This wasn’t what I wanted. I stepped beneath the spray, waiting for the hit, the punishment. It was destined to come. My mother, when she talked back to my father, always ended up bruised. One time, I had lain in bed, terrified as I heard them. The yells, followed by the screams, the cries, the begs. The following day, I hadn’t been allowed to see my mother.

For three weeks she stayed in her room, and when she came out, she sported a broken arm, split lip, and bruised face. That was what we could see.

My mother had taken me and Isabella aside not long after and said we must do whatever we could to not fall into the trap of inciting our husband’s wrath.

This was a code I tried to live by.

No blow came.

I wasn’t even worth it.

Instead, Slavik left the shower, leaving me to feel far emptier than I ever thought was possible.

****

Slavik

The following day, Aurora’s words were still running rife through my mind even as I dealt with the necessary business of incorrect funds at one of our many brothels. We worked it all, guns, drugs, money, pussy, whatever depraved thing men and women wanted and could pay for, we supplied.

We had politicians, government officials, and police officers on our payroll, and all were told to turn a blind eye. Where there was power, we had a hand in it. It was how we always stayed one step ahead.

When a brothel began to lose money, especially a really good one, it meant trouble. Not for Cara, the cute redhead who ran the place. The moment she saw a problem, she called. I didn’t like dealing with the small businesses, but Cara was … a friend of sorts.

She sipped at her coffee, dressed in a cute pinstriped business suit. No one would have ever guessed that she loved her job running and participating in a brothel. She was a powerful woman and knew how to manipulate men.

I happened to adore her, as did Ivan, which was why I dealt with her face to face. Cara had been on the streets, fighting for her life. She’d helped to save our lives a time or two, and that meant we took care of her.

She was loyal and we cared for her. Protected her.

“As you can see, the money doesn’t add up. We’re gaining more clients every fucking day, and that shit doesn’t sit well with me.” She also didn’t dress anything up either. She was fact all the way.

“Are you sure you just can’t count?” I asked.

“Cheeky bastard. You think I didn’t go over the figures a hundred times before calling you?” she asked. “I get how busy you all are, and I run a tight ship.”

I took the file she offered me and started to look through the facts and figures. Just from the quick glance, it appeared they were losing close to ten grand a night—not good. The brothel Cara ran was more … exclusive. Rich men who wanted to live out every dirty little fantasy could have their fun. The women were always beautiful, always ready to fuck. Cara said she didn’t deal with crack whores, or women who were desperate. She worked with women who wanted to get paid to fuck. Who actually enjoyed their work. When she ran the idea by Ivan many years ago, I thought she was going to fail. There was no way women would be lining up to want to fuck for money. I’d been wrong. Her club, aptly called Cara’s, had proven to be a success. Even if it hadn’t been, I was sure Ivan would have seen to it that Cara was taken care of.