Very Wicked Things
Page 57

“If I wanted a taste would you give it to me?” He backed me up against the wall, hands still firm around my neck, pinning me like a butterfly. “Maybe you’d like that? I could show you things. Teach you how to make men happy.”
I hated him. I did. And that emotion gave me a glimmer of strength, and I clawed at his hands, my nails digging into his flesh, trying to pull them away. He slapped me, my head slamming against the wall. Lights went off and on, and I slumped to the side, still gasping, gasping for air.
He jerked me up straight and pressed his lips against mine, and I fought to turn my head, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Yet, it wasn’t a kiss. Not at all. It was a promise of retribution.
I struggled against his chest weakly, every nasty thought I’d ever had about him rising up in my head. I screamed inside at the perverseness of him.
He released me and I fell straight to his feet. Like I’d been spit from the bowels of the sea, I gulped in air, my hands trembling as I clutched my stomach, holding myself together.
I tracked him as he moved back to the chair behind his desk. He feathered elegant, ringed fingers through his hair, straightening his disheveled appearance.
With my hands pressed against my swollen mouth, I lay there for at least two minutes, filling up my lungs, testing my limbs and gathering myself. As soon as I had the strength, I crawled to the door and pulled myself up, body shaking. He’d done much worse to others. I’d gotten off easy.
He glanced up at me. “Did you get new tires, Katerina?”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Of course it had been him because he was watching me. Or Red and Blondie were. My mouth dried at the implication, worrying about Spider and Cuba.
He shooed his hands at me, like I was a gnat. “You may go. I will be in touch with you when it’s time.”
Did this mean…
“Your clients?” I asked, tasting the words and wanting to puke.
He smiled broadly. “Yes, Katerina, I think we can take care of your debt in a most agreeable fashion.”
I left his office, knowing I’d barely survived his wrath.
One of them will not come back, he’d said.
But now? I’d struck a deal with the devil in an Armani suit. I’d agreed to do a terrible thing.
And my body revolted against the images in my head, of me with men like my father. I wanted to take an axe to the idea of it, chop it down until it bled, but there was no way out.
And then, for some stupid reason my head remembered Cuba. Maybe it was because I was terrified Alexander would find all the people I cared about and hurt them.
Maybe it had been the whole virgin question.
I gripped the steering wheel and drove home, my heart aching at the final memory of my past…
After practice on Friday, Cuba drove us out to White Rock Lake for our big night. I’d been anticipating this weekend for a while, my body hungry to belong to him.
But things weren’t going as I’d planned.
He spent most of the drive on the phone with his dad who’d had to fly out unexpectedly for business. He seemed exasperated as he called his mother to check on her. It seemed she wanted Cuba to come home.
“I have plans,” he said to her. “I’m on a date with Dovey. Didn’t Dad tell you?”
She talked some, and I strained to hear, but it was impossible.
He said, “Yeah, I know. I’ve been coming in late a lot.”
I smiled at him, feeling warm. We had been spending all of our time together.
They talked more, with Cuba doing most of the chatting in a placating tone, asking her how she was and if she wanted anything from the store. I listened, finding it strange.
“Fine,” he agreed tightly over the phone. “I’ll be home by nine. We’ll watch a movie together. Okay?”
He got off the phone, gripping the steering wheel entirely too tight for it to be casual. “Change of plans. Instead of the lake house, let’s do a quick dinner. I’m sorry, but we still have the play to see next week.”
“Why?”
“Mother hasn’t had a good week. She’s been through some things, and I need to spend some time with her.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s sick,” he said, fidgeting.
“I can come with you,” I offered shyly.
He stiffened. “When she gets like this, she just wants family around. Sorry.” But he didn’t sound sorry. He sounded angry.
We headed back into Highland Park and went to Vespucci’s. We ordered quickly, barely talking. I tried to get him to open up more about his mother, but he was tight-lipped and closed off.
After dinner was over, he drove me back to my car at the BA parking lot.
And just no.
I didn’t want that. I’d just found him, and I wanted to be his. I wanted his heart at my feet.
He turned off his car and gazed at me expectantly. “I need to go,” he said sadly.
“Are you sure?”
He didn’t look sure as his eyes caressed my face.
“Stay with me,” I said.
He gazed at me for a long time, searching my face until he finally spoke. “I have something for you.”
“What’s that?”
He reached into the glove box and pulled out a small box, wrapped in soft pink paper with a white bow. I took it gingerly from him, and it fit in the palm of my hand.
“Open it.”
With trembling anticipation I did, gently removing the expensive paper, revealing a cream box. Inside, nestled against white satin was a sterling silver necklace with a glass, tear-shaped pendant on the end. Two glittering white stones—diamonds?—framed the pendant like two little stars. Then I caught on to what was inside.