Page 3 of Savage Warrior

“How? How, exactly, do you intend to pay your debts?” He makes no attempt to conceal the sneer in his voice. “You appear to have mistaken me for someone who gives a fuck about your miserable existence. You’re dirt poor, you always will be, and you seem to think I’ll keep bailing you out. I run a business here, girl, not a fucking charity.”

“I know, but—”

“Two hundred, that’s your lot. And the interest rate is doubled. You’re a bad risk.”

“I can’t afford that,” I gasp. “Please…”

“In that case, fuck off out of my office. Come back when you’ve got some way of paying me. You need to get a fucking job, girl.”

“I have a job. I have three jobs, actually.” In the months since my father died, I’ve worked night and day to keep my family together. As well as the draper’s, I now clean offices three nights a week and wait at tables in a restaurant the other four. I’m never at home so I barely see my sister and brother. I have to rely on Natalija to see Yuryl to school, to cook our meals, and clean our one-roomed flat. We were evicted from our house two months after Papa died and have moved twice since. The vermin-infested slum we call home is the best I can afford, but there’s still food to find, fuel, clothes. I’m drowning in debt, with no end in sight. Out of options, I make one final attempt to appeal to the moneylender. “I can’t get another job. I work every hour there is already.”

Ivanov leans forward to engulf me in cigar fumes once more. “Then get something that pays better,” he advises.

I grind my teeth in frustration. “What do you have in mind? I have no qualifications, no skills…”

He rakes a lecherous eye over me. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Aghast, I recoil from him. “No! I’m not doing anything like that.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. Off you go, then.” He flutters his fingers in casual dismissal.

“But—”

“Are you still here?” He raises an unsympathetic eyebrow. “I have other customers to deal with. Get out.”

I get as far as the bus stop before realising I haven’t even the coins for the fare home. Faced with a five-mile hike, followed by an eight-hour shift scrubbing floors, I sink onto a wall to contemplate my dilemma.

An hour later, I’m no nearer to finding a solution, mainly because there simply isn’t one. Life is expensive. I have three mouths to feed, two if I go without myself, but that’s a short-sighted strategy. I could take Natalija out of school and get the cleaning agency to set her on as well, but I’m physically sick at the prospect. And who would look after little Yuryl?

Defeated, I get to my feet and shuffle back along the street to present myself once more at the offices of Isak Ivanov.

His greeting is less than encouraging. “You again. What now?”

I splutter in the fog of smoke. “I was wondering…”

“What?”

“About a better job…?”

“Oh, right. Seen sense then?”

“I was just wondering, what do you mean? What sort of job?”

It’s a stupid question. I know that. I may be young but I’m not entirely naive. Thinking about it, though, surely I wouldn’t have to actually… do anything too disgusting.

“Can you wait tables?”

My heart sinks. I already do that and I know the pay’s pitiful. “Yes, but—”

“Can you do it with your tits out?”

“What?” Am I hearing this right?

“Topless. Plenty of arse and leg helps, too.”

“I…” My spine shivers. My stomach churns. Lord help me, I’m actually considering it. “H-how much would I get paid?” There’s surely no harm in asking, I tell myself.

“Two hundred rubles a shift. Plus extras if you offer any special services.”

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