BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (62 page)

He chuckled and even though it sounded benign, it made the fine hairs on my arm rise up and want to run away screaming. Ever the gentleman, he eased his tall body from his chair and stood until I found a seat. I crossed my ankles, clasped my hands, and kept my face blank, not letting him see my despair. Who was I kidding though? The man was a genius, especially when it came to human behavior. He could probably smell my fear like a mouse sniffs out cheese.

“You will always be Katerina to me,” he murmured.

That made me mad. “Right. You have other children? Legitimate ones?”

He smiled, not giving me shit.

“I haven’t seen you in years,” I reminded him.

And that had been a fluke.

Three years ago, Spider and I had stepped inside Neiman Marcus to buy one of his randoms a gift. He’d wandered off to finger the lingerie, and I’d gotten lost in the shoe section, drooling over a pair of cheetah heels I knew would kill my feet.

My father had walked right past me, saw me and immediately backtracked. That day, with a bemused expression, Alexander Barinsky, had taken me in, his eyes skating over my post-practice attire and probably ashen face. He’d assessed me, perhaps looking for chinks and weaknesses. Perhaps he was wondering how I’d fared all those years with Sarah. Had he kept up with me? I’d stared back at him, one part of me yearning for acknowledgement, the other part hating him for rejecting me. I’d straightened and waited, still as a statue.

As we’d examined each other, his shopping date, a tiny platinum-blonde, leaned over a nearby jewelry counter. Draped in yellow cashmere and pearls, she appeared twentyish and upper-class, but I took her for a whore playing pretend.
Wife or girlfriend?
I guessed the latter. I bet the wife was older and Russian. Whatever. The girl was the exact opposite of mama. And I’m sure she wasn’t his only one.

His companion tugged on his arm, probably to point at some pretty she wanted, but he didn’t look at her.

He’d run his eyes over me, lingering as if I fascinated him.

And in a creepy way, his attention scared me and thrilled me all at once.

Yeah. Mama had been thrilled by him and look what happened to her.

I don’t know all the intricacies of my parent’s relationship, but I did know he’d never bought her anything. As far as I know, he’d never paid her rent. Perhaps he gave up on her when she got lost in the drugs and alcohol or perhaps she’d never mattered to him one way or another except as a quick fuck. I don’t know the whole truth of them, just that she’d been one of his girls. But I did know he’d never dressed her up like this silly blonde thing. And, he’d never been seen with her anywhere in public.

Blonde bimbo talked and finally got him to break his stare.

He’d smirked at me and walked away.

Just like that. Over and out.

He spoke then, his voice silky, bringing me back. “Regardless of the length of time between us, you are divine. I’m delighted you came.”

“Did I have a choice?”

He waved his hands, his diamond rings catching the light. “Please. Let’s not be angry. You are here, I am here. Let’s get to know each other.”

My chest got tight. I’d wanted to hear those words years ago. “Why?”

He came around his desk to sit on the edge, letting his legs dangle loosely, casually.

I didn’t buy it for a minute.

His closeness ratcheted up my panic. The door was only five feet away. If I shoved him and then bolted would I make it? Maybe. Blondie would tackle me though. Or Red would shoot me in the back. They’d definitely beat me up.

He cupped my cheek, and I pulled away.

“You look like me, Katerina,” he murmured.

“I look like me,” I said, determined to not be lulled into dropping my guard with him.

He examined me, like a scientist would an insect, making me fidget and fix my skirt.

And as his cold eyes broke me down bit by bit, I remembered the nights Mama would wait for him to come, and he never showed.
Because he went to see his other girlfriends,
she told me
, the ones without kids.
Those words had wounded me, and for a long time, I’d blamed myself for her unhappiness. But now I knew the truth, of course. She’d lashed out at me because I was the only one there.

“It appears Sarah owes me money,” he stated.

Reminiscing was over.

“I find it hard to believe. Show me the proof.” Bluff, bluff, bluff.

He chuckled. “She came in a few months ago and asked for twenty thousand. She signed her name, saying she’d repay within a month. The proof is me. I do not lie about money. It would not be good for my reputation.” He held his finger up. “Since she is your guardian, I let the interest slide. It was…a gift. But she has taken advantage of my generosity. Three months overdue with her payment is not good.”

My mouth opened. “A gift? You let a sick woman borrow money.”

His brow creased. “Sick?”

“Early onset Alzheimer’s.”

“That is unfortunate. She seemed fine when I saw her.” He spread his hands wide.

She’s not,
I wanted to shout.

“Our building is for sale. When it sells, I’ll pay you.” Of course, those funds were earmarked to get us out of Ratcliffe and pay for Sarah’s care in the years to come—or now.

He wagged his finger. “You are a bright girl. Smart to sell the house. But, the note is overdue, and I am not a patient man.”

Oh, I know. I could clearly remember all the times he’d lost his temper with Mama.

“We don’t have the money,” I said, my voice betraying me with its unsteadiness.

He stood and walked behind my chair where he rested his hands on my shoulders. “Katarina, tell me why people pay me back the money I loan them?” He lifted a strand of my hair and twirled it around his finger.

I eased forward in my seat as far from him as I could, but he tugged me back, pressing me into the back of the chair.

I swallowed. “Because you’ll hurt them if they don’t.”

“It’s amazingly simple.” I heard the smile in his voice. “If people believed I’d give them more time, they’d think me weak. I despise weakness. Are you weak, Katerina?”

I shook my head. But I was weak. I’d never stood up for my mama; I’d never jumped in to save her.

I wasn’t brave or strong like Joan of Arc.

He came around to face me, and I smelled his aftershave, something mossy and dark. Revulsion coursed through me at our proximity.

“A business like mine is not established over-night. It takes time to teach the neighborhood what you’re capable of. It’s like training a dog to sit. You can tell the dog to sit, but he won’t get it until the choke chain is tightened. Because he needs the proper amount of pain to understand the master means business. If he thinks the command to sit might not bring pain, he might test me and resist the command.”

He sighed. “And, I hate disobedience. Our neighborhood was trained long ago that disobedience means swift pain. This makes my business easier and more pleasant. You understand?”

Yes.

The room seemed to shrink, and I gripped the edge of my seat, feeling as if my own choke chain was being tightened. I licked my dry lips. “Look, I want to give you your money now, but I don’t have it.” I held up a finger. “But once the house sells, I can throw in extra, perhaps the interest you didn’t charge?” I met his gaze, trying to read him, but it was impossible. “The market isn’t good for Ratcliffe right now, but I
know
it will sell. We just need the right buyer. It’s in a fair location for a business. And with the apartments upstairs—”

He tsked, interrupting me. “There is payment or there is pain. This is the only way it can be. No negotiation.”

The room grew quiet as I contemplated his words and he contemplated me, perhaps deciding if I was a predator like him or prey like my mother.

It’s hard to accept when a parent doesn’t love you, but it’s even more difficult when they simply feel nothing. I really didn’t matter to him except as a means to an end. I mean, I’ve always known he didn’t care, but he had brought me food a few times when I was at the end of my rope. Why had he done it? Perhaps he’d still have a smidge of feeling for my mama. Perhaps his conscience couldn’t allow an innocent child to die from neglect. Or perhaps more chillingly, he’d wanted to assess me, study me while she was gone. Had he ever considered hurting me too? Had he entertained the thought of ramming his fists into my flesh…or worse? I cringed, thinking back to the past, wondering about those times he’d come to the apartment, if he’d been a hair-trigger away from devouring me.

I swallowed. “We don’t have the money. We simply
don’t
. I could sell my car, and everything else we own, but there’s no way I can get anywhere close to twenty thousand. We don’t even have good credit at the bank, but once we sell the house—”

“Be quiet,” he barked, making me jump. I shrank back in my seat as far as I could.

He turned to a brown duffle that had been sitting on his desk. He unzipped it.

I drew up, expecting a hatchet or a gun with a silencer or maybe even a chainsaw. You never knew with the stories I’d heard about him over the years. What I didn’t expect was the Ziploc bag of vials he tossed in my lap.

“I’ve been thinking. Perhaps, there’s another way you can repay your debt.”

My fingers were stiff as I picked the bag up and peered at the white substance inside. Hello, Dovey the drug dealer.

“You want me to sell coke? You think your addicts will trust me?”

He waved away my comment. “I have plenty of corner boys. You’ll be selling much more. You’ll be peddling to those rich kids at your fancy school. Establishing a new clientele. To pay off your debt, of course.” He smiled, and chills feathered up my spine because it was so damn
genuine
.

“How much of my debt? What’s the value? I need numbers.” There. That was the Ratcliffe girl talking.

He shot me a look loaded with what seemed like approval. Did it take selling drugs to make him love me? Would he be interested in me as a real daughter then? I didn’t know what to do with that thought, so I pushed it away.

“There’s ten vials, and each one is cut into an eight-ball. They cost two-fifty each. Normally, eight-balls might be cheaper, but rich kids aren’t junkies. They aren’t looking for Wal-Mart prices.”

“There’s twenty five hundred dollars worth of coke in this bag?” I gripped it tighter. That was half of what my car cost.

He inclined his head. “Yes. And, your deadline is Saturday. I want you back here at the warehouse with the cash, and we can talk about giving you more.”

I stared at the vials, feeling desperate as I imagined me turning my classmates into addicts like my mama. And if I got caught there’d be no ballet in prison. All my dreams would be destroyed.

“Failure to do this will bring dire consequences, Katerina.” Had he read my thoughts?

“I am your blood,” I heard myself say, hating the admission, hating the neediness in my tone. “Part of you is in me. Doesn’t that count for something?”

He shrugged, his shoulders elegant in his jacket. “You’re a beautiful example to the neighborhood.”

I forced down the bitterness that rose up. “Please, just listen to me. I hate drugs. They killed Mama. I—I don’t want to sell—”

“Do not beg me,” he hissed.

Prey!
My breaths came as shallow inhalations. “Please. Have some mercy. Sarah is sick—”

He slapped his desk, making me jerk. “Do you want Sarah to disappear? Or your friend Heather-Lynn?”

I shook my head furiously.
No, please.

“How about one of your friends at that school?”

God, no.

“The list is long of things I can do, Katerina,” he said silkily. “I think your imagination can figure it out.”

I stared at him, heart pounding, my mouth dry. Somehow, I had to pay back the money.

Could I push dope?

He checked his Rolex, the conversation obviously over. “You work for me now. Until I say you do not.” He gave me a blindingly beautiful smile. “See you soon,
dotchka
.”

He nodded his head and walked out, done with me.

I rubbed my arms, trying to get warm, trying to hold myself together. My mind swirled, wondering if this had been his plan all along, to loan money to Sarah he knew she couldn’t pay back just so he could get a dealer into BA. But, I didn’t think so. He’d never paid attention to me before. It seemed more likely that Sarah had fallen into his web, and he’d grasped the opportunity to play with us.

Blondie marched to the door and motioned for me to come on. With sweaty hands, I picked up my destiny and followed him.

BY THE TIME I got home, it was one in the morning. I tried to be quiet as I came in the door, but it didn’t make a difference because Sarah was up. Alzheimer’s messes with your internal clock, so I wasn’t surprised. But her appearance sucked the wind right out of me.

Dressed in her yellowed, thirty-year-old wedding dress, she sat on a chair in the living room, clutching a faded wedding photograph of her and David I recognized from the mantel. With the billowy gown and her white face, she resembled an eerie ghost from the past, making the hair on my scalp tingle.