Page 16 of Ruinous Need
“A man like him moves on quickly,” my father had always promised me. The next shiny thing would always draw his attention instead of the girl from last year.
It felt like we were off the hook.
Then, the next week, gifts continued to arrive. The dismay returned just as quickly as it had vanished. I knew what the shiny jewelry, sports cars and expensive electronic devices were: threats. Or promises. The two were opposite sides of the same coin, as I’d learned the hard way.
The Pakhan I’ve gotten to know over years of gifts and threats wouldn’t suddenly leave me here in relative freedom without there being some catch.
My yellow silk dress is crumpled after a night of sleep, but the drawers of the bedroom are filled with stiff business wear outfits in natural colors. They may be expensive, but they look uncomfortable as hell.
If I’m not leaving the house, there’s no way I’m going to wear a pencil skirt. I decide that my mission today will be to find something more comfortable to wear.
As I wander the hallways, wood-paneled with abstract artwork of colors and shapes that look like they cost a fortune, there’s no sign of anyone else.
It’s why I think there must be some kind of catch to the freedom I’m feeling right now. I spend half an hour searching for cameras but come up with nothing. Half the apartment — including, of course, the exit — is blocked off with fingerprint sensors.
But Viktor wasn’t lying. The rest of it is well-stocked. There’s food, books, movies, even enough space that I can dance if I shove the lounge furniture aside and roll up the thick rug covering the hardwood floor in the living room.
As far as being imprisoned goes, this is not the worst thing I could ask for. The apartment is luxurious, even if it is impersonal. The kind of thing my mom would read about in an interior decorating catalogue.
I feel a sudden surge of anger bubble up when I think about my family, but I shove it down again. It’s no more their fault than it is mine. The money wasn’t really an offer that could be refused.
At least they’ll be safe now. At least my constant guilt about my selfish decision to delay the arrangement can fade.
My head is pounding and I’m grateful to find an array of coffee and tea to choose from in the kitchen. I need caffeine to make my body believe that it’s mid-morning. We left the bar last night at around ten, which means I’ve been out for at least twelve hours.
A large mug of green tea in hand, I wander around the living area.
The doors are locked, apart from the kitchen, living room, my room and another room that I assume is Viktor’s bedroom.
It’s disturbingly impersonal. Black bedspread. Dark-stained wooden floors. A minimalist dresser of black clothes.
Does the man own anything with a bit of color?
It appears not. My options are: black, grey, white or black.
At last, in his bottom drawer, I find comfortable clothing. A pile of plush, thick sweatpants and hoodies. I clamber into his black sweatpants and hoodie. The fabric swallows me whole, but it’s strangely comforting, the firewood and sea salt smell of him just like it was a week ago.
I collapse back onto his bed for a second. I feel suddenly drained. Whatever sedatives they gave me yesterday are still making their way through my system and every movement is taking a lot of energy. I’ll just close my eyes for a second.
I don’t know if it’s the soft clothing or the king-size bed, but I fall into a blissful sleep.
When I wake up, with a jolt of fear that Viktor might have discovered me sleeping in his bed, it feels like late afternoon. My green tea is cold.
I don’t know when he gets back, I realize. I don’t even know what he does for work.
The fear that Viktor will come home sets in as the sun goes down. Is it risky if he catches me wandering around the house? Am I breaking an unspoken rule?
The free rein he’s given me suddenly seems dangerous. The huge windows in the living room look out onto the city. If I knew morse code, I could be flashing help signals to pedestrians on the street below.
I must be monitored somehow, but there are no cameras in sight.
I comb the rest of the apartment, carrying a fresh mug of green tea. Nothing to help me unravel the stone-cold enigma that is Viktor.
Even the bathroom is sparse, with luxury body washes and lotions in unopened packages. Like no one really lives here.
CHAPTER 6
VIKTOR
