I’m not exactly sure what he wants me to do to prove my worth. I all but begged for him to answer one of the thoughts in his head when I toppled onto my knees, and I was still turned down.
Don’t judge. Until you’re in my predicament, you can’t say how you’d react. I can’t bribe Dimitri with money. By the looks of his house and the expensive cars I saw in the driveway, he has plenty of it. The cheap weed I’ve occasionally bought from my long-lost cousin wouldn’t come close to the stack of foiled bricks I saw when shadowing Dimitri’s walk through his home so that only leaves me one option. Sex.
If it were with his father or any of his gun-toting elderly friends, I’d cringe at the idea, but I’d be lying if I said the faintest trickle of hope didn’t race through my veins when I considered how I could make Dimitri realize I’m worth my weight in gold.
When it dawns on me that scrubbing my skin raw won’t stop my ears from working when I exit the bathroom, I shut off the faucet before stepping out of the steam-filled space. My nanna was a fan of letting your skin dry naturally, so I slip into my dressing gown instead of drying myself with the gold ‘P’ embossed towel on the heated towel rack.
While scrunching my hair to encourage natural waves, I use my spare hand to wipe away the condensation on the gold-framed mirror. The ring I inherited from my grandmother clinks against the foggy surface.
Once it’s all cleared away, I take a step back to get a better overall picture. The girl peering back at me doesn’t look as frightened as she should. I don’t look like a slave of a notorious gangster. My eyes are a darker shade of green than they usually are, and my hair appears more a reddish-brown since it’s dripping wet, but my lips are extra plump from the number of times I’ve dragged my teeth over them, and the smears of mascara my shower didn’t remove give my eyes a smoky look. For the most part, I look okay, somewhat desirable.
Just not enough to save myself without praying for a miracle.
I want Rocco’s plan to work. If it does, Dimitri’s daughter will be safe, and I’ll get to go home to my one-bedroom flat, in a town I hate, to the endless job applications at old folks homes where men like Dimitri’s father can’t wipe their own bottoms.
Can you understand why I’m so conflicted? My edges have always been more frayed than my friends. I’m as daring as I am stupid, but shouldn’t I be seeking my cheap thrills anywhere but here? Dimitri has almost killed me twice. He tortured my boyfriend before killing him, threatened to harm those I love if I don’t comply to his every request, then tossed me out with the bathwater when his late-night party favor arrived as scheduled, yet, I’m more jealous than I am angry.
That proves how insane I am—no evaluation is needed.
My lunacy can’t be helped. Every time I look at Dimitri, I remember what I experienced when he watched me in the alleyway. It’s the most alive I’ve ever felt, and it has me willing to take heedless risks to see if I can recreate it.
With a grumbling stomach and still soaking wet hair, I enter the main part of my room preparing to settle in for the night. I’m not a diva. I shower within the four-minute water restriction guidelines brought in years ago when droughts occurred miles and miles from here, so I’m confident I have a good thirty or more minutes before Dimitri returns with the food he promised.
Since my annoyance is higher than my wish to sleep, I’m startled to within an inch of my life when the entrance to my room has me stumbling onto Dimitri standing just inside the bedroom door. He’s still dressed in his powerhouse-ready suit, but his jacket and tie have been removed, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled to his elbows.
“Back so soon?” I say before I can reprimand myself for being petty. I’m not upset he has returned early. I’m too gleaming with happiness to feel any type of disappointment. “I thought you’d be gone for hours.”
My smugness gets snuffed when he drops his eyes to my dressing gown as he grunts out, “Remove it.”
“W-w-what?” Don’t ask if I’m stuttering in fear or excitement as I wouldn’t be able to answer you.
Once I’m confident my voice will resemble some sort of normalcy, I ask, “Why? Didn’t you get your kicks from Alice?”
My heart thrashes against my ribs when Dimitri pushes off his feet to stalk my way. His walk matches the one I’ve dreamed about time and time again the past year. His hands just aren’t moving for the belt of his jeans as my fucked-up head recalls the security guard doing. I hardly took my eyes off Dimitri, so why do flashes of the guard’s hands moving for his belt constantly pop into my head when I’m daydreaming?
I’m drawn from my thoughts when Dimitri asks, “What was our agreement, Roxanne?”
“You can call me Roxie. All my friends do…”
My offer to fake niceties fades to silence when the gritting of his teeth overtakes the shrill of my pulse in my ears. “What was our agreement, Rox-anne?” He overemphasis my name to prove a point.
“That I am to do what you want, when you want, for how long you want,” I chirp out like an obedient little bird.
Dimitri slants his head as his eyes flare with an unknown glimmer. “And what did I ask you to do?”
“You asked me to remove my dressing gown.” Knowing this is a test, I unknot the cord around my waist, toss open my dressing gown as if I’m wearing a onesie underneath, then let the material fall to the floor. I don’t care if this is a credit for my double business diploma or a sick, warped mind-fuck, I refuse to have another ‘F’ marked against my name.
The fluffy, static-loving material descended to the floor with a whoosh. Its breathy drop has nothing on the air that whistles through Dimitri’s teeth when he takes in my naked form for the first time. He can deny me all he likes and have his staff tell me I’m not his type, but the crotch of his pants isn’t so lucky. It’s fatter in an instant, and I’m not the only one noticing.
After adjusting his footing so his erection isn’t as prominent, Dimitri cranks his neck to the side of the room. When I follow the direction of his gaze, my mouth falls open. We’re not alone. The owner of the woman’s name I spat out as if it was vomit is seated in a leather chair behind a bulky desk. She’s taking in my naked backside as eagerly as Dimitri did.
“Leave it,” Dimitri shouts when I bob down to gather my dressing gown off the floor.
I freeze like a statue, aware of the repercussions if I ignore his direct order. Rocco barely survived Dimitri’s wrath when he demanded he switch places with the driver partway back to Hopeton. It ended with a gun being drawn and Rocco grumbling that Dimitri is a surly bastard who couldn’t see a good thing if it slapped him in the face.
Even with the heat of two beady eyes on me, I keep my hands balled at my sides and my eyes planted on the floor. I’m adventurous, but I am not comfortable with this. Estelle hasn’t seen me naked, and she’s been my friend for a hundred years.
“What do you think?” This question came from Dimitri, but it wasn’t directed at me. It’s for his gawking, bug-eyed friend.
“She’s a little skinny, and her hair could use a trim, but I don’t see any issues. Her body has a nice symmetry between her hips and breasts, and she’s very attractive. She’ll turn heads no matter the notoriety of your guests.” Alice has an accent like nearly every other person in Dimitri’s crew. It isn’t as strong as the others but still noticeable.