Page 98 of The Marriage

NINETEEN

“You’re still sitting in here—shit, have you even turnt a trick?”

Karine’s head snapped up at the sharp, high-pitch voice of a girl that had made more than one comment since she walked through the door three days before.

Neena, with her long, beachy waves and loud personality was just one of a few girls in the Madame’s stable that kept trying to bring Karine out of her shell. You’d think there’d be more cattiness amongst women who specifically gathered for the sole purpose of selling sex, but actually, they all seemed quite friendly. Like a little crew that constantly came and went through the front doors of Madame Cherie’s Chicago townhouse.

She didn’t think the girls meant any harm, but she was well aware of things they would never know ...

Like someday, she wouldn’t be here.

They were only a means to end.

What was the point in making friends?

“You know, I got two nights before I finally got turned out,” Neena told Karine. “You’ve got an extra one on me. You nervous?”

Why was she still trying to make conversation? Hell, Karine had yet to figure out why she agreed to this plan of her father’s ...

Or if she could see it through.

“I—”

She was saved from having to make conversation with the young woman when Cherie made her presence known in the doorway of the bedroom Karine had been allowed to use. The Madame didn’t knock or even ask if she could enter before she did—and that partly answered a question Karine had about this place, and these women.

They weren’t completely free here, either.

Everybody paid a due.

“I found a wig for you,” Cherie said, striding over with a chunky blonde mane of unruly curls in her hand. Even at six feet tall, the woman still wore towering heels. Her height was as impressive as her cold demeanor could be when she dealt with her girls. “Although, it’ll need some work. Neena—did you have something for me?”

Just like that, Neena was reminded of her place, and made her presence scarce without another word. They didn’t want to make their mom mad, as most called Cherie. Or that’s what Karine noticed. Every woman that came in and out of the house with phones constantly beeping or ringing, never left without putting money on the counter. And they were all well cared for while they did it.

As long as Cherie was happy.

Karine smiled, unable to contain her amusement, while Cherie stood behind her to help her put the wig on. First, Karine’s hair had to be tied up and glued down, the woman explained, but even a good tug wouldn’t bring it off by the time she was done.

“I think we should go with something white,” Cherie told her. “It’s exactly the look Dima would appreciate in the girls. He often asks for it, and I’m sure when he gets back tonight and makes a call for a favorite, he’ll be happy to hear there’s someone new to try.”

Karine couldn’t meet the woman’s gaze in the mirror anymore.

She hadn’t known when it would happen—when all of this would suddenly turn real—but now felt as good as ever.

“So, what’s in it for you, April?” she asked.

Karine didn’t allow herself to get pulled into the rushing current that was her thoughts. Her mind was a dangerous place, and more so, one she wasn’t sure she could currently control. As long as she didn’t go there—

“Are you listening to me?”

April.

Right.

Karine blurted that name when she’d arrived on the madame’s doorstep. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing this—why are you working with Maxim Yazov?” Cherie asked. “Anyone who knows anything in this city should be all too aware that it could be risky business at the moment. From the rumors ... well, he shouldn’t even be alive.”

Karine couldn’t take her eyes off herself once her gaze landed back on the mirror. She didn’t like the blonde, and didn’t recognize herself with the hair let down so long.