Page 4 of Throttle All the Way

I took the paper out and smiled, crumbling it and throwing it in the trash. There was no need for seconds in my world, when I sure as hell knew I could have firsts anywhere else. I didn’t get tied down and I didn’t get involved, it was easier that way.

Less fucking stress.

I never returned to that cafe, instead I drove my way down a darker rabbit hole. One that involved illicit affairs, and lonely men who needed a woman on their arm to feel powerful.

Illicita.

The company was known for their exquisite taste in women and men. Escorts that dripped in sex and money, who could play the part for the rich scummy execs who used them to be seen. They were high end and legit, but according to the FBI files that Ray had come across, these fuckers were also pinned to a darker black market scheme. They were allegedly sex trafficking minors and the case was currently open on them.

I knew I had to be careful here. Hundreds of man hours had been poured into this case and I just couldn’t go fuck around in it. But in my race to save her, Mila Steponavich was quickly becoming my sole focus, leading me down a much darker path.

One that connected the Royal Bastards to Volkov and the Black Market Railroad.

One that brought me back to this bar and seated only feet away from my target.

MILA

Seattle, Washington

Six months ago…

I smiled at the camera,posing for them like they’d asked me to. I’d become an expensive escort after all, solicited by government officials, men with power, men Sabrina Wellchild wanted on her prominent list of VIPs. I should have been grateful that she’d found me, but instead, my smile was as empty as ever, because I knew I’d been trapped once again.

I recalled that day in the cafe. It was buzzing with the usual hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes as I maneuvered between tables, striving to keep up with the relentless demands of the customers. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, and the atmosphere was energized by the Sunday brunch crowds the city’s cold temperatures brought in. It wasn’t the best of crowds, but it was a job.

I was busy taking orders, and sliding plates filled with pancakes on tables when I noticed a woman sitting in a secluded corner of the cafe. She seemed somewhat out of place with herGucci purse and gold bangles that seemed to glint in the light, and her eyes were fixed on me.

As I approached, she looked up at me, folding a napkin in front of her as she spoke, her delicate fingernails painted in a rich crimson polish. “Do you have a minute?”

Suppressing my apprehension, I turned to look at Bonnie, another waitress who was precariously carrying a tray full of food to a table. “It’s a little busy at the mome…”

“Sit,” Sabrina ordered, and I quickly slid into the booth. Seated across from her, I could smell the expensive perfume she wore and I wondered what a woman of her stature was doing in a place like this.

“Mila Stepanovich,” Sabrina's voice, laced with a mix of amusement and authority, cut through the ambient noise. “You certainly seem out of place in this…” she took a brief, dismissive look around the old cafe, “quaint little cafe.”

I froze, forcing my face to remain stoic. “I’m sorry, you mistake me for someone else.”

She grabbed my wrist as I slid out of the booth and what she said next made my heart nearly thump out of my chest.

“You remind me of her. Your mother. I never understood why Mark needed me, when he had a beauty like her by his side.”

I swiftly turned to her, piercing her with a searing gaze, forcing a smile that concealed the unease that churned within me. “What do you know about my mother?”

Sabrina's lips curled into a calculated smile as she motioned for me to sit. "I've been watching you, Mila.”

“What do you want?” I asked uneasily.

“It's not every day you find someone with your potential stuck in a place like this."

I furrowed my brow, uneasy with the scrutiny. "Potential for what?"

The woman leaned in, her voice a mere whisper. "I can help you, Mila, just like your father helped me. I can offer you a way out. An opportunity to live a life of luxury."

“My father got murdered in exchange for a life of luxury. What makes you think I want to follow in his footsteps?” I asked.

She smiled at me. “Your father took me out of the gutter and made me who I am today. Helping you is a debt I am obligated to pay.”

“You were his whore?”

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