Would you take the deal of a lifetime? Even if it meant you have to be a rich man's fake fiancée for a year? Well, Ivy took that deal. She's gone years without the need of a male partner in her life, but when it comes to it, money can solve all her...
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"Gentlemen," I reply, a smile gracing my face as I try to keep my cool, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
The shadows step into the alley's streetlamp, the glow illuminating their hard features. Just three common thugs for hire stare at me, no biggie. It's not like how they're eyeing the outline of my figure in jeans and an oversized jacket bothers me, nope not at all.
I try to rationalize my fear. Seeing as these men called me by my real last name, they have to be related to my past in some way. Whether that be debt or, the other.
One of the men plucks the cigarette from my lips, and tsks at me, "You do know this shit kills ya' right?"
He then proceeds to grab a lighter from his pocket and smoke my cigarette, the same cancer stick that had been glued to my mouth seconds before. I try not to let the crossover of germs bother me.
"Bad habits die hard," I shrug, clinging to the calm facade.
The man in the middle tilts his head at me, "This isn't a friendly meet, girl."
He speaks the last word in my mother tongue. Alarm bells ring out through my skull. These aren't some common thugs if they're speaking Russian out in the open, and to me of all people, then they must be thugs with some standing.
And just when my day was going somewhat well.
The one that stole my cigarette blows its smoke in my face with a sneer, "We'll keep it simple little Volkov."
"It's time you paid your debts in full," the middle one finishes for his partner.
"I don't have that kind of money," I interject, which was a bad call on my part, as the man who was content to keep to the shadows decides now is the time to step out and grab me by my throat.
His touch is rough as he backs me to the wall until I'm flush against his body, the only clue either of us is alive is the steady rise and fall of our chests. His much slower than mine as adrenalin kicks into my bloodstream.
Trapped. Must get out.
His hot breath fans my neck as he leans in closer to me. My whole body locks up at the contact, fear-stricken as his grip on my throat tightens little by little. His other hand roams down my side, feeling up every curve of my torso before he reaches into my pocket and takes out the check I had just received from the director.
He hands it off to his friend while maintaining eye contact with me, his eyes a steeled gray.
"What do we have here girl," he says, examining my last paycheck that was supposed to get me through the next five months if I used it sparingly.
I don't reply, my words would just get caught in my throat. Every breath I take is a struggle with this fucking asshole's hands gripping my windpipe so goddamn tight. Prick.
