Page 7 of Savage Warrior

“Well, go look for it somewhere else. You’re trouble.”

“I’m sorry. Please, I’ll do better this time…” I’m actually desperate enough to beg.

“Oh, and how will you do that?” she sneers. “I thought you were too good for us.”

“I never—”

“Going to report us, last I heard. We can do without your sort here.” She makes to shut the door in my face, done with me.

“No!” I stick my foot in, then let out a cry when she slams the door on my instep. “I’ll do anything.”

She eases the door open a fraction. “Anything?”

I nod. “I need work,” I repeat.

She pauses for several moments, then opens the door and gestures me inside. “There might be something…”

I limp after her down the hallway and back into the room where I and my co-workers dressed the last time I was here. “Should I get changed?”

“No. I’m not letting you near my customers again. It cost me weeks of free drinks and blow jobs to calm Ivan down after last time.”

“Ivan…?”

“The man whose nose you bloodied.”

“Oh. I’m sorry about that,” I lie. “But—”

“You can go on a little trip,” she announces. “Just for a week or two.”

This I didn’t expect. It won’t do, not at all.

“Oh, no. No, I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t go anywhere…” I have Natalija and Yuryl to take care of. I have to be here.

“I thought you said you’d do anything.” She glares at me. “Turns out you’re choosy after all?”

“I have a brother and sister, younger than me. We’ve no parents, there’s no one else so they need me here.”

“That’s not my problem. Do you want work or not?”

“I do, but—”

“Fair enough.” She shoots me an exasperated and entirely unsympathetic glower. “Piss off then and don’t bother me again.” She opens the door and gestures for me to get out.

“Please, isn’t there something here that I can do?” I’m desperate and perfectly ready to plead.

“No.” Her stern demeanour hardens. “I’m not messing about. It’s a few days, that’s all. Take it or leave it.”

I open my mouth to form another protest, but the words die in my throat. There’s no point. If we’re to eat and pay the rent, I need to do this. Whatever it is.

“How long, exactly? And where would I be going?”

She shrugs. “A week. Ten days, maybe. The work’s in Minsk.” She pauses, then, “Hostessing.”

“Hostessing?” That could mean anything. “What would I have to do?”

It’s a stupid question. I know now what commodity Zora trades in. I’ll be pawed at by sleazy men at some event or other, carrying drinks and food, smiling and letting them slap my arse and fondle my breasts. If I set my mind to it and can manage not to throw up in some pervert’s lap, I should be able to carry it off.

Frankly, I’ll have to.

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