Until recently, making my life hell had merely been a random pastime for him. I hadn’t crossed his mind often, so he hadn’t made trouble for me.
But when I’d turned eighteen a few months ago, I’d publicly shunned him in front of some of his crew. It was then Nikolai had decided to put more effort into making me miserable.
Gregory had always been content with the money my pickpocketing put into his coffers. I’d been doing it since I was little, and I was quite proficient at it. Gregory had also used me for some larger burglaries from time to time.
I was good. I knew how to make myself unnoticed and work it to my advantage. That skill had kept me fed and relatively safe in the seven years since my parents died.
Until Nikolai had decided he wanted me.
I should’ve slept with him. Pretended to be in love with him. That would’ve bored him and sent him running.
The moment I said no, Nikolai became obsessed. When he realized I meant my no, that decision backed up by his father’s edict, he became vicious.
There had been no leeway anymore if I couldn’t bring in enough through my stealing. Suddenly, I was expected to use whatever means I had available—including my body—to bring in the required amount to stay within Gregory’s protection. And without Gregory’s protection, I wouldn’t last long on the streets on my own.
I’d learned to live through it—even when Nikolai went out of his way to pick the least attractive men to sell me to—and I would live through whatever the big man walking down the hall in front of me had planned.
But no, I didn’t believe him for a second when he said he wouldn’t touch me. Not hurt me? Maybe. He’d seemed upset both times today when Nikolai had been exerting his power over me.
But no one spent one hundred and fifty American dollars for a woman and expected nothing in return.
I glanced at his face as he used the key to open the door. He was a lot more handsome than most of the men I was around—dark hair cut short. A strong jaw with a full day’s worth of beard. But mostly, he was just big with wide shoulders—twice the width of mine.
I lowered my gaze when his brown eyes met mine, and I slowly walked into the room. It didn’t matter that he didn’t repulse me. I still didn’t have any choice about being here.
I flinched at the click of the door closing. I was at his mercy. No one was going to help me, not even if I screamed. I’d never been sold to someone for a full night.
I knew what a man could want when he only had fifteen minutes. The thought of the things that could happen when he had a full night… I grabbed the strap of my rucksack across my shoulder, rubbing it between my fingers. Maybe I could use it to…
Then I let it go, dropping my hands to my sides. The bag wouldn’t offer much protection against him even if I swung it as hard as I could. All it would do was make him mad, and then I’d still be at his mercy.
With every second he didn’t say anything, terror spread further throughout my body. I stood in the corner of the room, afraid to look at him, afraid to run, almost afraid to breathe.
The room was plain but clean. The big bed took up most of it except for a dresser and a small refrigerator. My gaze dropped to the floor, and I saw his booted feet walk by then heard the creak of the bed as he sat down.
He still didn’t say a word, but I knew what sitting at the edge of the bed meant—what he wanted. Maybe he would still keep his promise and not touch me, but it looked as if I would be touching him.
There was no point postponing the inevitable. I swallowed and walked toward him, dropping down on my knees between his feet, reaching for the buckle of his pants.
“Wait, what? No.” He stood up so fast I fell backward, blinking up at him.
“That’s not what I want,” he continued. “There wasn’t anywhere else for me to sit, so…”
He was so much bigger standing over me with me lying on the ground, so I scrambled to get back on my feet. “You want me in the bed?”
He rubbed a hand down his face. “I would like for you to sit on the bed, and I will sit on the other side. So we can talk.”
I stared at the giant bed then looked back at him. “Talk?”
“Yes, talk.”
I sat down on the corner of the bed and looked at him, hoping this was what he wanted, afraid that at any moment, the rather polite American would disappear and a monster would take his place.
He sat down on the opposite side and held out a hand as if to make sure I didn’t come over and kneel in front of him again. I wasn’t going to do that unless he told me to.
“Your name is Bronya?” he asked. I nodded. “Do you have a last name, a family name?”
“Roch,” I responded, surprised enough by the question to tell him the truth.
He nodded. “How old are you?”
I swallowed the bitter ball of despair. That was what the questions were about. The big man didn’t want to have sex with a child. I thought about lying, telling him I was younger than I was. Maybe that would save me from his plans.
But all that would accomplish was getting me sent back downstairs to Nikolai. “I’m eighteen.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Truly.” I closed my eyes, back stiff, ready for a command, for me to resume what I’d started on my knees.
Or maybe he wouldn’t speak. Maybe he would snap and point to himself like Nikolai had to the woman he’d forced to suck him off in front of me and his friends.
But the man didn’t move. Once again, he didn’t say anything at all.
So I sat there, watching him out of the corner of my eye, without looking like I was watching him.
“How do you speak English so well?” he finally asked.
I wasn’t sure why he cared, but the longer he talked, the less time we had for…other things.
“My parents spoke English,” I whispered. We’d spoken English almost exclusively for the first few years of my life.
“Spoke? Past tense?”
I nodded. “Yes, they died.”
“How long ago?”
“I was almost eleven.”
He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve been…working on the streets since you were eleven?”
I shook my head quickly. “No, not like this. Not…” I waved my arm around me. “Not with men. That has just been in the past few months.”
I glanced over at him. He nodded, relief evident in his brown eyes. “You pickpocket.”
“Yes. Usually. Only the other”—I waved my arm toward the bed again— “when Nikolai makes me.”
His eyes narrowed, and he fell silent again. It still made me nervous. Should I try to say something?
“How did your parents die?” The question came suddenly.
“A car accident.” I didn’t know why he was asking, and I didn’t know why I was telling him the truth, but somehow, I wanted to. “We moved to Czech Republic from Ukraine. My parents were professor and student, but after the civil unrest, we couldn’t stay. And there weren’t many jobs for a university professor of American literature.”
“Your father was a college literature professor and your mother his student?”
I shook my head. “No, Mother was the professor. Father was her student.”