Page 23 of Heathen

"You can't enter a government building without shoes," Ellis says at the same time I say, "You can't go inside without shoes."

"Let me help," Ellis offers. He crouches in front of me, his palm warm on my calf, as he urges me with the slightest pressure to lift my leg.

I teeter on one foot for half a second before the heel is removed.

"The other one," he says, moving his touch to the other leg.

I press my hands to his shoulders as he removes the second heel before standing and putting them in the front pocket of his jeans.

I wobble less as we enter the building, but these shoes weren't made to be flats.

After following the directions to the correct place, we enter an office with a long counter. The clerk on the other side looks bored and ready to go home. I want to yell at her and tell her that there are worse positions to be in than working a government job with great benefits in air conditioning, but I doubt Dima would let that slide.

"Mr.Tkachenko," the clerk says, her tone just as bored as her face. "Another friend getting married?"

"Yes, Sandra. Mr. Burke and Ms. Rhodes."

She points to a tablet on the counter. "After completing that, I'll need to see your identification. The names you enter must match what's on them."

"I don't—" I start to say, turning around to Dima, only to find him holding my driver's license between two fingers.

I grind my teeth before pulling it from his hand and turning back to enter my information into the tablet.

He has my license which means he went through my purse. I know how silly it is to worry about the hidden emergency hundred-dollar bill in there and my social security card, but it doesn't stop my mind from heading in that direction.

I know how bad things could be for me. Ellis's warning back at the warehouse made me really consider just how bad of a man could end up going to the warehouse and purchasing me. Those thoughts are the only reason I'm standing here going through with this. I never considered that it would be a legally binding marriage. I had no clue we'd be here filling out paperwork to actually get married.

Dima is taking a lot of risks because I know there's no way his business is legal, especially if he has to use threats and sneaky-ass contracts in order to operate.

It takes a lot less time to get a marriage license in Clark County Nevada than it ever should. I know Vegas is the marriage capital of the world, but shouldn't Sharon or Sandra or whatever her name is wonder why this man is in so often that she knows him by name?

"The license fee is a hundred and two dollars," the woman says after all the digital forms are complete.

Ellis doesn't hesitate to pull out his wallet. This time he uses a credit card rather than a handful of cash like he used last night at the grocery store.

"Thank you, Sandra," Dima says, accepting the forms rather than letting Ellis or me hold them.

We follow the man right back out of the building and back to the SUV.

The drive back to the warehouse seems to take twice as long as the drive to the marriage license place, and with each turn of the SUV's wheels, my heart rate increases.

Instead of going into the same door we exited, Dima has the driver go around the building to another door.

Unease washes over me when we climb out of the vehicle, but somehow Ellis's palm on my lower back helps some. I may not know the man, but knowing I'm not alone makes me feel a hell of a lot better.

The door opens, and I feel like I'm in some sort of fractured fairy tale. The room we walk into is set up like a chapel. There are flowers—fake, I imagine—in vases, and two pews on either side of the aisle, as if someone would show up to buy a wife with all of their fucking family or something.

"Let's go," Dima urges with his hand waving toward the front. "The sooner the ceremony is over, the sooner you can start the honeymoon."

My skin crawls with his words. Are the women lining up for these men? Are the ones living practically on top of each other actually willing to marry these men and have sex with them?

I'm not a prude, and I'm not usually one to judge, but Jesus, what does he have on them that would make them see that situation as one they'd willingly enter into?

But then again, to what extreme would I go in order to protect Morgan?

"Please," I whisper when Ellis urges me to walk toward the front, making me realize that my feet are locked in place.

"It's okay," he says, but I don't know that I can trust him.

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