Chapter 22 #2
I was seventeen then, basically still a kid, and they expected me to put a bullet in someone and carry it on my conscience like it was nothing.
I couldn’t do it. My fingers wouldn’t move.
But that’s what they want from you in that world.
You do what they say, no matter how bloody it gets, or you’re the one who ends up on the floor.
He opens the manila folder, and at first it’s just photo after photo of men I don’t recognize, faces blurring together…until he flips to the last one.
The second I see who’s in it, all the blood drains from my body.
“I already know that you know him, so don't sit there and lie to me.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand. What does he have to do with anything?”
The words trip over themselves as I gawk at the photo, hoping for even a second that I’m wrong. But I’m not. It’s Kirill sitting at a bar, the lighting low and grainy, a drink in front of him. Even with the bad resolution, I’d know him anywhere.
“I need you to steal something from him. Something valuable he keeps in a safe. Or that’s where I’m betting it is. It’s your job to find it. And since you already have a nice little connection with him and his kid, you’re going to be the one to get it for me.”
This can’t be happening. He’s talking about Kirill like he’s just another mark, and he’s not. He’s the man who trusted me with his son, who let me into his home, into their lives.
I can’t steal from him. I don’t care what Eli says, what he threatens. There’s no version of this where I rob Kirill behind his back.
The words stumble out, my tongue thick in my mouth. “I don’t know what your problem is with him, but he’s a friend. And I don’t hurt my friends.”
“He’s a friend, huh?” Eli’s mouth twists. “That’s even better. Makes the next part easier. Especially if you’ve already fucked him.”
Heat rushes to my face so fast I feel dizzy. I stare straight ahead, refusing to give him anything. It’s none of his business what we have or haven’t done. None of that belongs to him.
Eli flips through the photos again and stops on a close-up of a brown leather book, spine cracked, edges worn, something in Russian written on it, or so I think.
“His family is very particular. They keep the locations of certain stash houses written down in a ledger, locked up in their vault. He’s the one who keeps it, so I need you to take it.”
“How do you know? Who is he?”
Eli laughs. “You really don’t know, huh? Maybe it’s better you don’t.”
I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean. All I’ve seen from Kirill is kindness and protectiveness.
“There’s no way in hell I’m doing this. Not that I even could. I’ve seen his house. Wherever he keeps a safe, it’ll have cameras, guards, alarms. I’d be an idiot to try.”
Eli exhales like I’m annoying him. “It seems you still think this is some kind of negotiation, Eden, so let me make it simple. You have two options. One, I kill you and your fucking kid, or hand you both over to Barrett, depending on my mood. Two, you steal what I tell you to steal, hand it to me, and then you can run off and start whatever shiny new life you want.”
My hands won’t stop shaking. He says it like he’s offering me a gift, but it’s far from it. I’m screwed either way.
“And how the hell do I even get to his safe? It’s not like I have access.”
“You don’t need to worry about that part. All you need to do is get into his house.”
A hollow laugh slips out. “Right. Maybe I can just move in. Ask him nicely.”
“Don’t get smart with me.” His teeth grind, eyes flashing. “I’ve already thought of that.”
The fire in his tone makes terror fill my veins. I bite back anything else I want to say, because pushing him when he’s like this is suicide.
“He and his family own a very exclusive club called Rzvrt. Means mayhem in Russian,” he says, a little laugh under the word. “Fitting, considering what kind of place it is.”
My brows furrow, not understanding what he's talking about. “What kind of club, exactly?”
“It's a sex club, Sloane.”
“I'm sorry…what?”
Kirill, the man who brought his son into my diner, who handed me large tips and bought me a phone, owning a place like that. I can’t even wrap my head around it.
Eli blows out a sharp breath. “Listen to me, because I’m not going to repeat myself.
There is an auction you are going to join at the club.
I’ll email you an application. You’re going to fill it out and send in photos of yourself, and you’d better hope they accept you and he doesn’t find out before you apply, because then the plan is fucked.
Do you understand me? Do not screw this up. ”
My chest grows tight, my breaths suffocating in my lungs. “And how am I supposed to make sure he doesn't find out if he owns it?”
He shrugs. “That’s on you. If this plan doesn’t work, then you figure out another way, because I’m getting that fucking ledger. Do you hear me?”
He leans in, his face so close I can smell his cologne, and every part of me recoils. I’m terrified of what he’ll do to me if I don’t go along with this, but I’m even more terrified of what he’ll do to Milo.
“So I’m supposed to apply to the auction,” I say, my mouth dry. “Then what?”
“On the application, you’ll indicate you’re interested in the claim auction.”
“What the heck is that?”
“You don't get to ask questions. You just do whatever the fuck I say. Got it?” His tone sharpens, then smooths like he’s explaining something simple to a child. “Whatever the winning bid is, you get half of the money, so it's a nice payday for you.”
Half the money. How much money are we even talking about?
“The bidding starts at half a million dollars.” He grins. “You’re welcome.”
“What?” The word comes out thin, almost soundless.
“That’s right.” He leans back like he’s proud of himself.
But I know this isn’t good. Whatever I’m forced into isn’t going to be safe for me. No one gives you that kind of money unless you’re selling yourself.
Disgust rolls in the pit of my stomach. What the hell is he making me do?
“Please. Maybe I can figure out another way. I don't think I can do this.”
“If I needed your help coming up with a plan, I would have asked you, but I don't. Not unless this one fails. This is what's going to happen. Your goal is to make sure that Kirill is the winner, so you’d better make sure he sees you getting up on that stage about to sell your own dignity.” His lips tilt in a pleased little smile, like he’s savoring the idea of hurting me.
“And if he wins me, then what?” I ask. “You think he’s just going to magically move me into his house? Your plan is ridiculous.”
A short, bitter laugh breaks free before his palm cracks across my cheek so hard my head whips to the side.
“You think you can laugh at me, you little skank?!”
White-hot pain explodes along my skin. My hand flies up to my cheek, ears ringing, eyes flooding, but I swallow hard and force the tears back.
I won’t let him see me cry. I’ve given him enough already.
“He’ll see how desperate you are for money and he’ll want to help you, so yeah, this plan will work. And if it doesn’t…” His tone dips. “Then he’ll be visiting your grave instead.”
Everything in me recoils. He talks about killing me like it’s nothing.
“How do you live with yourself?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can bite them back. “Do you actually enjoy this?”
“Yeah, I enjoy it very much.” His irises glitter. “Now get the fuck out of my car.”
“Don't you need my e-mail or number?”
“I already have both, so don’t worry about that.” His mouth twists into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Like I said, I’ve been tracking you for a while.”
Chills run up my arms as I picture him everywhere, just waiting for his chance to get to me.
I grab the handle and push the door open, desperate to put space between us, to breathe air that doesn’t taste like him. It feels like climbing out of a cage.
I’m halfway out when his voice cuts through the quiet lot.
“Just remember, if you say anything about this to anyone, you die and your kid dies. And you know I’m not bluffing.”
Of course I do.
“Do me a favor,” I say, my hand still on the door. “Don’t call me Eden anymore, okay? Not here. Not if you want this plan to work.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Go find yourself something nice to wear to the club, and if you’re accepted, they’ll mail you a masquerade mask. Make sure you wear it or you won’t get in.”
“I’m supposed to just go there on my own?”
“What, you think I’m going to hold your hand?” His lip curls.
Before I go, I ask him, “When is the auction, exactly?”
“They’ll let you know once you’re accepted. These things happen every week.”
My brows lift. Every week. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. People lining up to sell themselves, men lining up to buy them. All for money.
Finally climbing out of the car, I start toward mine, the world around me looking painfully normal. My fingers tighten around the bag I’m still holding like it's going to save me from the shitstorm that is my life.
But I don't see what other choice I have. It's either hurt Kirill or hurt my son, and I can't do that.
Once I’m back in the supposed safety of my Volkswagen, I shut the door and just sit there, forehead resting against the steering wheel while my heart tries to calm down.
The threat of Eli, the folder, Kirill’s picture…
it all presses in until I can barely breathe, and there’s only one thing I need right now.
Grabbing my phone, I call my sister, praying she’ll have a shred of compassion left and let me talk to Milo, even for a minute. I know he should be home from school by now.
The phone rings—once, twice, three, four times—and just when I think it’s going to voicemail, she finally answers.
“What do you want?” She sighs like I’ve already ruined her day just by calling.
“Hey, Camille.” My fingers clasp the phone tighter. “I was just hoping to say hi to Milo, if you don’t mind. I really miss him, and I’ve had a really bad day.”