Christmas Captive

I paled. Fuck. He had recognized me.

“Oh?” I asked lamely.

“Don’t play dumb,” he said with a leering smile, taking a long look at me and prompting me to hold my coat around my body tighter. “I’d recognize those twists and turns anywhere, Kitty.”

“Please… I…” I stuttered, and he laughed at me.

“Everyone in there was impressed with you,” he went on. “However, as I’m sure you understand, we cannot allow a… stripper… to dance the lead role in our production.”

“I…” I swallowed. “Of course, I understand.”

“Unless of course…” He put out the bait, and then shook his hand dismissively. “No, I don’t think you’d like my suggestion.”

“Suggestion?” I repeated, giving him a questioning look. “What suggestion?”

“Well,” he went on with a smirk. “I did always like your moves, Kitty.”

I knew where this was going. As much as I wanted to stop the bastard in his tracks, I wanted him to finish, hoping for the slight chance that he wouldn’t be the prick I’d expected him to be.

“What do you mean?” I questioned him, raising my brows.

“What I mean,” he went on, taking a step forward and taking my hand in his. “I can keep your little secret if you show me some more of that dancing you love to do so much, when you take your clothes off. In private.”

My blood boiled at the thought. This was blackmail, pure and simple. The others would have given me the starring role, but this bastard was intent on making me grovel for it.

“I don’t think so,” I hissed, snatching my hand away from him. “And I don’t appreciate your lewd proposition.”

“Lewd?” He laughed, his demeanor changing in a split second. “You’re one to talk, Amicia. But alright. Consider it a missed opportunity.” He smirked. “I was going to put out a good word for you with the other productions. But now… Don’t be surprised if you don’t get a role for a long fucking time. Kitty.”

The man was vile, and I wasn’t going to stick around to listen to more of his insults. I ran down the alleyway. Thankfully, he didn’t follow me.

I was going to be late for my shift, but I found it hard to care. Tears burned my eyes as I walked the six blocks from the audition to Le Cabaret. I felt ashamed. Taken advantage of. And I knew the man had been right. There would be no more roles for me, not with his word against mine.

I remembered the card Capri had given me, the weight of it heavy in my pocket.

With trembling fingers, I took the card out, reading the name and number again. Was I brave enough to call? Brave enough to risk it?

I didn’t have a choice.

I had to do it.

Pulling my cheap cell phone from my coat’s pocket, I typed in the number from the business card. After taking a long breath, I hit the call button. Here we go.

It rang for ages before a rattly sounding voice finally picked up. “Dmitri Sokolov, how can I help you?”

“H-H-Hello,” I stuttered, hating myself for coming off weak. “I… I’m not sure I’m calling the right place…”

A low chuckle put me right in my place. He knew what I was calling about, of course he did. “Hello, little doll. Are you calling me about the auction?”

“Y-Yes,” I managed, raising my chin up high with determination. “I’m calling about Couture House. I’d like to participate in the auction.”

“Who sent you?”

“What?”

“Your reference,” he repeated. His voice was accented, but his English was perfect. “Who told you about Couture House?”

“Uh, Capri. Capri Sorrento.”

“Ah, Capri,” he laughed easily. “Such a wonderful, sweet little girl. And your name?”

“Amicia. Amicia Romano.”

“Another Italian?”

“Yes, well…” I swallowed. “My parents were. I never knew them.”

“Tragic,” he said, the word devoid of emotion. “You need money?”

“I do,” I went on.

“You know Capri from Le Cabaret?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. And which one are you?” His voice was amused.

“I… My performing pseudonym is… Kitty.”

“Kitty?” he repeated, sounding more and more amused. “The infamous Kitty?”

“I… suppose so, yes.”

“Perfect.” His voice was a low purr now. “You’ll do just fine with us, Amicia. Or shall I call you Kitty? Which do you prefer?”

“Amicia is fine,” I muttered. “So… what do you need from me?”

“To show up in Notting Hill, at an address that will be sent to this number, December first at six p.m. We will prepare you for the auction.”

“But you don’t even know what I look like,” I reminded him, and he chuckled.

“Of course I do. I know everything, Amicia, as you’ll soon find out. Will I see you on December first?”

“Don’t you need to know what I’ll be auctioning?” I questioned.

“There’s only one thing we’re interested in,” he said smoothly. “And I think you know what it is.” I swallowed, hating him. “I only need to know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Which hole are you selling, Kitty?”