Owned by the Mob Boss Page 6

  One thing that’s for certain: he is like no one else I’ve ever met. I think back on the scant handful of men I’d know in my life. High school boyfriends that I wouldn’t exactly call exemplars of masculinity, a couple flings in college that fizzled before they ever reached escape velocity… None of them made me feel the things that one little smile from Erik made me feel. Like I was a bug in a microscope and a statue on a pedestal at the same time. Exposed and exalted. Yada yada, on and on.

  What I want more than anything is to sleep. I’d love to get my own IV tree to match Mom’s, and see if one of the kinder nurses here will pump me full of something to help me find a reprieve from the chaos raging in my head. But short of that happening—and it’d take quite a hefty bribe to get a night nurse to break a half-dozen health-care laws in one fell swoop like that—I’ve got nothing to do but toss and turn in this uncomfortable visitors’ chair while I keep wrestling with the same questions.

  The one that lingers most persistently at the back of my head: Now what?

  What scares me even more than that question, though, is the possibility of an answer, the one that Erik himself gave me.

  I could have his baby.

  It’d solve my money problems—our money problems—immediately. Boom, bills would vanish into thin air. No more scraping things together for meal money. No more worrying whether the end of the month would find me selling drugs on a street corner for spare change. A hundred and forty thousand dollars would buy my mom comfort for a very long time. That’s what matters more than anything, right? So why did I say no? Am I being selfish? Am I a bad daughter?

  How much did my mother give up to raise Rob and me? So. Freaking. Much. She worked triple jobs for as long as I can remember to put food on the table. She never complained, not once. She has been a cheery force of positivity since the day I was born. Even after Dad left. Even after Rob fucked up, and then fucked up again, and then again. Even when I could see the exhaustion penciling wrinkles in her face that she was thirty years too young to deserve, she didn’t complain.

  No, shut up! I scream silently. I cannot have some stranger’s freaking baby just for a pile of cash. It might be a lot—like, a lot a lot—but it will run out eventually, and then where will I be? Where will Erik be? It’s impossible to say, and the darker possibilities in that future make my stomach churn.

  I can’t do it. I won’t do it. I’m not some breeding cow, not some rich prick’s surrogate. I don’t give a shit if he swiped my v-card, or if I came hard—several times—while he was doing it. I don’t give a damn if he was handsome, or perceptive, or fascinating beyond belief. None of that matters, because I’m not going to see him again, and I’m sure as hell not going to take him up on his mind-bogglingly insane offer.

  N. O.

  A beep from a machine interrupts my thinking. Mom’s eyes flicker open and she smiles at me as best she can.

  “Sweet girl,” she says, voice slurring slightly. “You look stressed.”

  “No, Mom.” I feign a smile, touching her hand. “I’m okay. It’s you that you should be worried about.”

  She giggles, bringing up memories of the woman she was before this hideous disease hit. “They’re taking very good care of me. We had apple pie for dessert.” She talks slowly, each word drawn out. My heart breaks more with each syllable.

  I lean down and kiss the back of her hand. “You’re so brave,” I tell her.

  “How could I be anything else, with a daughter like you?” Her smile droops. I force mine to remain in place. “But enough about me,” she says. “How’s nursing school going?”

  I tell her about my studies as she listens eagerly, but I don’t mention last night, nor do I even hint at our financial troubles. She has enough to worry about.

  When she falls back to sleep mid-conversation, I go out into the waiting room to grab a coffee. Rob walks down the hallway, all fidgety like he’s on coke. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was something more. The only thing I’m surprised about is that he’s actually here. He doesn’t usually show up at the hospital unless he’s looking for a handout.

  “How’s she doing, sis?” he asks. The seemingly real concern in his voice touches me in spite of my better instincts.

  “She’s a fighter.”

  He nods with a sad smile, touching my shoulder and leading me to the chairs. “And what about the other thing?” he whispers.

  “The check’s clearing,” I say tersely.

  He beams. “Good, that’s good. But …”

  “I know, Rob,” I snap without meaning to. “It’ll be enough to cover her stay in the ER, but after that?” I shake my head.

  “And my debt,” he mutters, glancing at the floor. “I got a message today. There isn’t much time. The sharks, Camille, they’re fucking circling me.”

  I slump down in a chair. “How much, Rob?”

  He sits down next to me. “Fifteen.”

  “Fifteen hundred? Jesus.”

  “No,” he shakes his head.

  My belly drops. “Fifteen thousand dollars?” I grit my teeth. The urge to slap him across the face is almost overwhelming. “Fuck, Rob, just … fuck.”

  “I know,” he says quietly.

  Part of me wonders if he’s asking for more than he needs. There’s always another bet, another inside scoop, another get-rich-quick scheme. I’d like to think he wouldn’t stoop that low, not with Mom in this state, but I know I can’t put it past him. And what am I going to do, let the loan sharks break his legs?

  As tempting as it is to let him actually face some consequences for once in his life, I know I can’t do that. I’m his big sister. I’m supposed to protect him.

  But it feels like my life is hanging on by a thread.

  “What are we going to do?” he says after a long pause.

  I keep my face buried in my hands. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “You could …” He lets out a breath. “I mean, you’re really pretty, you know? And you’ve sold yourself once, so …”

  “You are not about to tell me to become a hooker,” I snap.

  “Not a hooker!” he cries. “An, an escort—like, a classy one, high-class, you know? Do you know how much money some of those women make?”

  “Is that really what you want?” I hiss.

  “I don’t want any of this,” he counters.

  “Then help.”

  He spreads his hands. “I don’t know how,” he mutters in defeat.

  “Whatever. I’m not doing that,” I tell him. Erik’s offer is still bouncing around my head. We are on the cusp of a disaster, I know, and right now I don’t see a way out of it. “It’s not like I even have the doctor’s office paycheck anymore.”

  “We’re in a real shitstorm here, aren’t we?”

  I cough out a laugh. “Way to stay positive.” I glance at the clock on the wall. “Oh shit,” I say. “I’m almost late for class. Are you going to be around for when Mom wakes up?”

  Rob nods, but it doesn’t inspire me with confidence. Maybe I should skip class, but then again, I skipped last night to go to the auction. I can’t make a habit of it. I’ve worked too hard for too long to let it all turn to trash now.

  Although, despite my best efforts, that’s the way it seems to be heading.

  Why is nothing I do ever enough?

  My mind is in disarray as I sit in my usual place at the front of the classroom. I stare down at my notes, trying to make sense of them. It’s not that I’ve forgotten everything I’ve learned, more that my thoughts keep skipping to Mom, to Rob, to everything.

  Beside me, Bethany is taking diligent notes, sitting upright and attentive as she always is.

  She’s a tall woman of about thirty, her blonde hair tied back in an efficient ponytail, her fingernails unpainted. No nonsense is the first phrase that comes to mind. Stone-cold bitch is the second.

  We have never really spoken, but in a weird way, I’ve admired her ever since we started. She strikes me as one of those women who can
face down any shitstorm and show it who’s boss. Like a Viking princess or something. No fear, no distractions. Just badassery.

  She must have personal problems, I reason—who doesn’t? Surely, she’s had sick relatives, financial difficulties, her own personal version of hell. And yet somehow, she comes into class every single day ready to kick ass, ace tests, and intimidate people like me who can’t get their shit together.

  She terrifies the hell out of me.

  But I need a little bit of that warrior spirit right now. So I pull on my big-girl panties and turn to her after class.

  She glances up as she packs away her things. “Yes?” she says briskly.

  “I just wanted to say, ah, I think the point you made about hospice care was very, ah, well-made.” I curse myself. I sound lame, stumbling through my words. But the look she aims at me is withering.

  “Right …” she says, shouldering her laptop bag.

  “And I was wondering if you’d be interested in starting a study group?” I say with sudden inspiration. We are both pretty high-achievers in class—her more so than me, but still—so it does make a certain amount of sense. “We could cover each other’s weak points. I was thinking of inviting some of the others also, so it wouldn’t be just us two.”

  I don’t want her to think I’m trying to copy, though that idea is absurd. Neither of us has any need to copy.

  “Hmm.” She eyes me critically. “No, I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

  “Ah, c’mon, why not?” I say, a little snappishly now. I can’t handle another bad break. Where’s that fairy godmother I’m always looking for?

  “Listen.” She plants her hands on the table. The rest of the class is spilling out, leaving us standing squared-up like gunslingers meeting at high noon. “We’re both vying for the number one spot. You know that. I’ve got no interest in helping you usurp me.”

  “Usurp you?” I laugh in disbelief. “What is this, Game of Thrones?”

  She shrugs. “I’m going to finish on top, that’s it. So thank you for your interest—I mean that—but I’m not interested.”

  “Excuse me for being friendly,” I huff, stuffing my laptop into the bag far more aggressively than I need to. “I guess I thought we were both human beings. I won’t be making that mistake again.”

  “It’s nothing personal,” she says, softening slightly. “You take care of your business. I’ll take care of mine.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I snap, venom in my voice. “I’ll be just fine.”

  She bites her lip and releases it a moment later. “Well, good luck,” she says. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Upset me?” I laugh. “You couldn’t do that if you tried.”

  She nods shortly. “Good to know. Now, is there anything else?”

  She asks like she’s an impatient receptionist and I’m a stubborn customer. I don’t answer, just grab my bag and head for the exit. As I walk across the parking lot to the beaten-down Civic—that perpetual reminder of poverty—I’m steaming mad from the exchange.

  But when I sit behind the wheel and the old engine coughs to life, I calm down. Bethany will do whatever it takes to win, even if it means being unnecessarily rude. She knows what she wants and she’ll go after it.

  I can relate to that. Maybe I need to be more like her: ruthless, putting feelings aside. Because there are things I want, things I need.

  And right now, number one is getting enough cash to keep disaster from the door.

  I’m sitting at the dining room table in Mom’s cramped little house, trying and failing to dream up ways to make enough cash to pull myself from this rut. My bank account is dying a death of a thousand cuts as I sort through the stack of bills piled in front of me. Fifty dollars for gas, ninety-three for electric, overdue interest here, a late penalty there—little by little, it all adds up to one big kick in the groin.

  Seventy thousand dollars seemed like so much, not so long ago. Now, it’s disappearing a penny at a time like sand slipping through my fingertips.

  I remember Erik’s deal and shudder. No fucking way. Going to that godforsaken auction was already a nightmare that I’m going to spend a lifetime trying to forget. Having his… no, I won’t even let myself think it. Nuh-uh, no way, no how.

  I force myself to focus again on the pile of envelopes. I’ve worked my way through most of it, taking notes on a yellow legal pad about what needs to be paid where. There’s just one fat envelope left at the very bottom.

  I sort aside a couple of useless flyers, shoving them into the trash pile, then pick up the behemoth that I’ve been eyeing and ignoring since I first sat down.

  I know what it is—the color scheme of the hospital is an obnoxious baby blue and pukey green. Why they chose that particular pairing is beyond me, but those kinds of decisions get made at a pay grade far above mine. I couldn’t even hold down a job as a receptionist at a doctor’s office, after all.

  I’ve mostly been ignoring it because I know the damage inside is going to be severe. Between the ambulance ride and the multi-night stay at Chez Hospital, I’m expecting a payment owed of fifteen or twenty thousand dollars, more than enough to make my head swim. My hands are already sweating at the mere thought.

  Just do it like a Band-Aid, I tell myself. I gulp and rip it open. The top has my mother’s name and personal details stamped on it. I scan down the paper, and even before I get to the bottom, I know it’s going to be bad. Really, really bad. There is scan after scan, and drug after drug listed in the “Services rendered” column, each with a staggering sum printed to the right.

  All told, it comes out eighty-nine thousand dollars.

  For a moment, I swear the world goes dark, like my brain is saying, “That’s all, folks,” and just packing it in.

  Eighty-nine thousand dollars.

  I can’t pay that. I can’t pay that back ever, much less in the time frame that the hospital and the bank have in mind for me. There is a schedule of payments due on the second page, and that alone is enough to send me reeling all over again.

  The payment from the auction isn’t enough even if I sign it directly over to the vampires at St. Mary’s General. And it’s not like I have an extra nineteen grand just loafing around between the couch cushions.

  I’m fucked. We’re fucked. My whole entire world is very, very fucked.

  I’m sitting in the car, trying my damndest not to hyperventilate myself into a seizure. God knows I wouldn’t be able to afford the medical care if that did happen. On the other hand, maybe it’ll just take me out of my misery.

  But Mom needs you, I tell myself. That’s the whole reason I’m here in the first place. I spent six hours with my head in my hands at that kitchen table, racking my brain for a way out of this situation.

  I’ve thought about dealing drugs, helping Rob stick up a Brinks truck, even becoming an escort like he suggested. But I’ve seen Bonnie and Clyde—I know where that path leads. And it isn’t exactly a one-way ticket to stability and prosperity.

  There was only one thing that had any hope of work.

  There’s no shame in this, I assure myself as I get out of the car and walk down the long stone driveway, though a larger part of me screams that there’s all the shame in the world. But what else am I going to do? Mom needs her care. That has to happen.

  I ignore that whispering voice that reminds me of how good the sex was. That isn’t part of it. This is a business decision. Nothing else.

  The butler answers the door with a slight bow. “Mr. Ivanovich is awaiting you in the library,” he says. “Would you like me to show you the way, ma’am?”

  “No,” I tell him. “I remember.”

  As I walk down the hallway, I study the wealth: the art, a full suit of armor, a glass cabinet filled with vintage liquor. Erik would do a great job at impersonating a Bond villain.

  Maybe I could give myself a five-finger discount on a few of these items and pass them to Rob to sell off through his black-market c
onnections.

  But then Erik comes walking down the hallway in a crisp, pale blue dress shirt, his eyes staring into me as though he’s reading my intentions.

  “Up to no good?” he says with a small smile.

  I shake my head. “I, uh, got lost,” I lie.

  “Right.”

  He fiddles around with his hands for a moment, not looking at me directly. It almost seems like he’s nervous.

  Then I remember our night together in vivid detail and laugh out loud. I don’t think ‘nervous’ is in Erik’s vocabulary.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Is something funny?”

  “No, no,” I say, choking back my giggles. I sober up quickly, an abrupt change of gears. “Nothing is funny at all, actually.”

  He nods, like he understands far more than just the words coming out of my mouth. “I was pleasantly surprised to hear that you had called,” he says.

  I decide to tell him the truth, straight up. No point in diving into this sordid little affair with a lie off the bat. “I, uh … I didn’t really have a choice. My mom needs the money.”

  He nods again, and again I have that feeling that he gets way more than just the outline of the situation. It’s like he can read my despair and my frustration immediately, even though I have all my walls up and my hackles raised to the fullest. “We can discuss payment details momentarily. I assure you, you will not be disappointed. Follow me.”

  He turns without awaiting a response. I ignore the way the shirt hugs his back, his confident stride, all those signals that remind me of the sex. I push it down and seal it in a box deep in my mind.

  He bought a virgin. He’s a pig. I have to remember that.

  He drops easily into the chair and gestures at the one opposite. I sit down on the edge of my seat, ready to get out of here any moment.

  “To a change of heart,” he says, pouring us both a drink and raising his in a toast.

  I push mine aside. “A change of mind,” I correct. “I still think it’s disgusting.”