Bond to Break (Stolen Obsessions #4)

4. Katya

CHAPTER 4

KATYA

Scott and Natalia carry me down the stairs with one of my arms over each of their shoulders the same way they loaded me in. Neither of them speaks to me, but each of them takes turns shooting me entirely different looks. Natalia’s eyes beg for forgiveness and understanding. Scott’s threatens painful retribution.

I’ve called every ballerina in the company, and no one can take me in on such short notice.

“I’m so sorry about this. I?—”

“It’s okay, Natalia.” I forgive her, thinking she’s sorry about kicking me out on the street, but when I look up, there’s no cab like they promised. It’s Franco, my ex-director at the ballet company.

My brows furrow in confusion, then relief hits my gut, then confusion again. Someone showed up for me, and that’s about the best surprise I could ask for, but why? Franco and I have never been close.

Scott walks over to his window, and they talk for a few minutes or maybe argue. I’m not sure, but there’s a lot of frustrated gesturing.

“Natalia, what’s going on?”

She won’t look at me.

“I don’t know exactly, but Franco told Scott he could help.” Her cheeks burn bright red.

“I didn’t know they were friends.” Franco was always friendly enough with Pietro, but they certainly weren’t best friends. He’s years older than us, on a completely different social level, and has always been generally harsh and aloof.

“I didn’t either.”

Scott returns, and they carry me over to the car and load me into the passenger seat. My boxes get stuffed in the trunk, and the whole time, Franco stares at me without greeting me. I pretend I don’t notice how strange this all is.

“Hi, Franco.”

“Katya.”

The doors shut, and I roll my window down quickly to say something to Natalia. All of this is happening so fast, and while I’m horrified by Scott and sad to my soul, I feel I owe them a lot. I should thank them for letting me stay here and feeding me what they did, but Franco prevents the window from rolling all the way down.

Franco quickly pulls away from the curb, and I watch Scott turn and head back into the house. What really scares me is when Natalia waits a moment longer, then mouths, “I’m sorry,” before the car disappears around a turn.

“Franco, what’s going on?”

“Scott didn’t tell you?” He slides his dark eyes over my body, and something about his inspection makes me feel slimy.

“Scott didn’t tell me anything.”

He waits a minute before he finally says, “We’re going to the theater.” And since he doesn’t seem willing to say more than that, I accept that as an answer for now.

I’m scared senseless about why we’re headed there, but I decide it’s better to have a place to spend a few hours in the warmth before I’m on the street. Maybe they’ll hold my boxes in storage for me. Franco looks incredibly pissed and continues to slide me disapproving glares as we drive, so perhaps Scott told him I was ready to dance again, and he’s not sure how to get rid of me now.

“You look like you’re having one hell of a day,” he finally comments as we take the turns through the city toward the old theater that has been like a second home to me for years.

“Weeks of them,” I tell him with a smile, hoping I can form some level of cordiality between us. The tension might kill me, but he doesn’t let me off the hook, allowing us to fall back into silence as we turn into the lot outside the theater, and he takes the reserved director’s spot.

I thank God for legally mandated accessibility accommodations. At least here, there’s a ramp and an elevator. I take a deep breath as I push the door open and get my booted feet out of the cramped car.

“Franco, could you grab my wheelchair please?”

The look he gives me makes me sorry I asked, but he grabs it for me anyway and leaves it on the sidewalk a couple of feet from where it would be most useful. He did also grab the crutches, but he doesn’t give them to me.

I manage to get into the seat with a bit of persistence and no small amount of pain.

“Come on,” he tells me as he walks inside without waiting to see if I’ll follow. He’s making me so nervous that part of me wants to turn around and head in the other direction, but a freezing wind snakes up my neck, reminding me how very little I want to die in the cold. I’m also very hungry, and there’s a chance someone left cookies or donuts in the break room for the administrative staff—the ballerinas wouldn’t touch them.

Shallow breaths keep the worst of the pain out of my lungs as I roll myself up the ramp to the building, and while it’s a hundred times better than just the crutches, it’s exhausting. My arms burn, and I’m panting by the time I reach the doors. I would give anything to quiet them as Franco stares at me. He holds the door, and I roll past him onto the squishy lobby carpet.

I finally get inside, and the dusty smell of curtains and old props surrounds me. I nearly cry, just realizing the last time I stood here. I had a different life, and Pietro was by my side. That life was everything I wanted and everything I’ll never have again. Now I’m here for reasons I can’t imagine, and I’m frightened of a man I was once dying to impress.

The wheels struggle against the old carpet. A transitional quality hangs in the air, leaving the theater mostly quiet. Franco’s footsteps are nearly silent beside me, and a soft string of music echoes from the direction of the practice studios. A teenager with a rag polishes glasses behind the concessions counter in the corner, but she barely looks up at me until I’m already past her.

The cleaning lady, whose name I never learned, doesn’t say anything to me either, but she nods respectfully at Franco. The little girl performing a small part in one of the more popular shows gives him a wave and me a strange look, like she recognizes me but can’t place me in this new broken light. To her credit, she gives me a little wave too.

I roll to the elevator with my arms burning. Franco stands inside, holding the door from closing. Once I’m on, he presses the top button. I have no idea why we’re headed to the administrative office, but I try my damnedest to silence my too hard breathing as we’re carried to the top floor. The doors open, and the carpet up here is somehow worse. It’s like pushing my way through sludge.

Franco sighs in irritation rather than mercy, and this time, he pushes me. We slide past the reception desk, where a familiar face pops up immediately upon seeing me.

“Katya, are you alright, dear? What are you doing here?”

I’d like to answer her and exchange a few words with someone interested in my well-being, but Franco doesn’t pause as he zips past her and brings me to his office.

“No interruptions,” he barks at her as she scurries back behind her desk like she never tried to approach me at all.

He holds the door to his office open for me as I roll past him and take a spot in front of his desk. This feels similar to when he would pull me up here to talk to me about my next role, but everything is different. He knows the same thing I do. I was a dancer. He needed me to perform. I’m nothing to him now that I can no longer fill seats.

So why the hell am I here?

There was a time when waiting to speak to Franco was one of my greatest sources of excitement, a chance to discuss the shows I loved so dearly. How many times did Pietro sit right beside me as I waited? Now my heart is encased in ice as I wait for him to take the seat across from me.

He sits and stares at me. It seems like he’s thinking.

“How have you been?” I ask, trying to break the silence.

“I’m fine, Katya, but I believe I’ve been lied to.”

I open my mouth, not sure what to say.

“You might have been. I was very surprised to see you since I can’t dance anymore.”

He clears his throat. “I know that, but I assumed you were in good enough shape to be of some use to me. Scott made it seem to me that you were.”

“I didn’t know the two of you were friends.”

He laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “We work together on occasion, but no, we’re not friends.”

What the hell kind of work would they share? Scott is a rich kid who works on and off to appease his parents, and Franco is a ballet director. I get that Scott lied to him about how useful I could be, but a flare of hope rips itself open in my chest. He was willing to come pick me up. He’s mad because Scott lied, but he still might give me a chance.

“There has to be something here I can do.” I hear the desperation building in my own voice, and I don’t even have it in me to hide it. I need him. He’s my last hope, and I should know right then that this is a horrible idea. “I know how to do a lot of things. I can help with costumes or?—”

“Katya, you’re a dancer.” He cuts me off. “Were a dancer,” he corrects himself. “A damn good one too, but things change, and you’re not fit for the type of work Scott suggested.”

“I’m fit,” I insist. “I can learn anything I don’t know.”

“But I don’t need you to. I have professional techs for that type of work. You have no use here if you can’t dance, and the work Scott suggested isn’t here in the theater.”

My forehead scrunches. “Where is it?”

“A club…”

That doesn’t make any more sense to me, but I’m too desperate to care. There has to be something I could do here in this theater.

“I could, could…” I search for anything. “The laundry…”

“Right now, it doesn’t look like you can do anything.” The expression on his face isn’t cruel. He’s not trying to hurt me. “I can’t even offer you a job cleaning the place if you can’t get around. I don’t need someone to sit here and answer phones.”

“I’d do it for free. Please, anything.” I put my hands together as tears gather in my eyes. “I’ll do anything to avoid spending a night on the street when it’s below freezing. I don’t even need money. Please just let me stay here a few nights. I have nowhere to go.”

I consider hurting myself worse just to get back in the hospital, but I’m already under a pile of debt heavier than I could ever hope to move, and some people need help, not just a place to sleep. I couldn’t do that to them.

Franco hasn’t said anything, and the silence is all the rejection I need. There’s nothing. He won’t let me stay here. I’ve wasted his time and his gas bringing me here. I start to turn the chair so I can leave.

“Anything, Katya?” he asks, and I finally look at his face, realizing the silence was him deep in thought rather than waiting for me to take the hint. “Anything to stay here for a few nights?”

“Anything,” I agree, knowing that this will probably be a very high cost.

“You can stay here, but I need you to do something in a few days, and you can’t ask any questions.”

“At this club?” I ask, and he nods.

The offer hangs in the air between us, and no matter how badly I want it, I can’t ignore the fact an offer like that can’t be in exchange for anything good.

“I just need to know one thing,” he says.

“What’s that?”

“Are you still a virgin?”