For a moment, I can’t quite wrap my head around the figure on the bill of sale.A hundredmilliondollars?I can’t imagine having that much money at all, let alone spending it on one single transaction.
I flip back through the pages, curious. None of the other girls went for that much. Comparatively, they all sold very low—mid-five figures or less. The burned girl was sold to Alexandre for five thousand.
I’m sickened by all of it, but especially curious about the last one. A ballerina with mafia connections? Injured, mentally unwell—no fucking kidding, I would be too—and then sold to Alexandre for an outrageous sum. And yet she seems to be gone, like all the rest of them—unless he’s keeping them somewhere else. I wonder, briefly, if that’s where he goes during the day, but I don’t think it’s likely. There’s no lifting of his spirits before he leaves or after he comes home that I’ve seen. His absences aren’t that long, and it’s fairly clear he just goes out to get food.
I know, with a sinking in my stomach, that those girls are gone—one way or another, including this Anastasia.
A glimpse of the picture I saw him jerking off over comes back to me, that glimpse of a pretty pale face and blonde hair. I remember something else, too—the room he told me never to go into at the end of the hall. Just down from mine.
My stomach clenches with a fresh wave of fear. If he catches me—I can’t imagine what the consequences will be. I’m terrified, too, of what I might find in there—what horrors I might uncover. What terrible thing I might discover that he’s done.
But now that the thought is in my head, I can’t keep myself from following through on it. I bite my lip, trying to think of how long Alexandre has been gone.Long enough to snoop?I can’t be sure, and a part of me thinks I should wait until the next time Alexandre goes out, to be sure that I slip into the room as soon as he leaves.
I don’t think I can wait that long. More to the point, I don’t think I can behave normally tonight once he comes back, wondering what’s in that room, what’s been hidden under my nose all this time.
I’m sure the room is locked, but it doesn’t take me long to find a key. For all his secrets, Alexandre doesn’t seem to be great at hiding them—whether it’s because he’s confident in being intimidating enough to keep any of his pets from digging for them, or because he thinks no one will care, I’m not sure.
Quickly, I pad through the house to the hallway. My heart skips in my chest as I look at the door at the end of the hall, as formidable and frightening as any horror movie. I have no idea what’s inside, and I feel faintly sick. But I can’tnotfind out now.
My throat tightens as I remember another hallway, another door. The one leading down into the basement of that bar back in London, into Harry’s gambling den.Let’s hope this doesn’t go as badly,I think with my heart galloping now, the awful memories of that night flooding back in.
I can hardly believe what I’m doing even as my hand lands on the knob, and I slide the key into the lock. It turns easily, the door swinging open, and I suck in a breath as a shudder runs through me, steeling myself for whatever is behind it.
I step into the room and see—just that.
A bedroom.
I clap my hand over my mouth, stifling an almost hysterical laugh.What was I expecting to find? Blood? Bodies piled up?It’s just a room. I can’t understand why Alexandre told me to stay out—until I look closer.
And then I see.
This entire house was filthy with dust and disuse when I came here, and I’ve never touched this room or even been in it before, but this room isclean. Every inch of it is shining and dust-free, the bed neatly made, the curtains opened to show the view of Paris beyond. The plants on the windowsill are green and thriving, and—
I suck in a breath.
There’s a pair of dirty, used ballet shoes by the bed. Pointe shoes. I look at them, swallowing hard, and walk further into the room, opening the door to the closet.
There are clothes hanging up, clean and neat, beautiful clothes. Silk dresses and pressed linen pants and smooth cotton tops. I see two pairs of leather flats with thick bottoms, like they have cushioned insoles, lined up below them. Turning, I see a jewelry box on the dresser, and when I open it, a small ballerina begins to turn as music starts to play. There’s jewelry inside, rose gold and shining, and my chest clenches with something between sadness and fear.
This room looks as if it’s waiting for someone to come home.Was itherroom?I wonder, touching the edge of the jewelry box.Or is this the room that he gives to a pet who pleases him? Is this room waiting forme?
“Get your fucking hand off of that.”
I gasp, jerking my hand back, and whirl to see Alexandre standing in the doorway, his face a mask of anger like I’ve never seen before.
He strides towards me, quick and fast. I step back in fear, my heartbeat choking me now, but I’m not fast enough. His hand fists in my hair, fingers digging into my scalp, twisting to the point of pain as he drags me up against him.
Oh god.
He’s hard as a rock. I can feel him pressing against my thigh even through the thick wool of his coat, and I remember with a flash seeing him in his bedroom, his hand wrapped around his hard, straining cock. I remember how I fantasized about him later, in my bed, and I flush hot with shame.
Alexandre reads my red cheeks very differently.
“What thefuckare you doing in here?” he snarls, his face very close to mine. I can smell his skin, warm and masculine, and my fear rises sharply, mixed with something else—a heat that I don’t dare examine too closely, even if I could.
“I—” I stammer for some explanation, anything besides the actual truth of what I uncovered. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry! I was cleaning and got distracted—”
“That’s a fucking lie,” Alexandre growls. “You needed a key to get in here, a key that can only be found in my desk. So you snooped in two rooms.”