Page 74 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

Right?

Right?

Right?!

But my legs are aching, like my lack of flexibility was tested in a major way. The kind of way that involved Gavril slamming me until I screamed. And between my legs aches, too.

I jolt upright.No, please, Joy, no. Tell me you didn’t do this.

But Gavril’s imprint is on the bed beside me, and my body’s already telling the full story. Shit. Shitty shit McShit shit. What the hell have I done?

There’s another ache too, more insidious than the others. That has no real definable source and yet whose origins I can pinpoint, too.

It’s the ache of not being where I want to be, where I belong. In Gavril’s arms.

Whoa there, crazy cowgirl.

I launch myself off the bed to start pacing and planning. This was a mistake. And Gavril just fuckingleft. Do I really need any more evidence of just what I am to him than that? I am a convenience. A toy. A possession to be enjoyed at will—on his terms.

“You’re mine,” he told me. “Mine.”

But not aprizedpossession. Just one to be sampled whenever the feeling strikes. On and off. After all, he is paying top dollar for me, isn’t he?

My shoulders droop. Disgusting—that’s how I feel. Worse than a hooker, because at least a hooker doesn’t lie to herself all the way to the fuck.

What am I playing at? “Just a job”—yeah, right. I can’t do this.

A buzzing sounds and I rush for my phone. Tears prick my eyes at what I see there.

A text with a photo attached:Hey, honey, check out the new digs! xx.

It’s Mom, in the nicest apartment I’ve ever seen, all floor-to-ceiling windows and chic glass furniture. She’s got tears in her eyes too.

PS: I’ve got the second doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Hope to see you soon!

I sag onto the bed, staring avidly at Mom’s pure happiness, wishing I could somehow transmute it into my own. It’s not about what I can or can’t do, not anymore. It’s not about me at all. I have to do this for my mom.

I take a breath.Calm the fuck down, Joy.It was hot sex with a hot guy, plain and simple. Yes, maybe these feelings in the aftermath are uncomfortable and foreboding and probably I shouldn’t do it again, but that doesn’t mean it’s some great tragedy I need to freak out over. Yesterday was still a mind-fuck in mostly awesome ways and anyway, it’s more than time to check in with Mom.

I call up her new number, then chicken out at the last second. How am I supposed to explain this to her?

Hey, Mom, so, uh, I met this really awesome rich guy who fell in love with me in, like, seven seconds, and, so, here’s the thing: now he’s paying for everything! Woooo!

Cue Mom seeing right through the whole shebang in a second. Who knows what threat and/or excuse Gavril told his cronies to offer her? I should probably at least compare stories with him before blundering into a half-baked lie.

I hate disappointing Mom, always have. Even if I wouldn’t see her pained expression myself, that dig in her forehead that she furrowed so much it became ingrained, I would be able to hear it in her voice. The sad, damning disappointment. If there was one thing Mom hammered into me growing up, so deep it practically cut, it was the importance of freedom.

“Whatever you do, Joy, whatever the price they’re paying—never hand over your freedom. It’s not worth it. You’ll regret it for as long as you live.”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly to nobody, putting the phone away. “But it is worth it. Some things are. You are.”

My mom alive and well—yeah, that’s worth it. No question. So, for right now, until I’ve figured out what to tell her, it’s better that I don’t get in touch and risk saying something I can’t take back.

Who knows? After the election, maybe I can find some way to get out of this crazy arrangement with Gavril and get replaced by a newer, better model wife.

A shiver goes through me as I clamber back into bed and curl up into myself. Something tells me it won’t be as easy as all that. That this arrangement is creeping past logical and practical. That Gavril won’t give up something that he sees as his without a fight.

A knock on the door sounds.

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