Page 10 of Vasily the Nail

“What?” I croak out as I hear something scrape on the floor in front of us. I scrabble to remove the blindfold, but Vasily snatches my hand up.

“To settle debt. $150,000. Fifteen days sounds right.”

At that, he pulls the blindfold off for me, and there in front of me, not twenty feet away, staring at me like I’m the enemy now because Vasily’s semen leaks from between my thighs, is my brother.

He saw everything.

He watched me take Vasily’s cock. Enthusiastically.

He heard me beg for more.

He heard me laughing.

“How could you?” I sob, shocked that Vasily would make me think we were alone, although what do I know of him, really?

“You said this would settle it!” Tony spits out.

“This was the interest!” Vasily snarls back, the gentle, compassionate man of a moment ago gone. “You pay the 150,000 now, or she’s mine for fifteen days.”

The number sticks in my head this time. “You sold me? You sold my virginity for $150,000?” I screech at Tony. There’s hardly anything of weight in arms’ reach, so I hurl the handcuffs I waschained to a stripper pole withat him, missing him by a mile.

He glares at us both for another moment before he calmly stands and says, “I’ll see you in two weeks, Lacey. And don’t be such a slut. It’s undignified.”

Vasily

Artyom is goingto kill me for this.

His instructions had been simple. Get in there, collect the payment, get out. Don’t be too fucked up for it.

We both knew not to expect that last part, but he always says that.

And yes, I questioned this, just like I questioned all the decisions he’s made with Tony the Bitch. We get nothing out of dealing with him, never have. There’s a bratva brigade in Phoenix, so it doesn’t make any sense for us to work with him. We never should have given him the $150,000, and we shouldn’t accept this as payment.

Maybe that’s it, though. Maybe this was Artyom’s way of washing his hands of the whole mafia thing, and I just fucked it up by refusing to give the girl back.

Ana.

My little lamb isn’t so sweet and docile now. The entire drive back to my apartment, she’s curled up in a ball on her side, using my coat and shirt as giant blankets to bury her tiny body in. I attempt to touch her ankle— I don’t know why I do, but I do— when she shifts and the hems lift, exposing her foot. The sound she makes as she tucks it back in is less of a lamb, more of a rattlesnake.

“Hungry?” I ask when we get to the apartment. It’s nice for Flagstaff. Not a lot of money in this area anymore. The fact that we have a big open-concept with plenty of kitchen counterspace, two large bedrooms, one smaller one that’s used for a game room, plus a community gym and a pool— in the warmer months— is a boon. Ana stands there wide-eyed in the middle of it, studying everything with those big eyes of hers.

Yeah, they’re big. Not cartoonishly, I can see that now that the psychedelics are calming back down to a happy buzz, but big. She’s every bit as sweet without the exaggerations.

She shakes her head and whispers, “Bathroom?” in a voice that makes me think she’s holding back heavy emotions. Understandable.

I lead her into my bathroom, and she pins herself to a corner, watching me nervously as I move around it, digging out some more feminine toiletries from the far recesses of the cabinet. I scan the bottles, looking to see if there are expiration dates and frowning when I find one. I sigh at the space I’ve wasted for five years, apparently, as I throw it all away.

“Stay,” I tell her. She twitches and takes a step back, but she stays in the bathroom.

In Dima’s bathroom, I find what I’m looking for: shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and lotion, all of which have that weirdWishesscent that’s supposedly champagne and almonds or something but just smells girly to me. The dates are what matter to me, and they’ve all got a couple years left on them. Tati just broke up with Dima this past summer, so it makes sense that everything’s still in date.

I stop by the linen closet between our bedrooms and dig out a fresh toothbrush still in its package and a sealed tube of toothpaste, bring it all back to the bathroom, and attempt tohand it to Ana. I’m feeling proud of myself, but she recoils, so I’m not sure what she’s thinking.

Until I look at her hands, so much smaller than mine.

My brain, unbidden, goes to thoughts of her taking my shaft in that tiny hand, of her fingertips exploring my piercings, of her gripping me firmly when she attempted to take too much of me. My eyelids dip at the thought and of the prospect of feeling that again, but that’s not why she’s here.

I don’t know why she’s here.

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