Brave Or Stupid
On my first day back to work after D-Day, I crafted a plan in my head and just had to summon the courage to go through with it. When I met Boris at our pickup spot, I got into the Caddy like it was any other day.
“Good to see you. We missed you. How was your Christmas?”
“Cut the bullshit,” I said.
He cocked his head, stunned by my disrespectful tone.
“I know you’ll hurt the people I love if I don’t do what you say. You win.”
“Are you wearing a wire?”
“No. This is between you and me.”
It was clear in his face, in his posture that he was unsure of the purpose of my declaration. I handed him a plain white envelope. He slid on his reading glasses and lifted out the paper inside—the rental agreement for our apartment. I had worked so hard, scrimped, saved, and sacrificed to finally bust down the door to adulthood, and there was no way I would let the Russians hijack my freedom.
He stuck the letter back in the envelope. “Congratulations.”
“Spasibo. I have a problem, though. You get what you want from me, but what do I get in return?”
He seemed intrigued by my strength. After being away for two days—Dad wouldn’t let me leave the house any sooner—I had color back in my face, the bags under my eyes were fading, and I had wolfed down protein bars to gain some weight back. Over the last few weeks the Russians had cranked me through the sausage grinder, but they failed to break me.
“Continue.” The car was still in park.
“If I do what you say, everything is good. My friends and family stay safe, right?”
He glared at me and waited for me to continue.
“But statistically speaking, I screw up a lot. Then what? The next time I make a mistake, you’ll kill my family? Game over? That doesn’t work for me. I have no chance to win. I can only lose.”
Boris tapped his fingers on his leg. “I’m a reasonable man, Carter. What do you want? Money? Car?”
“An exit strategy. Is it true Vladimir is going back to Russia soon?”
“You heard this from your papa?”
I nodded.
“Da.”
“Perfect. Here’s the deal. I’ll play along with this sick game. I’ll be nice, wear beautiful clothes, and be a delightful young plaything. We’ll reset the game clock and go back to the way it was before Christmas.”
He rubbed his chin. “That’s right.” He put his hand on the shifter to put the car in reverse.
I wrapped my hand around his and stopped him from pulling his hand back. “In return, I want to walk free from this deal when the boss goes home. I’ve finally done something right,” I pointed to the rental agreement, “and I am not going to mess it up this time. The boss can have me while he’s here, my family and friends remain safe, and for my participation we part ways for good when his business here is over.”
When I dreamed up this plan, this was the moment I envisioned Boris would lean over and choke me to death, but actually, he seemed impressed he hadn’t extinguished my fire.
“I like it. That’s a nice deal. Good girl.”
I stared at his hand, waiting for him to pull back the shifter.
The weasel alarm sounded.
He tapped his rings on the steering wheel. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He turned off the car and set the keys on the dash. “We’re not going to get any more unexpected visits from your boyfriend?”
“I broke up with him. Will you please undo whatever you did to his truck?”
“You are willingly going to spend time with the boss?”
I hesitated for a split second.
“What are you up to, weasel?”
“Nothing.”
“Dear, I’ll cut you a break because you are so young, but you do know what part of the body controls man’s mind?”
I nodded.
“And you know men don’t like to be teased by curious little blondes?”
I nodded again.
“And if you try to pull your bullshit—”
“I got it. Please don’t hurt my family. I know what you expect me to do but—”
“But?”
“I have one condition.”
No more Mr. Nice Negotiator Guy. “Say that again?”
“I will be a fantastic girlfriend, curl up on the couch, drink, hug, and even make out with him if I have to, but I will not let him rob my virginity. And if you try to pull anything on me like you did on Christmas Eve, you will have your way with my cold, dead body.”
He blinked his eyes like he was about to short circuit. “You’re giving me orders?”
“No. No way. Remember, you’ve already won. I’m here against my will. I know what you’re capable of. I surrender.” I raised my hands to drive the point home.
He leaned back in his seat, possibly turned on by my flattery.
“What I’m proposing is a different matter altogether. Ask yourself, which Carter do you want? The fun to be around Carter before Christmas? The happy, competitive, slightly problematic college girl? Or do you want the bruised and battered Corpse Bride you turned me into over the weekend?”
I took my jacket off to remind him of the damage inflicted on me during our Holiday Adventure. “It can’t continue like this. My dad cornered me about my condition. He bought two at-home drug tests from the pharmacy. He made me pee into a cup to check for illegal substances. When that theory didn’t pan out, he became convinced I have an eating disorder. He threatened to check me into a mental hospital.”
Boris’s gaze drifted to my battered arms.
“You think this is bad?” I lifted up the bottom of my shirt to show him the damage he left on my gut. “That’s nothing. You should see your boot print on my back.” I took a deep breath. “Someone will eventually figure out something is wrong. What if Dad finds out? Then what?”
I was right, and he knew it. He stroked his beard.
“Vladimir would never force me to be with him. Don’t you think he’ll be happy with the pleasure of my company without going all the way?”
“Nyet.”
“I think he’d be crushed to see me walking around his house like an alley cat maxed out on her ninth life. Everything will be fine as long as—”
“As long as what?”
Tell him, Sophia said.
“As long as he doesn’t drink too much.”
“You’re a brave girl, Carter.” He let out an exacerbated sigh. “Brave or stupid. I’ll see what I can do to remedy the situation.” He lifted the keys off the dash and started the car.
I know it was sick, but I was giddy Boris hadn’t hog-tied me and dumped me facedown in the trunk of the Caddy. If all I had to do was hang out with Vladimir, talk, eat, drink, and have fun, knowing it would end when he went home—I could live with that.
Just like old times, Boris turned on the Russian music, and I ate my almonds, trying to suppress a winner’s grin.