. “I would consider this a fair exchange.”
Chapter Four
My breath catches as his words rock through me. Did he…?
My pulse flutters madly. I have the silly urge to look over both shoulders. Did he really just ask for me to spend five days with him in exchange for clearing my brother’s debt?
Maybe he doesn’t mean sex, a hopeful voice inside of me proposes.
Maybe there’s no reason for my heart to be pumping hard with a new strange and frenetic emotion.
Maybe he’s just lonely. Like, maybe he’s an insanely hot hockey star, who’s so lonely that he wants someone to spend five days with him. You know, doing wholesome things.
Like watching House Hunters.
And playing chess.
I love chess.
“If your answer to my proposal is yes, you will answer by stripping down to your bare skin,” he says before I can get too far down that hopeful road of hypotheticals. His eyes are twinkling with amusement, but the planes of his face are sharp and hard. “And you will stay that way for the next five days.”
“And if my answer is no?” I ask, my breath quickening with an emotion that should be fear and disgust only. But isn’t quite.
His expression doesn’t change one iota. “Feel free to leave,” he answers, waving a hand toward the door. “No one will stop you.”
“No one will stop me,” I repeat. “But no one will stop you from hurting my brother either, right?”
He doesn’t answer out loud. Simply inclines his head, the cruel threat shining in his eyes as he looms over me.
Oh my God….
I deliberate and deliberate, for what feels like centuries.
But…nothing. I think about calling my best friends, Cynda and Gina.
We were the only three Black women in our Queen America class. None of us won and none of us went on to careers rolling in dough. Gina became a stripper before meeting a cop who took her away from that life. So now she makes nothing. And Cynda took a huge pay cut three years ago to take care of her stepsiblings in the small town where she grew up. I know they’d do anything for me. But neither of them have access to that kind of money.
I want to shout no. I want to walk out of here and end this ridiculous negotiation. But an image of my mother on her deathbed rises in my head. She’d been dying, and the only thing she wanted, the only thing that she seemed to need was my promise that I’d take care of my brother.
And I’d promised her I would. But now the only way to keep that promise is to offer myself up to the ruthless predator, standing in front of me.
In the end, I can’t think of any other way.
Oh God, oh God, I’m really going to do this.
With trembling fingers, I reach down and pull my loose tank over my head as quickly as I can.
But not quick enough. The embarrassment descends as soon as the shirt comes off. And instead of casting it aside as Gina would have in one of her strip routines, I end up clutching it to my chest.
My body is nothing like Gina’s. She’s all juicy curves with lush breasts and a butt so round and beautiful, my brother demanded to be introduced to my friend after the Atlantic City Queen America finals, even though he already had a wife and kid. I’m also not as gorgeous or confident as Cynda, who has men lining up with just a flash of her cynical eyes.
I’m only an A-cup, which doesn’t match my thick hips and thighs. And sure I’m pretty, especially in hair and makeup. But I haven’t worn extensions since I put my hair in sisterlocks. And the majority of my MAC products are currently at home, collecting dust now that I’ve become a full-time accountant. The truth is, I’m not even really Princess South Carolina. True story, I was the runner up. The winner had to drop out at the last minute when she broke her leg, and I ended up going in her place.