And I went to my closet and carefully replaced a pair of black heels with the identical pair I’d just bought in my size.
There was a full week to go until the night of the 15th, when Konstantin would deliver the “tool” for the job, so in the meantime Carrie told me to go back to watching, listening, and gaining his trust. Every night, I’d dress in lingerie for him and meet him down in the dungeon. The sex was like nothing I’d ever experienced. He fucked me standing up, my wrists manacled to the wall above my head. He fucked me bent over a bench, his hands filled with my breasts. He fucked me on my knees on the bed with my hands tied behind me and my cheek pressed to the sheets, grunting and cursing and whispering that I was his slutskya. I was discovering a side of myself I hadn’t known existed and he was enjoying teaching me.
Afterwards, there was never any cuddling or intimacy. But each night, I could see him having to work a little harder to maintain the distance, to shut me out and turn away from me in the bed. Soon, it started to feel like every look, every touch outside of the dungeon was charged, that any of them could be the final straw. And every time it happened, my chest tightened because...I wanted it. I wanted things to be deeper, to be real.
Even though I knew that was wrong, that I shouldn’t want a man like him to feel something for me.
Even though I knew it would complicate things, that it was best for the mission if things stayed clinical and distant.
Even though I knew it was crazy to want it to be real when real was the one thing I couldn’t give him.
* * *
I was shopping for dresses when Calahan called on the earpiece. “Your mom left a message.” He hesitated and I could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “Her medical bills are higher than she figured, this month,” said Calahan. “She’s short.”
I cursed under my breath. I didn’t ever have to worry about money, with Konstantin. As well as the bottomless credit card, he’d press a wad of bills into my hand every time I went shopping. I didn’t even need the money and meanwhile, my mom was struggling to stay afloat and Hailey’s account was empty. I pulled today’s wad from my purse flicked through it. There must be a thousand dollars here.
“Just in case you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking,” said Calahan, “don’t. I’m serious.” He lowered his voice. “You think the FBI wouldn’t find out? Taking criminal assets and using them to pay your family’s bills? That could be jail time for you and your mom.”
I wanted to scream. I knew he was right but—
“I’ll see what I can scrape together,” said Calahan. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
God, he was so great. But I knew he didn’t have any more money than I did, and this was my responsibility, and instead of looking after my mom I was living this fantasy, luxury life buying dresses—
“Wait,” I said. “There’s no rule saying I can’t choose where to shop, right?”
* * *
The guard who was driving me looked around at the shabby storefronts. “You sure you want to go shopping here, Miss Rogan? I can have you back in Manhattan in no time.”
“This is a very very bad idea,” said Calahan in my ear.
“I’m sure,” I said firmly, and climbed out of the car, cinching my coat tight against the cold wind. And then I was pushing open the door to my mom’s store and—
Oh God, she looked so thin! It had only been a few weeks...no, God, longer than that, I hadn’t been able to see her since the surgery. She must think I’ve abandoned her! I took two running steps forward, ready to wrap her into my arms.
My mom looked up, startled. “Can I help you?”
I came to a faltering stop. I’d known she wouldn’t recognize me, but the reality was nothing like I’d imagined. The reality was horrible. When I’d seen her, I’d had that warm glow you always get when you see family...but now I could feel it sputtering and dying, going black and cold.
I wasn’t family. Not anymore.
“I’m looking for a dress,” I managed.
My mom blinked. I did look as if I’d walked into the wrong store. Christina’s clothes were about three times the price of anything in my mom’s store and were a lot more revealing. But my mom didn’t let it throw her. “Well, alright then. For an occasion? For every day?”
And then she broke off and coughed. A nasty, rib-shaking cough that she hadn’t had, the last time I’d spoken to her.
“Both,” I said, my voice strained. “Like, five or six dresses for parties. And at least that many for every day.”