Page 9 of Wrath
Misha jumped as he slammed his hand on the desk, rattling the gold-plated brass knuckles and Scotch glasses.
“Friends do not lie to each other.”
“I swear, I knew nothing!”
“Well, you see, we now have a problem. I have hospital bills to cover, and you are already behind in your payments. I look weak. Soft. I am not a soft man.”
She bit her lip, knowing she’d regret the next words. “Perhaps your protection services are no longer required.”
Although hope flared momentarily, it was stamped down by the simple flicker of darkness in Dimitri’s eyes.
“Nyet, Misha. We have been keeping our end of the bargain. There is no trouble at your restaurant when you make payment. But even your job here cannot keep up with the new debt.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m giving you everything I earn. I—” a lump formed in her throat. She needed her yoga studio. She would not give it up. It paid for the rent on her city apartment and it kept her sane. She finally had a life outside her family duties. Giving that up would be like giving away her identity.
“Now, Misha, don’t be sad.” Dimitri’s eyes dulled, but still, she had the sense it was all an act—better than the one she put on stage every night.
She felt like she was drowning. This was never going to end. He’d always find something else to hold over her. It was hard to believe she ever thought he was a friend. Once he saved her a spot in the cafeteria line, now he extorted money from her. What had happened?
“Perhaps we can make another arrangement,” he said.
Bile rose in the back of her throat. She knew what he was going to say.
He sat back in his chair, never taking his eyes from her. “You will increase your services at the club. There are customers who ask for you, but because of my trust in our arrangement, in our friendship, I have kept them away from you. This can no longer continue. It is well known how you like to play around with all the men in your own time, why not make it official and earn your keep?”
Revulsion burned in her throat. He thought she was a whore. A man stays strategically single, dates a lot, and he’s called a legend. A woman? Totally unfair.
As if she’d been dismissed, he went back to inspecting the ledger book. “I will give you until the end of your shift to think about it.”
What the hell was her other option?
As if hearing her thoughts he glanced up and added, “If you decide not to expand your services, then you will need to pay your debt.”
“How much are we talking?”
He turned the book and pointed at a figure scrawled in blue ink.
Her heart stopped beating.Forty-five thousand dollars.
She couldn’t afford that. So, it was either sell her body or… she glanced at his snake flicking its forked tongue and then back at Dimitri’s straight face.
“You know I always look out for you, like asiostra.Since school I have had your back because you had mine.”
Misha wanted to laugh in his face. His protection was more like obsession. Having a thick accent and being a little scrawny back then, he hadn’t been a popular kid. Plus, his know-it-all attitude and weird affinity with snakes and crawly things hadn’t done him much good. When no one sat with him, or spoke with him, Misha would always make the time to be nice. She felt sorry for him. He wasn’t quite right in the head, but when her father’s restaurant had first been attacked a few years ago, and Dimitri came around saying he could stop it—she’d felt it was her only option. At first he only expected a free meal or two, but then the attacks on the restaurant escalated, and he wanted more money. Working at his bar was the start, then the dancing, now… it would never end.
She plastered on the smile she wore every night on stage.
“End of shift, Misha,” he reminded her. “I will have your answer. And don’t forget”—he met her gaze—“devil.”
A curt nod, and then she was out of there. On her way back to the dressing room, she swiped a bottle of vodka from behind the bar and took a few deep swigs. Tonight, she was going to be the very embodiment of her devil costume. Tonight she was going to be someone else. It was the only way to keep smiling.
Four
It waspitch black when Wyatt woke in his borrowed bed. His lids snapped open as he lay there, all senses straining because something was off. The wind knocked the windows from the outside. He pushed his sixth sense out to feel for the sin of wrath, but his sin wasn’t like envy or greed—wrath mainly reared its ugly head when shit got real. He sensed nothing but the breeze, his heartbeat, and his ragged breath.
Then he registered the temperature. Hot, but it wasn’t a hot night. It washewho felt sweaty. Feverish. His skin prickled and warmed as though he’d come down with the flu. Maybe that was why he woke… but he never got sick. None of his siblings did. They were born with resilient immune systems and regenerating cells that healed exponentially, making recovery time short.
So why was he awake?
