I woke up sore. After months with Kovalev, I had forgotten how great sex could be. And that was great. Jason was both fierce and gentle, pushing where I wanted him to push and giving me space where I needed it. I felt liberated, free in ways that I couldn’t have imagined. The room was dark, quiet. I stretched myself out, tensing and relaxing every little muscle I could. With each movement, I felt tension leave my body, never to return.

Even if the bed was uncomfortable, and it was, I wanted to stay here forever. Even if the springs were threatening to pop through the fabric top, even if the thin, hard sheets were scratching at my skin (I hadn’t bothered to put anything on last night), even if the sag in the middle of the mattress threatened to put a permanent cramp in my back, I had been happier in that bed than I had been in a very long time.

But I had to get up. My bladder was insisting, and it was not amenable to counter-argument. I rolled over to the edge of the bed and swung my legs over, planting my feet on the thin, threadbare carpet. After I finished in the bathroom, it occurred to me that I was still completely naked and the only thing I had to wear was the evening gown that lay crumpled on the floor. I slipped on my bra and panties and sat back down on the bed, unsure of what to do. Something about walking out of a cheap motel room in the bright light of morning wearing a wrinkled dress just felt bad. Even after everything I’ve been through over the past few months, I was somehow still worried about the embarrassment of a ‘walk of shame’. The power of ingrained social mores, or something.

I noticed that Jason had a duffel bag he had set down by the side of the chest of drawers. Maybe he had a t-shirt and a pair of jeans or something that I could wear until I could get my own clothes back, or buy new ones. The zipper was U-shaped and well made. It gave a satisfying unzipping sound as I pulled it along its path. My body gave an involuntary shiver, even though it wasn’t very cold in the room.

When I flipped open the flap, I did not find any clothes. Instead there was cash. Stacks and stacks of bills wrapped in little paper bindings that read ‘$10,000’. What the hell?

Why did Jason have a bag full of cash? Something told me I wasn’t going to like the answer.

It occurred to me that I had not considered every angle the night before. How could I have? The whole night was a whirlwind. But now, with the early morning light fitfully streaming through the worn and stained curtains, a number of inconsistencies tickled my mind.

Jason never explained how he had the money to bid at the auction. The duffel bag, obviously, answered that, but introduced further questions. I knew that Jason worked for Kovalev and that the only way he would get his hands on that much cash would be through some kind of nefarious act. That, by itself, didn’t bother me so much. I mean, I couldn’t exactly afford that kind of scruples. But even so, why had he taken us to a seedy motel to spend the night together? That night, I was so disoriented, a combination of fear, anxiety, confusion, and excitement, that I barely registered where we were going. And when we got to the room, well, I was a bit distracted.

I sat down on the bed, unsure of what to do next. I had no phone, no wallet, and no clothes. No matter what, I was going to have to wait for Jason to come back before I did anything.

A shadow passed in front of the window, briefly blocking the little shafts of light that poked through the openings in the curtain. I stood up, ready to confront him when he opened the door, to demand answers. But the door didn’t open. At first, I thought it was just another guest who had walked past the room, but a few moments later, I heard a thud and a muffled grunt of pain. Someone was fighting outside.

I was frozen. Fear poured into my stomach like a river of ice, buckling my knees. Whatever Jason had done, it had followed him and now I was going to be dragged into it as well.

The sounds of scuffling stopped, and I could hear voices, muffled, talking just outside the door. Steeling myself, I took a few steps toward the window. I moved the curtain to the side and carefully peeked into the parking lot.

Jason was there. He had another man down on his knees with his arm twisted in a horrible direction behind his back. Jason looked angry. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it clearly was not a friendly chat. I felt a brief sense of relief that it was Jason who had the upper hand in the encounter, but that was quickly quelled by my anxious worry as to why this man was here in the first place.

I watched as Jason let the man up and then allowed him to walk away. He stood there, following the man with his gaze as he got into his car and drove out of the parking lot. Even when the other man had been gone for a bit, Jason continued to stand there and stare. I decided that I had had enough of waiting and pulled open the door. At that moment, he turned toward me.

When I saw the shocked look on his face, I became very aware that I was standing out in the open in a motel parking lot wearing only my finest, laciest bra and panties. I held my face in a carefully composed mask, not letting any hint of embarrassment or discomfort disrupt the angry and confrontational look I had intended. It seemed to have an effect, because Jason’s face was a mess of worry, confusion, and bemusement. We stood here silently for a beat, and then Jason strode forward, putting his hand on my hip to shepherd me back into the room.

“What did you see?” he asked as soon as he had closed the door. His voice was tight and his face unreadable.

I was taken aback. He roughs up a guy who was stalking outside the crappy motel room he took me after buying me at auction with what was undoubtedly stolen money, and he had the temerity to question me?

“Wait just a minute. Who was that guy? And what are you doing with a bag full of money? What is going on?” I spilled my questions out in a flood.

Jason put his hands on his hips and looked down at his feet. I sat down on the bed, ready to receive detailed answers to my questions.

“We need to go. Come on, I have some spare clothes in the car.”

He reached down and re-zipped the duffel bag. He looked over at me with a combination of reproach and anxiety. Standing back up with the bag in hand, he walked to the door and disappeared into the bright rectangle of morning sunlight.