Chapter Nineteen
Mindy
Maron didn’t show up at New York High tonight.
I'm standing on the stage, and I can't shake off this feeling of disappointment. Scratch that, it's more than just a feeling – it's a desire to sing to him and only to him. There is something incredibly hot about standing on stage with him watching me. The mere thought of it makes me feel that familiar tingling down below.
Cut it out, Mindy, this is not the time!
As the final notes of my last song fade away, the bar erupts into a smattering of drunken applause and wolf whistles. Shouts and slurred words fill the air, and the audience's intoxicated enthusiasm is on full display.
"Encore, encore!" one guy yells, raising his beer bottle in the air.
"Sing us another one, gorgeous!" another calls out, his words slightly muffled by the din of the crowd.
"You've got the voice of an angel, babe!" a third chimes in, his eyes glazed over by a mix of alcohol and admiration.
"How about a private show?" a particularly bold patron suggests, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
The comments range from appreciative to lewd, the alcohol-fueled boldness of the crowd growing with each passing moment. I feel my cheeks flush, a mix of exhilaration and discomfort washing over me as I take in their reactions.
"Take those rags off!" a voice from the back of the room shouts, followed by a chorus of laughter and more whistles.
I force a smile, trying to maintain my stage presence even as the atmosphere takes on a more unsettling tone. It's not the first time I've dealt with ‘overzealous’ fans. Lucky for me, tonight, isn’t the night I’m taking anything off. And frankly, neither is any other night. The events from my previous performance were followed by a tense discussion with Kevin. I’m not doing that again, no matter how much he pays me.
Unless it’s a private night, exclusively for Maron. Maybe then, I’ll change my mind.
"Thank you, everyone!" I say into the microphone, my voice projecting over the noise. "You've been a fantastic audience tonight!"
I take a quick bow, my heart pounding with the adrenaline of the performance and the growing unease in the pit of my stomach. As I straighten up, my eyes scan the room, taking in the sea of faces - some smiling, some leering, all of them watching me with an intensity that makes me want to shrink away.
In a perfect world, Maron would be here to handle the rowdy crowd. He'd firmly tell them to shut up, and then we'd leave New York High together, heading to his place where I would perform exclusively to him, slowly ridding myself of my clothes...
Stop swooning over him, Mindy!
This isn't a perfect world. Or maybe it is. Maybe the contract in the glovebox of my car has something to say about that.
Except I haven't told Maron that I’ve signed it.
Kevin meets me backstage, cash in hand, and a grin on his face. "Great set tonight, babe," he leers, his eyes roaming over my curves. "Nice dress. You're really packing 'em in."
I smile, take the money from him, and hide it deep into my purse. "Just doing my job, Kev."
"Keep it up, girl.” He chuckles. “The guests love you more every evening."
"Thanks, Kevin." I glance at the time. "But it’s PJ time for this girl. See you next time."
I wave goodbye to Kevin and step out onto the street. The cool evening breeze caresses my skin, providing a welcome respite from the stuffy atmosphere of the bar. I pull out my phone, ready to call an Uber, but something makes me hesitate. The weather is lovely tonight, and the thought of being cooped up in a car suddenly feels unappealing. I could really use some fresh air.
I check the time again and make a spur-of-the-moment decision to go see my mom. It's only a thirty-minute walk to the hospital from here, and this is a wealthy, safe neighborhood. The streets are well-lit, and there are plenty of people outside, enjoying the pleasant evening. Just a flying visit, a quick goodnight kiss to Mom.
The thought I keep pushing aside suddenly hits me: what if I lose my mother?
No, I won't. Absolutely not. I will not lose her. That's exactly the reason I choose to perform at the club tonight, so I can make some extra cash to for pay her future treatments. That’s exactly why I signed the contract with Maron. Well, maybe for some other reasons too… Either way, Mom will get better.
Making up my mind, I slip my phone back into my purse and start walking. I make my way down the sidewalk, the soft click of my heels echoing against the pavement in the night air. The dress Maron gave me sways with each step. I can't help but feel a thrill of excitement, knowing that I'm wearing ‘a piece of him’ so close to my body.
What a ridiculous thought.
After trekking for about fifteen minutes, an odd feeling creeps in, telling me that I am not where I should be. I stop and survey my surroundings; everything seems oddly unfamiliar.
Shit.
Maybe I took a wrong turn somewhere. I quickly pull up Google Maps on my phone to check the route. Yep. I took a right turn a street earlier than I should have. It's an easy fix though, not too far out of the way.
Just as I’m about to slide my phone back into my pocket, a notification pings. It’s a text from Betty.
"Where are you? I hope you haven't been dragged to bed by one of the guests!"
I pull my mouth to a smile. My bestie always worries about me, especially since I told her about my struggles. It’s such a blessing to have a friend like her in my life. Still smiling, I type out a reply.
"Heading to pay Mom a short visit. Will be later than I thought. Go get some sleep, girl. I’ll see you in the morning."
I slide the phone back to my purse when a sleek black car catches my eye. It glides past me before coming to a stop a short distance ahead. For whatever reason, an inexplicable sense of foreboding washes over me. I try to shake off the feeling, telling myself that I'm being paranoid. It's just a car, probably waiting to pick up some wealthy businessperson or socialite from one of the upscale restaurants lining the street.
I continue walking, but I still can't seem to shake the silly, niggling sensation: it’s like someone is watching me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and my heart begins to beat a little faster. I subtly glance over my shoulder, but the street behind me is empty, except for a few late-night revelers stumbling out of a nearby bar.
“Always trust your gut, Mindy. Even when you think it makes no sense,” my mom used to tell me when I was little. Then, she would go on to explain that our mind and gut are connected, that they are in constant communication, and that the gut will always sense things the mind can’t.
I tighten my grip on my wallet and quicken my pace, the unease in my belly growing with each step. The black car is still there, its darkened windows concealing whoever is inside. A part of me wants to cross the street and put as much distance between me and the vehicle as possible. But another part of me urges me to keep going, to get to the hospital as soon as I can.
By the time I draw level with the car, my heart is pounding so loudly I'm sure it’s audible over the distant sounds of the city. I hold my breath, waiting for something to happen, for some sign that my fears are justified. But the car remains still, its engine idling softly, giving no indication of any threat.
Maybe you’re being foolish, Mindy.
I continue on my way. Maybe I was wrong to worry. After all, this is a safe neighborhood, and I'm a grown woman who can take care of herself.
I bravely go past the car and my heart skips a beat. The door opens, and a tall man in a black suit and dark glasses steps out. I instinctively pick up the pace.
"Miss Williams," he says, his voice deep and commanding. I instantly feel a chill run down my spine. "Please get in the car," he orders, gesturing towards the open car door.
Shit.
I hesitate, my mind racing with questions. "Excuse me?" I ask, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. Not that it’s any use. I’m wearing heels and he could catch up with me in seconds if he wanted. "Who are you and how do you know my name?"
The man's expression remains impassive, his eyes hidden behind the dark lenses. "My name is Pavel,” he replies, his words tinged with a heavy Russian accent. "Get in, and you'll be fine."
I glance around the street, searching for any sign of help, but the sidewalks are suddenly deserted. It's as if everyone has suddenly vanished into thin air. The man takes a few steps towards me, quickly closing the distance between us. Before I know it, his imposing figure is looming over me like a dark cloud.
"I won't ask again, Miss Williams," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Get in the car."
I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back, despite the cool evening air. My mind is screaming at me to run, to get as far away from him as possible. But with my heels, I know he’d catch up with me in no time. Not to mention that he’s about four times my size and has the physique of a gorilla. It’s clear that any resistance would be futile.
So, I panic.
With my heart hammering in my chest, I reach into my purse pocket and press the speed dial button for Betty, hoping that my shaking hand got the right combination.
“What’s up, girl? When are you coming home?” I hear my friend’s voice. “Hello,” she repeats. “Mindy… are you there?”
The man’s hand snaps out and my phone is wrenched from my hand. “That was a stupid thing to do,” he says.
I open my mouth to say something, but I’m frozen.
“Mindy?” I hear Betty’s voice from afar. “Mindy… are you alright?” She sounds concerned. “Are you pocket-dialling me?”
Pavel cuts the call, and before I could make a run for it, he grabs my arm. The next moment, I’m being pushed into the car by force. As soon as I'm inside, he shuts the door behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet street. I scream, yell, my fists bang on the tinted windows, hoping that someone outside will hear my desperate plea for help. My palms are slick with sweat, as my kidnapper walks around to the driver's side and gets in.
No!
You should have called an Uber, Mindy!
My mind races with potential scenarios, each one worse than the last. Is this about Alexis? Maybe her dealer is after her family now? Or maybe one of the guests from NYC High came after me? Am I going to get raped and then killed?
Oh my God!
I feel panic rising further in my chest. What have I gotten myself into? Who is this man, and what does he want with me?
The car pulls away from the curb, the engine purring softly as we pick up pace, gliding through the empty streets.
"What’s this about? Where are you taking me?" I ask my kidnapper, my voice trembling. He doesn't answer, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"Good evening, Miss Williams," a new voice chimes in. I feel my blood freeze in my veins. It’s not the man who took me. This voice is different. It’s even deeper. Smoother. Crisper. And threateningly familiar.
I hear a whirring sound as the privacy wall rasps and grinds as it slowly descends, revealing the person sitting behind it. A familiar scent hits my nostrils. Sandalwood, cedar, and the essence of primal sin.
I turn my head slowly, afraid to look at the figure sitting next to me.
The man’s eyes meet mine and a jolt of electricity hits me. It courses through me like I just lodged my fingers into a wall socket. Fear and desire collide within me, creating a dizzying cocktail of emotions that leaves me breathless.
He looks powerful and dangerously handsome as ever, his dark hair perfectly styled like he just stepped out of an upscale barber shop. His chiseled features are illuminated by the soft glow of the car's interior lights. There's something frightening and intense in his expression that makes my heart race, but it also ignites a fire low in my belly.
My body's tense and ready to flee. At the same time, I'm inexplicably drawn to him. My skin prickles with awareness, and I feel a shameful heat building between my thighs. It's as if my body and mind are at war - one screaming danger, the other begging for his touch.
"Maron," I whisper, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and unwanted arousal. "What... what are you doing here?"
He smiles, a slow, predatory grin that sends tiny waves of shivers down my spine. "I wanted to see you." His eyes travel down my body. "I see you liked my gifts."
I glance down at the dress he sent me earlier today, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under his penetrating gaze. "I do, thank you." I look up at him, my heart hammering in my chest. "Why did you send someone to practically kidnap me off the street? Do you have any idea how much I’m freaking out right now?"
Maron chuckles. It’s a low, smooth hum that makes my skin prickle with a mixture of fear and anticipation. "I told you already. I wanted to see you. And I always get what I want."
I don’t know what to make of his words. Maybe I should be afraid, terrified even. Maybe Betty was right: Maron Korolev is the walking definition of danger and power. If anything, I should be screaming for help, fighting tooth and nail to escape. But like the stupid woman I am, I find myself irresistibly tempted by the whole situation.
It's like there's this invisible force pulling me towards Maron, drawing me in like an electric magnet, designed to pull a freaking cargo ship. It’s hard to describe the intensity of it with words. The rational part of my brain is telling me to run, to get as far away from him as physically possible. Then, there's the other part of me, a part I barely recognize. A part craves the dark promise in his eyes, the unspoken challenge in his words.
All of it is totally ridiculous. It’s like I’m under a spell, every time he’s around me. Maybe I am under a spell. Maybe he’s using some sort of weird dark magic on me to make me submit to his charms. I wouldn’t put it past him. Whatever the reason, I find my body responding to his proximity in ways that are beyond my control.
"And what if I don't want to be taken?" I hear myself say.
Maron's deep, blue eyes flash with a dangerous light. His hand gently lands on my thigh, gripping it ever so slightly. "I think you do, Mindy," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. "I can see it in your eyes and feel it in the way your body trembles when I’m close to you. You're drawn to me, just as I'm drawn to you."
He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from my face, allowing his fingers to linger on my cheek for a moment. I feel my breath catch in my throat, my heart pounding so loudly I'm sure even Pavel can hear it behind the corridor that separates the car’s front from its back.
"I told you already, I don't like the idea of you singing in that bar," he murmurs, his voice low and intense. "Especially when you’re wearing the dress I gave you."
Somehow, I force myself to snap out of this whole goddamn spell and regain control of the situation. Who the hell does he think he is? I’m a grown-ass woman goddammit! Contract or not, gifts or not, I decide what I do with my time. Not to mention that he doesn’t even know that I signed the document.
"I couldn't give a rat's ass what you like," I snap at him, surprising even myself with my boldness. “Who do you think you are to tell me what I can and can’t do?”
"Oh?" Maron smirks, leaning in closer. "I like that. A woman who challenges me." He pauses and looks me up and down before asking, "So, tell me. Why don't you give a rat’s ass?"
I turn towards him, summoning every ounce of courage I possess. My eyes lock with his, and despite the shaking of my hands, my voice comes out strong and clear. "If you must know, Maron, I need the money. My mother is sick. She needs treatment for her cancer, and her hospital bills don't pay themselves."
As the words leave my lips, I watch a transformation occur in Maron's face. The hard, predatory look in his eyes softens, almost imperceptibly. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of something I've never seen in him before - a flicker of genuine sympathy, perhaps even understanding.
"I didn't know about your mother," he says, his voice losing some of its usual edge.
"Well, now you do," I reply, unable to keep the bitterness from my tone. "In fact, I was on my way to visit her before you decided to have me kidnapped off the street."
Something shifts in his eyes - a flash of emotion I can't quite place. It's as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a depth I never knew existed beneath his typically impenetrable exterior. For a brief moment, I see not the ruthless businessman with questionable motives, but a man capable of empathy.
"Which hospital?" he asks, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.
"St. Mary's," I reply, watching him carefully.
Without breaking eye contact, Maron leans forward and taps on the partition in front of him. When he speaks, his voice is back to its usual crispness, but there's an undercurrent of urgency I've not heard before.
"Pavel," he commands, "take us to St. Mary's Hospital. Now."