I held out my hand, and he dropped the cufflinks into my open palm. The engraving he recognized was the same as on my distinctive silver signet ring. It was a double-headed eagle with an intertwined VR. It was extremely small on the back of the cufflinks, but noticeable through a jeweler’s loupe.
Without a word, I raised my left arm and pulled on the cuff, latching the first link through the buttonholes. I did the same for the right cuff.
The pawnshop owner smiled. “I knew it,” he nodded, causing the flesh rolls under his chin to jiggle. “I knew it. Don’t you worry, Mr. Rostov, I got the thieving bitch’s information.”
Reaching across the counter, I grabbed him by the shirt and dragged his considerable bulk closer. “What the fuck did you just say about my girl?”
His eyes bulged. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rostov. I didn’t know! I didn’t know! I’m sorry!”
I released him and wiped my hand on my trousers, then reached for my money clip. “How much?”
The man’s eyes shifted. “Fifteen thousand.”
I raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
He shook. “Did I say fifteen thousand? I meant twelve thousand… no, eleven! Eleven.”
The corner of my mouth quirked. The man obviously didn’t realize he’d had ten carats of authentic Burmese pigeon blood rubies, easily worth half a million dollars, in his brief possession.
I counted off fifty hundred-dollar bills and tossed them on the counter. I then snatched up a pen and pulled his receipt pad toward me. I wrote a location and six thousand dollars on the paper and signed it. “Here’s five. Take this piece of paper to that location and you’ll get the rest.”
The man nodded.
I waited till I was in my car to smile. I had to admit I wouldn’t have thought my feisty krasotka would have had the stones to pawn my cufflinks. Damn, this woman just became even more irresistible to me. My cock hardened as I thought about all the creative ways I planned to punish my beautiful little thief.
Chapter 6
Mary
I raced home to my apartment, or should I say Fort Knox. The Russian recently paroled prison crew was long gone and everything had been left neat as a pin, but completely changed.
All the windows now had black wrought-iron bars on them. Adhered to the security motherboard next to the door was a Post-it with a stupefying eight-digit code to activate it. There was another note in broken English saying to enter the code in backwards if we were ever in danger. Yeah, sure. No problem.
Turning to drop my purse on the end of the kitchen counter, I had to shove aside a small dictionary that passed for the new manual to our security motherboard.
Saving learning the second language of our new security system for later, I ran down the hall to my bedroom and stashed the money from the pawnshop in the best place I could think of, my underwear drawer. I then hopped in the shower.
The entire time, I could hear the money calling out to me like The Tell-Tale Heart. What had started out as a silly impulse now had me completely freaked out. First thing tomorrow before class, I would head back to that pawnshop, turn in the slip, and get those cufflinks back. With a towel wrapped around my torso, I swiped my palm across the steamed mirror before checking my phone. It was seven p.m. I had to hurry. Vaska would be here in an hour and there was something about the man that told me he was the punctual sort.
Brushing out my wet hair, I wrapped it in Velcro rollers and quickly dried it. After taking the rollers out, I grabbed a section and rolled it into a perfect victory roll off my forehead and inserted a few strategic bobby pins. I did the same for the other side, framing my face before using a red silk scarf as a headband. I knotted it below and to the side of my ear, letting the ends trail over my shoulder. Applying a liquid black eyeliner for a quick cat eye and some crimson red matte lipstick, I raced into my bedroom to get dressed.
It was seven-forty p.m. I had to hurry. He would be here at any moment. Inside my walk-in closet, I snatched the first outfit that caught my eye. One of my favorite dresses. It was an off-the-shoulder sailor print that had navy blue bands with white buttons across the upper arms, a bright red and white striped print across the torso, and an A-line navy blue skirt. I paired it with a pair of red ballet flats.
Dumping the contents of my Hello Kitty purse onto my bed, I picked up my wallet, keys, and lipstick and tossed them into a smaller novelty purse shaped like a cherry. As I headed down the narrow hallway, I leaned into the bathroom and grabbed my phone. The screen lit up. It was seven fifty-five. Fuck. I was almost late. He would be here any minute.
Peeking through the curtains, I saw the same elegant black sports car Vaska was driving earlier pull up behind a rather ridiculously out of place gold Ferrari. A car that ostentatious stuck out like a sore thumb in our slightly rundown neighborhood. I couldn’t even imagine the loser who probably drove it. Hurriedly I headed to the front door and quickly locked it, then ran down the hallway. Instead of turning right, which would have led to the front entrance walkway that Vaska was probably strolling up this very moment, I turned left. Thankfully, the emergency exit in the building had been broken for years, so no alarm sounded when I hit the crash bar, crept out the back, and made my escape.
I crossed the lawn and slipped between two brick buildings before hailing a cab on the other side of the street. Settling into the backseat, we were several blocks away before my heart stopped racing. It started up again when my phone pinged. I pulled it out of my purse to see a text from Vaska.
Bad girl.
I stared at my phone for the rest of the ride, anxiously waiting to see if he would text me again. Perhaps asking where I was, or why I broke our supposed date, or even if I had his cufflinks, but there was nothing.
My stomach clenched. Usually when a man didn’t text you it was because he was just being a pain in the ass, selfish boy. This felt different. Vaska not texting me again after that felt more… ominous.
Shaking off the feeling, I paid the cab driver and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of my favorite bookstore. I thought about hiding from Vaska in the library since I had a paper on the use of voiceless alveolar lateral fricatives in language due for one of my English courses, but thought better of it. There was no way I’d be able to concentrate. Emma was working tonight at her job at the Newberry Library, so that would have been an option, if Dimitri hadn’t texted me looking for her. I warned Emma he was going all Angel from Buffy season two episode fourteen. He was totally showing up there, and the chance that Vaska could be with him was too great to risk it.
I swung open the glass door and stepped inside the hushed atmosphere, leaving behind the bustle, car horns, and generous chaos of the Chicago city streets. This was definitely a better plan. I would spend the evening killing time, hiding amongst the stacks, sipping a café latte with an extra shot of vanilla.
After getting my drink, I wandered among the narrow stacks to the back right-hand corner of the shop. Selecting Nick Groom’s The Vampire: A New History, I settled into a cozy, slightly worn upholstered bucket chair and started flipping through the pages. The book was brand new and only available in hardcover. As a poor graduate student, I didn’t plunk down twenty-five bucks unless I was certain I’d enjoy the book. I tried to engross myself in the chapter pertaining to Stoker’s Dracula while thinking of the time when I would have my own classroom of English students to teach, but it was no use.