Chapter 2

The words cut like glass in my aching throat, even though I should be grateful I am not at the bottom of the river right now and for having him swoop in and save me from certain death at Tyler’s hands. I owe him fifty grand because of that stupid whore taking off with everything I had, trusting the wrong mousy little bitch, and letting myself get distracted. Still, Alexi Carrero has a reputation that precedes him in the underworld.

He’s the stuff nightmares are made of, and I just became something he owns. It’s a hard pill to swallow. He is head of his mafia family, operating under the guise of a businessman, but anyone worth their weight in c**** in this world knows that he’s the New York go-to man if you want to conduct any business in this city at all. Without his blessing and greasing of palms, you may as well get out of Dodge.

He swooped in and saved my bacon from mere street runners, and now I owe the leading man himself my life on a fucking platter. He is not someone who needs to beat women half to death to chase up a d**** debt; he will drop you in the ocean, wearing metal boots, for not paying up in time and not even breaking a sweat over it. It couldn’t get any worse than that.

I am a family favour, Alexi’s new problem.

Well done, Camilla… did yourself a right good turn with this stupid fuck up. What the hell is he going to do with an ex-hooker who pushes d**** and sex for a living and currently has nothing but the dirty clothes they took from me to her name? I have no value to a millionaire crook with a whole city at his fingertips. Fifty grand is not easy to earn when your skills mean nothing to a man like him.

“My cousin offered to clear it on your behalf… fifty G. I refused, on account of the fact you won’t learn anything if people sweep in and fix all your mistakes so easily, and I am a huge believer in personal growth. Sophie is someone I care about, and I will honour that affection by taking you on. Don’t get me wrong, Miss Walters, you will pay off the debt, and I aim to make you work for it. I have plans for someone with your entrepreneurial skill set.” He sounds almost smug and self-assured, and I wish I could at least see his face.

This is complete torture, and my heart is pounding through my chest to escape my rib cage. I’m almost faint, not just from my physical discomfort, and I do not think I will like this guy or this deal. Gut instinct is inkling at it.

“What skill set exactly do you think I have?” I almost whisper it, showing my nervousness plainly, realising I am breaking all my rules in dealing with men and their intimidation acts. The thing is, this one is no act, and I have no desire to push any power angle right now. I am literally at his mercy for my survival.

“You are known for your ability to connect girls, parties, and product. You have a reputation as the go-to girl for anyone who has tastes and money to burn on fun, a name that had even reached my ears. I have a club in need of that kind of input, and now I have you; it appears I was played a profitable hand.”

I’m not sure I like how he keeps referring to me as his property, even if he owns my soul for debt. I also hate that it’s completely controlled and steady when he talks, as though he is discussing the weather and not a sordid plan for my future. It’s completely unnerving to me.

“You want your club to operate the same way my little outfit did?” I would laugh if it weren’t so damn ridiculous, but I can tell he isn’t joking. He’s clever in a wolf-like way, and I can see the angle he hopes to play and what advantage he has in this, but I have never run a club or know anything about bars or booze sales. He’s insane if he thinks he can make me work off that much money in some sleazy strip bar. My blood runs cold at the thought of what precisely this offer will entail.

I don’t do sex for money anymore, and I won’t return to that means of survival at any cost. I would rather take my chances with the fish and concrete boots than be made to fuck for hire again.

“I think your talents and allure will give my club the edge and class I have been looking for while still operating to my clientele’s tastes. It’s an upscale bar, a closed-door policy with memberships, and you’ll have accommodation above… I have an apartment on the top floor I rarely use, and it seems you need a home.” He’s annoyingly polite in his dialect, well-spoken and precise.

How the hell does he know so much about me? A few hours ago, I was not even on his radar, and yet now he seems to know I have nowhere to live, on top of how I have been supporting myself for the last two years. I know better than to ask questions in this business, and I can only assume he did his homework on me the second I became his baggage.

Men with money and means! It’s scary to know what a man with cash can dig up in no time at all.

“I need to try and collect my belongings from the place I skipped out on a few weeks back. I owe them money.”

I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I have never needed to be honest with anyone, but I get the vibe that lying to him about anything would probably be the dumbest thing I ever did. Possibly the last, too, as he seems like someone who can sniff out a lie at a ten-mile distance.

“I’ll take care of it. Call this number in the morning and give my man the details.” He extends something to me in the darkness, and I glimpse a card in his hand as he leans in to hand it to me. I take it carefully, my hands shaking so badly and fearful of touching him—in case the devil can suck your soul out by contact alone. That’s the sort of chill I am getting.

“It’s two grand in rent.” I blanch at his offer and push the card into the sheet beside me, tucking it under my thigh. You don’t lose someone like Alexi Carrero’s number or leave it lying around for hospital staff to find.