CHAPTER 2

You'd imagine that a twenty-four-year-old woman would have her act together by this point, but no, not exactly. So I was able to successfully deceive my family into believing that I had been awarded an all-expenses-paid, super-generous scholarship to a prestigious university. Yes, I knew that it was not going to be possible at this point in my life, but my family did not know that, and it made all the difference in the world. Being as far away from home as I was meant that I would not be able to come and see them as often, and as much as it hurt to stay away from my sick brother for so long, it was necessary for my plan to work. If only I was so lucky, they'd never learn the truth.

But you remember what I told you about my luck, don't you?

The deal that I had struck with Michael was that I would live with my "owner" for two years. No more, no less. After that, I would be free. Two years was a small price to pay to ensure Jackson proper care, and for my family to be able to hold out hope for the first time in years.

The bass of the club music pounded against the walls, but I worked hard not to wish I were upstairs adrift in oblivion like all the others who didn't know about the clandestine mission under their feet. These women down here were drowning in something completely different. We dodged a massive man with a clipboard. He identified us and the reason we were there, so he quietly let us in. I was about to lose my courage as we passed through a group of women down the hall. They were an eclectic bunch, some with a snooty air about them, others that appeared to be not their first rodeo.

Each woman had a number taped to her bare stomach, and they stood in front of a mirror that lined the opposite wall.

“Two-way mirror,” Lanka explained. “Each client has a dossier on every girl in the trials tonight. Then we’re herded in here and put on display for the high rollers to look over the merchandise and decide which desperate girl they want to claim.”

"Thanks, Lanka. That doesn't offend me at all,"

"Oh, shut up. You get what I'm saying," she said, trying to calm me down. "You're too good for this, and you know that. You're not them." She waved her hand at the other women. "But I get it. You're doing it for Jackson, and that is the most selfless thing I've ever heard of."

Those other women could just as easily have had their own Jackson to contend with at home, I considered, as I averted my gaze to avoid eye contact.

We reached the end of the corridor, and Lanka knocked on a door. A voice from inside, muffled, asked us in, and when Lanka moved aside to allow me into the room, I panicked. Pure-blown hyperventilation was going to strike in seconds, I was sure of it.

"Hey, look at me." Lanka pushed me around to face her. "You don't have to go in there. We can turn around here right now and walk away."

"No, we can't," I said, shudders wracking my frame no matter how hard I tried to calm my nerves.

"I can't go in there with you. You're on your own from here on out," she said, not able to fully cover up her regret and concern.

I nodded in understanding and ducked my head so she could not see the tears welling in my eyes.

Lanka hugged me tight and squeezed the breath from my chest. "You can do this. You may even get some good sex out of it. You never know. Don Juan might be on the other side of that mirror waiting to sweep you off your feet.".

Ha! Not chance, I taunted, struggling to maintain a meek smile before slipping out of her embracing hug. "I'll be okay. You just make sure the beast that ends up with me lives up to our deal. If he doesn't, you call the feds and let them know where to send for me." "Girl, you already know.". And you've got the numbers, so you'd better call me with news or I'll be coming after you. I've got to get back to the bar now, before I get fired and lose my inside scoop on you. But do remember that I sort of like you and stuff." Lanka did not enjoy mush, but I knew that was how she said she loved me. She bussed my cheek and murmured, "Give 'em hell, babe," before she slapped my butt and disappeared.

I noticed the way her shoulders curled up and she wiped at her eyes when she thought I wasn't looking.

"I sort of like you too," I grumbled under my breath since she was already gone.

I walked towards the door, bracing myself. Just thinking about Jackson, I knew I could never go back again. So I pushed open the door and went marching into that office to sign away the contract of my agreement. Michael Liloe's office was something straight out of a Mafia film. Soft carpet covered the floor, a beautiful chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, and fine artwork hung on the walls. Classical music wafted from invisible speakers in a bid to coax me into complacency. The music and upscale decorations gave the impression of a fine establishment, which could have put the patrons at ease, but I was not so easily deceived.

You can dress a pig up in a suit, but it was still a pig.

Michael was sitting at his desk with a cigarette between his left hand and a lowball of liquor in the right. His feet were on the desk, leaning back, waving an imaginary baton with his fingers.

He turned and looked at me with a smile, then sat up and extinguished his cigarette in a marble ashtray. "Ah, Ms. Volkova. I wondered if you'd honor us with an appearance tonight."

Standing my ground and bracing my jaw, I gave him a stare. My deal, and I was in the driver's seat until money passed hands. I was not going to let Michael Liloe think that he was anything but the intermediary he claimed to be. "I said I'd show up, and that's what I've done."

He got up and came over to me, not even trying to hide the fact that he was sizing me up. "That is a good thing. I might have had to send out a search-and-rescue unit to locate you if you hadn't showed up. You're going to make me a great deal of money tonight."

"Can we just check my contract terms?" I sighed. I didn't trust him, and rightly so. He profited from selling human beings and didn't have a shred of guilt about it. How could I possibly trust someone who made a living selling them? If I'd had any other option, I wouldn't have been there then. Right," he replied, returning to his desk and opening a manila folder with my name scribbled across the top in bold black letters. "I can personally vouch that the clients this evening will not have a problem with discretion. Indeed, it's a requirement for everyone who comes into my place.". They're the big ballers, the top league of gentlemen. a real no-nonsense kind with more money than they know what to do with.

Their reasons for desiring the goods that I make available are their own, and I don't pry as long as they pay. The one consolation I took in following this along, other than the fact that I'd be rescuing Jackson, was that I thought that someone with enough pull could guarantee the payoff and shut his mouth in the process. Nobody with that type of money needed the world to understand his role in such a transaction. And I certainly didn't want my family to find out about it.

The fact that I was doing it would be enough to send them to their deaths and totally turn around what I was accomplishing.