Page 8 of Plus-Sized Bratva Prisoner

I’m just—I’m not very good at letting people do things for me. I always think they want something in return. It’s one of thereasons I've stayed so independent my whole life, so that I didn’t have to owe anyone anything. And look where that got me.

I owe some very dangerous men a lot of money, thanks to my mother.

***

Early on Saturday morning, after a couple of hours of studying before the sun comes up, I head out to fetch a couple of the dogs I walk around the neighborhood. I like this extra little job because I sit down so much when I study, edit, and at my desk at the office—at least this one allows me to move around and get some fresh air.

The city is buzzing with energy and people and I feel a sort of longing to be out here enjoying the day instead of stuck in my apartment working. But, as always, when I get this feeling, I just remind myself that I am working towards something.

The harder I work, the sooner I get there.

I walk the dogs a little extra, for me as much as for them, then head back home after dropping them all off.

The weekend disappears in pages of study notes and editing, and when my alarm goes off on Monday morning it feels like there never even was a weekend at all.

But now I get to go to work and see my boss again.

I won’t lie, I think I have a little crush on him. It’s just how hot he is. A silly crush. That’s all.

I head into the office and glance up towards his window. I can see him sitting at his desk.

Monday goes by pretty smoothly. I've managed to impress my manager with the work I handed in on Friday, whichmakes me happy. They have given me two new projects to work on, and I am going to go out of my way to impress them with these as well.

***

At lunch, I am sitting at my desk while everyone else is out having coffee.

One of the other interns comes over to me.

“Tia, there’s a man here asking for you,” she says with a smile. “He’s outside in the parking lot.”

“Oh, I’ll go and see who it is now. Did he tell you his name?”

“He said he was a friend of your mother's. That’s all.”

Shit.

How did they find out I work here?

My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I hurry outside to go and try get the debt collector tonotshow up at my workplace.

I rush out to the parking lot, looking around to see who is watching me. There's a group of my colleagues having a smoke break near the bench in the little garden, but no one seems to be paying attention to me.

“What are you doing here? I work here, you can’t be showing up here like this,” I say with anguish.

“Actually, Miss Lawrence, I think you’ll find that we can do whatever the fuck we want. Now, where is the money you owe us?”

“I just got this job, I’m doing my best.”

“We agreed to a payment plan only because it wasn’t initially your debt, but trust me when I say that the bosses won’t hesitate to start taking fingers if you are late again. You’re two weeks past your due. We want it by Wednesday, or I’ll come inside the building next time.”

My eyes grow wide with horror. “No, please don’t do that. Please. I’ll get you the money, I promise.”

The debt collector chuckles, a nasty, cold laugh that sends horrible shivers through my body. I don’t doubt they’ll start taking fingers—that’s why I would never personally take a loan from a person like this. But I guess my mother, drunk and useless and wanting to feed her gambling addiction, wasn’t really one to consider the consequences. And now I am the one who is stuck with those consequences.

The guy turns and walks away, and I have to hold my breath to avoid sighing in relief too loudly. I don’t want him to hear that. I don’t want them to know just how stressed I am to have them coming to my new place of work.

I can’t lose this job—I need it so badly.

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