He’s practically straddling me. His pelvis in line with my ass. It’s a position I’ve never been in with another guy—especially not one who stares at me with harsh, tireless gray eyes. He gives me an expression like
you’re here to train, myshka, not collapse in self-pity.
Or have sex with him.
And he’s right, of course.
Get up, Thora.
I prop my elbows on the mattress this time, but I hesitate, a mental, emotional, physical block. I think my pity party needs one more hour.
Nikolai isn’t having it. “Time’s up.” He pulls my baggy tee off, leaving me in my lacy red bra, part of my Phantom costume. He won’t let me slack off, not for my emotions, not for him. Not for anything.
I think I love him more for it.
Love.
It’s a strong word, but I’m not sure what else to call this. It’s greater than just
like.
It’s more powerful than friendship. If I’m not falling in love with him, then I’m missing the definition of the level right below it. Sort-of-love. Almost-love.
Maybe-one-day-love.
“You’re a slug,” he says, unclipping my bra. “A melancholic, defeated slug.”
He’s trying to put a fire under my ass by insulting me, since I’m rarely sluggish or defeated. My lips rise in the pillow. I definitely love him.
And then he yanks down my pants and lacy underwear, exposing my bare bottom. I feel him tense, and I look over my shoulder again. His severely stern gaze is locked on a new reddish bruise along my ass, which has begun to purple.
From when the drunken guy slapped and grabbed me at Phantom last night.
Out of instinct, I try to roll onto my back, to hide the shape of the mark, but his firm hand bears on my shoulders, keeping me in place.
His chest rises and falls in a heavier rhythm. “Someone slapped you,” he deduces, his voice hollow, like the depths of a cave. My stomach overturns. I can’t see as well as him, but there must be five dots like fingerprints.
“Hazards of the job,” I say under my breath.
His unflinching, hot eyes burn holes right into me. And then he climbs off the bed, his muscles more flexed. I uneasily lift my pants back to my waist and clip my bra. “Nikolai…?”
He stops short by the bathroom door, his back facing me. “Just…give me a second.” He’s collecting his anger, his volatile emotions that burst and harden his broad shoulders. Since Coco Roma, the costume shopping, we rarely talk about Phantom, almost not at all.
I slide to the edge of the bed, waiting for him to turn around. “It rarely happens.”
“Rarely?” He finally faces me, so much anguish contorting his features. “You think that’ll make me feel better?” His cold voice stings more. “I don’t want it to happen
at all
, Thora.”
“I get bruises from training,” I defend. “Can you pretend that I just fell?”
He looks at me like I stuck my fist in his chest. “No. I can’t pretend, because you didn’t just fall. A man
assaulted
you. I’m
never
going to be okay with that.”
The weight of Roger’s proposition still hangs over my head. I need this job, and it’s become a whole hell of a lot risker than what it was. “I know you’re angry at me, but—”
“I’m not angry at you. I’m
furious
at every piece of shit that walks into Phantom and believes they have the right to touch you.”
I hang my head, the guilt pummeling me down. This probably wasn’t the reaction he hoped for.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asks lowly, reading me too well.
I twist my small simple pinky ring, avoiding his gaze. “They cancelled my act last night, at Phantom.” I swallow hard. “It was right before my parents showed up.”
“And?” His voice sounds tight, knowing this doesn’t end on a happy note. I wouldn’t be this sullen if it did.
“They said the only way that I can still work there is if I perform my act in private shows.” I pause, but he stays quiet. So I continue on, “I don’t have many details to go on, but they said that I’d make a lot of money. And that I have to give them a decision today.”
He rubs his face with his hands, as though he’s trying to wake up. Then he meets my eyes. “You already said yes.” It’s not a question. And the pain in his voice hurts me more.
“I was going to…”
He shakes his head repeatedly. “Thora, you have
no
idea what you’re getting into.”
“It’s probably not as bad as you think.”
He stares at me like I’m out of my mind. “You’re
completely
naïve if you believe there won’t be a sexual favor involved. They’ll make you strip, suck him off, give him—”
“Stop,” I cringe.
“No, you
have
to hear this.” He steps nearer, until he towers above me. “I won’t let you take a job that you believe is something it’s not.”
I’m conflicted, all over again. But I remember my plan. “I’m going to try to find another job today. I’ll call John. He got me the one at Phantom. And I’ll ask around and look online, but if I can’t find anything…” Tears well at the devastation in his eyes. “I need this job, Nik.”
“Live with me,” he says.
For so many reasons, this isn’t possible. “You know I can’t.” The words hurt as much to hear as they are to say. And as horrible as it seems, I think it’d be different if he was just a friend. If I was crashing at his place for a couple nights like at the beginning. But to rely on him this way now—it feels like defeat, like I failed at my purpose for being here.
He kneels. At my feet. I don’t have to strain my neck anymore. And he places his hands on my thighs. “I know you want to be independent, but it shouldn’t cost what you say you’re willing to pay.”
“I wouldn’t…” My voice cracks and I shake my head. “I wouldn’t blow another guy. I wouldn’t do anything like that, Nik.”
“And what if they put you in that position?”
“I’ll leave,” I say, adamant about this.
“And what if they don’t let you leave?” His jaw muscles tense.
“They will.” I have to believe they will. Before he rebuts, I add, “I can’t leech off you. Timo spends all of his money, and you support him and Katya and Luka. You can’t afford to provide for me too.”
He doesn’t refute me—because it’s true. He suddenly rises to his feet. “We’re not training today.”
My stomach drops. “Wait—”
“I have to make some calls,” he clarifies. “If you only have today to find another job, then I want to use every hour.”
My lips part in shock. “You’re going to help me?” I’m not sure what I expected his reaction to be, maybe to throw an ultimatum at me.
Him or this job.
Like my dad did. But this outcome overwhelms me, in a bigger way.
He tilts his head, his eyes softening. And he speaks in hushed Russian. Not long after, he says in English, “I’d help you every day so that you could see a better tomorrow. I will never give you less than that.”
My heart expands with each syllable.
And I wonder if his briefly spoken Russian was what those gray eyes convey now. The sentiments too strong to ignore.
I love you.
I see those words all over him.
I feel them.
But neither of us can say them aloud. Maybe we both refuse to wedge
I love you
between my purpose for being here, in Vegas.
Love—it has to come second.
Act Thirty-Six
After non-stop job hunting, Nikolai and I came up short.
I agreed to the private shows about three days ago. Roger booked me one for tonight. And in those three extra days, available jobs seemed nonexistent. At least ones in my skillset. John said that most clubs are cutting back on aerialists, and I didn’t have enough experience to be a bartender or a dealer.
The waitressing gigs also were out of my element. I tried a couple places and they said my height would be a problem or I wasn’t the “right fit”—which John said was the subtle way of telling me that I wasn’t “hot enough” for the men there.
But I strangely get it. A lot of the waitresses here are aspiring models. I’m just not the illusion this city wants to create. Nikolai wouldn’t tell me who he talked to or who he called, but he still has no potential leads.
So here I am.
At Phantom, dressed in black lingerie beneath my sweats.
I wait for Roger by the employee lockers, rocking on the balls of my feet, my nerves escalating. I exhale a measured breath. “You can do this,” I mutter. I probably look like the crazy girl, talking to herself.
My cliché pep talk is all I have right now. I can’t welch.
When I see the mop of red hair, my spirits simultaneously lift and fall. My feet glue to the ground.
You can do this. Move forward.
My soles are still cemented.
Roger approaches me, making it easy. He scrolls through his phone and says, “Looks like you’re off for the night. The client cancelled.”
“Cancelled?” My shoulders drop in relief.
You can’t be relieved, Thora. You needed this money.
My eyes begin to burn.
“Did I stutter?” he shoots back. “This happens sometimes.” My resting bitch face must be going strong because he holds up a hand. “Look, I can try to get you another gig in a couple days.”
A couple days…
This isn’t a salary-paying job. I don’t see a check unless I work.
His phone rings. “I have to take this. You’re done for the night.” He slides past me.
I check my phone. It’s still early, and Nikolai has a show. But now I have more time to research. For a better job than this one.
* * *
I sit at a penny slot, betting about twenty cents every two minutes. I’ve taken gambling to a whole new slow level. My excuse is my cellphone in hand. I scroll through job openings in Vegas, not picky on the exact location since I’ve become used to public transportation.
Unfortunately, most are dealers and bartenders.
I click into the Masquerade’s website and search for full-time jobs within the hotel.
Assistant chef, baker for the pastry shop, master sushi cook, sous chef.
In another life, I’m without a doubt becoming a chef.
I rub my temples the more I read. An elderly woman with a fanny pack scowls at me as she passes. I guess I’m not concentrating enough on the machine. Fine.
I hit the “bet” button. Lines start popping up on the screen, forming many zig-zags. Wait…
My heart lifts. I won something. Right? Fate is finally on my—
Fifty cents.
Fifty cents? I have to stare at the number for thirty full seconds to digest this. But there were so many damn lines. And that’s all I won. This is rigged. I don’t even know what the lines are pointing to or what they mean. I scan the machine for instructions.
Nothing.
Stupid machine. I focus back on my phone and notice another job position.
Assistant housekeeper.
It’s full-time. My shoulders rise with hope, only to be squashed with the words “one-year experience in housekeeping for large casino or hotel required.”
Apparently people don’t start their on-the-job training in places like The Masquerade.
When I accepted the private aerialist gig at Phantom, Roger told me that many girls want this job and even fewer are ever hired. So I should realize how lucky I am—that he’d even offer it to me. That he wouldn’t have if I didn’t work there before.
It puts things into perspective. Like how hard it may be to find something else.
My phone vibrates.
Call me when you can. I care about you, and I just thought they’d be able to help you. I’m really sorry.
– Shay
I click out of the text, a pit in my stomach. He’s been trying to call since my parents flew back to Ohio. I think he expected me to be on the plane with them. I haven’t had the courage to respond to his voicemails or messages. Not yet at least.
I know what Shay did wasn’t out of malice, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s still a knife wedged between my shoulder blades.
My cell rumbles again.
Amour ended. Where are you?
– Nikolai
At a penny machine near the black and gold bar.
We agreed to meet up after work, to discuss my first night at my “new” job. I try to rehearse what I’ll say, but I’m blank for a good while. Just kind of wishing I won a jackpot right now.
You and everyone else, Thora James.
“Hey.”
I spin on the leather stool. Nikolai stands a few feet away, in a pair of drawstring pants. His makeup is all washed off except for a thin purple streak by his hairline, like he rushed to be here.
“I won fifty cents.” I motion to the machine.
“Thora.” My name sounds raw off his tongue, and he studies my body language for signs that I’ve come out without a scar.
“It was cancelled,” I say quickly, so he can stop worrying. “I have a couple more days until I work. So…it’s pretty good, I think. Extra time.”
He hardly relaxes, but he does nod in agreement. That’s a good sign. Right?
Most definitely.
I exhale a tight breath.
I wait for him to speak, but he stares off, as though he’s thinking about the inevitable. Me working a private show.
“Do you…maybe want to see my apartment?” I suddenly ask.
I catch him off guard. His head whips to me, surprise coating his face. In the months that we’ve been together, he’s yet to even see my apartment complex.
“I mean, you don’t
have
to. It’s not much, or anything.” Nerves swarm, especially as his gaze bores through me, heating my core. “It’s, um, small. But I have a bed.”
Of course you have a bed. Why wouldn’t I have a bed?
I made this weird.
His lips curve upwards. “I’m glad you have a bed, myshka.” His voice is sex. I swear it.
“Thank you…” Lame. So lame.
He laughs into a bigger smile. “You lead the way.”
Something tells me that we’re going to switch to his speed tonight.
Act Thirty-Seven
During the taxi ride to my apartment, Nikolai keeps his focus on the street, trying to determine where we’re headed. He has no clue what part of town I live in, not until the taxi rolls to a stop at the building. And he seems to exhale for the first time.