Chapter 14

14

Dmitri

I stand up so fast, I nearly overturn my stool. “She’s doing what ?”

“Calm down, Dmitri,” Betty says. “I don’t want you to break a glass like you did last night.”

“That was—that was unrelated.”

She smirks. “Keep telling yourself that, lover boy.”

I stare again at the sheet of auction sign-ups that Betty slid across the bar top. There’s Leah’s name. Or rather, Miss L .

Her sponsor? Gage Fucking Jannik.

Never mind. I don’t need to know this. It’s none of my business.

And because it’s none of my business, I can ignore it.

Unless…

I check the work schedule on my phone. The next auction is three weeks away. I’m probably not even supposed to work that night.

Fuck. In plain black text on a white background, there’s my name on the auction date. I’m scheduled to man the door for an hour while people are arriving.

Unbelievable. Either I’m cursed or someone has it out for me. Possibly both.

“I can’t work that night?—”

“Gage made the schedule.” Betty points to my phone, then the hall leading to the offices. “You can take it up with him.”

Oh, I fucking will.

His office door is closed, but light shines from beyond the frosted glass window. I knock.

“Come in.”

I open the door and step into the room. It’s a pretty basic set-up. A desk with Gage’s chair, and a chair for a guest. A bookcase off to the side. Mostly empty other than a few binders. Black-and-white photos hang on the walls. They have the same aesthetic as others I’ve seen around the club—dark, sexy.

Gage watches me, his eyes patient behind his glasses. In his fine suit, he looks even more like a supervillain than usual.

“Dmitri. How can I help you?”

“What do you want with Leah?”

“My answer is the same one you gave me when I asked about your relationship with her. Namely, that it’s none of your business.”

I picture it again, the two of them kissing while she sat on his lap. Out of every beautiful, deviant, depraved act happening in the crowded club last night, the sight of the two of them kissing was the only thing to make me feel.

It turned me on.

It enraged me.

“You’re jealous, Dmitri,” Gage says. “Either get comfortable living with that discomfort, or do something about it.”

“She’s better?—”

“Than either of us. Yes, yes, I know.” His voice is soothing and mocking at the same time. “But perhaps we ought to let her make that discovery on her own, don’t you think?”

I pull in a heavy breath, trying to calm myself. “I don’t want to work that night.”

“The schedule is already made. See if you can find someone to switch with you.”

“You made that schedule. You can change it.”

He shrugs. “But I won’t.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Is that all?” He drums his fingertips on his desk.

“Don’t hurt her.” I don’t threaten him. I don’t need to. My voice is strong, and low

“There’s the Dom.” His gaze is steady on mine. “I was beginning to wonder if you were a switch.”

Fuck him. Nothing wrong with being a switch, but I don’t like what he’s implying—that he controls me. That he dominates me.

He’s my boss. Nothing more. I don’t even answer to him most of the time.

A realization rocks me back on my heels. He’s been pulling my strings, manipulating me because of Leah. I’ve been letting it happen.

I’m not a switch, and I’ll no longer be a pawn.

Saying nothing, I leave his office. If I can’t convince him to change the schedule, maybe I can talk Leah out of coming to the auction.

Leah

Danica, Dmitri, and I watched Academy of Ghosts last night. Totally normal. Dmitri and I even attempted a few jokes at each other’s expense, just like old times.

Just like oh for sure we didn’t fuck on this couch and ruin our friendship, nope.

“Something’s weird,” Danica said at one point.

Dmitri and I made like shifty criminals. Deny, deny, deny.

Other than that, Dmitri and I have seen very little of each other, considering I’ve been staying on his couch. He comes home late. He must be some kind of secret CIA operative, because most of the time, he doesn’t even wake me up. The other times, I’ve pretended to be asleep.

Yesterday, I thought he was gone when I woke up. I made my way to the bathroom for my shower, only for the door to open abruptly.

Dmitri stepped out.

Athletic shorts. No shirt.

Water droplets on his chest and shoulders, trailing down the rippling muscles of his abs.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping aside. “Bathroom’s yours.”

I’d spun around on my heel and rushed back to the living room.

He didn’t say anything.

Now it’s Wednesday. I have a full day of tutoring because this is the day I work with a homeschool group. Once the regular school day ends, I make trips between students’ houses and the library, meeting wherever they want to meet.

As I move between jobs, I make a decision. One more night at Dmitri’s. I’m going to find a cheap hotel and stay there until the roommate thing is figured out. Yeah, it’ll cut into my earnings from the auction, but I’m going to do that again in a few weeks and that’ll be more money coming in.

It suddenly hits me—I’m a sex worker. One of the things my stepfather accused me of.

It’s like the asshole manifested it. Only to him, sex work is shameful, something to denigrate. Me, I don’t have a problem with it. Only respect for those who do it, and a wish that we lived in a safer world where they could be protected.

I arrive at the library for my final tutoring session. Eighteen-year-old Hector, one of my favorite students, is waiting in one of the library’s uncomfortable orange chairs at a long, wooden table. He surprises me with his graded essay.

“Full points, extra credit!” He holds up his phone so I can see 115% listed in the grading program. His brown eyes shine with excitement. “That’s all you!”

“No, it’s all you,” I tell him. “You did the work, I just offered some support.”

He’s pretty thrilled, and his energy is contagious. With his 4.0 GPA and his hard work on the football field, he’s going to be the first of his family to go to college.

Hector is my last student of the day. It’s growing dark outside, so he offers to walk me out to the parking lot. While I haven’t seen or heard from Mick in days, I appreciate Hector’s hulking presence. Thankfully, we parked near each other, so I don’t have to worry about his safety, either. He’s only a high-schooler, after all.

Before we reach our cars, a familiar man approaches us. His gray hair, super-tanned skin, and lean body peg him for a surfer. It takes me a moment to place him. It’s the SEPD officer who took my statement about Mick and the vandalism on my car.

He’s with another man. Auburn hair clipped military-short, broad shoulders, perma-frown.

In the fading light, I squint. “Officer…?”

“Coulenta,” he reminds me. Gesturing to his younger friend, he says, “This is Detective Wentz.”

I shake the detective’s offered hand. Hector stands nearby, his eyes wide with curiosity.

“Miss Shreve,” Detective Wentz says, “I wanted to tell you in person, given your relationship with Michael Rabanoir…”

Michael Rabanoir—Mick.

“Former relationship.” I fight the impulse to wipe my hand on my jeans. Wentz’s handshake was sweaty.

Now Hector is invested. He’s the kind of student who’s always trying to glean details about my personal life. I usually don’t give away much. He just hit the jackpot.

Wentz says, “Unfortunately for Mr. Rabanoir, the distinction is no longer important. I’m afraid he’s dead, Miss Shreve.”

“ D-dead ?”

“His body was found in the nature preserve.”

Wentz’s words don’t make sense. Mick isn’t dead. I just saw him.

“Do you own a gun, Miss Shreve?” Wentz asks.

“No—wait, Mick was shot ?”

He nods, raises his eyebrows, waits.

“No, I don’t own a gun. And no, I didn’t kill Mick. I was scared of him, but I was working with Officer Coulenta. I thought we had things under control.”

“Did you see Michael Rabanoir after last Friday night, when you reported the interaction to my colleague?”

“No.”

He stares extra hard, like he’s trying to catch me in a lie. For fuck’s sake, I’m not a murderer and I’m not going to lie to the police. Do I need a lawyer? I might have to get one. Holy crap, I can’t afford a lawyer.

I wait him out. Looking away might make it seem like I’m lying. Staring at him might make it seem like I’m trying too hard to look innocent. Well, I am innocent. I compromise by looking at the streetlight past his left ear.

Wentz finally nods. “Very well, Miss Shreve. If anything comes to mind, here’s my card. Please call.”

I take the paper he hands me and tuck it into my pocket, dazed.

As soon as the officers step away, Hector’s at my side. “Are you okay, Leah?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I give him what I hope looks like a real smile. “It’s surprising news, that’s all. So, I’ll see you next week?”

He tilts his head, still looking worried.

“I’m all right,” I say. “Truly. You don’t need to worry about me, just worry about how you’re going to celebrate your fantastic English grade, okay?”

With a grin, he says, “Okay. I’ll see you next week.”

He waits until I get into my car before he gets into his. Thoughtful kid.

Every now and then I’m surprised by the tenderness I feel for my students. I want all of them to succeed, of course. But some of them seem to want that success more, or maybe they have a fun way of looking at the world. Charisma? Drive? I don’t know what it is. I’ve been doing this for two years, so I don’t have any former students who are college graduates yet, but a couple have reached out to let me know how they’re doing. I hope Hector is one of those.

Mick, though. I navigate through rush hour traffic toward Old Thirty-Three and Dmitri’s house, my mind whirling. I can’t believe it. Not only dead, but shot.

Murdered.

What happened? Was he mugged?

Detective Wentz wanted to know if I own a gun.

Mick was an asshole at the end of our relationship. Or for most of it. But he didn’t deserve to be shot and have his body left in a nature preserve. Nobody deserves that. Nobody.