Page 14 of Baby for the Bratva King

“He didn’t exactly fire you.”

“He was going to. Walking back into his house is suicide.”

“Why?”

“Because I already gave him too much. Begging makes me look weak.”

“And you should never show weakness in front of someone who is more powerful than you,” says Fleur, reciting one of our father’s famous quotes. “I understand that, but for two grand a week, a little begging could go a long way. It could even buy you those pink stilettos you were looking at online.”

“The ones with the gloss finish?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” I say, shooting off the couch. “I’d rather show the world my asymmetrical breasts.” I head into the kitchen for a bite to eat, but as soon as I open up the pantry, I realize I have no appetite.

“Where did he finish?” asks Fleur from the living area.

“Uh, inside,” I say while raiding the pantry.

“But you’re not on birth control.”

“Yeah,” I say, flipping a box of crackers. “But I don’t start ovulating until next Wednesday. I should be fine.”

“No,” says Fleur, joining me in the kitchen. “I’m getting you emergency contraception.”

“I’ll take one of your pills or something.”

“That’s not how it works,” says Fleur, a lot more knowledgeable on this topic than me.

My little sister’s hooking up with people most weekends and has the audacity to tell me to stay away from the clubs?

I can’t blame her. We care about the other person more. Fleur is an adult and has her own way of processing trauma. Her approach is more hands on, whereas mine has always been more hands off.

I tell her to be careful, but try not to overstep. Controlling her would be wrong. We had enough of that growing up.

I already look like our father, inheriting his amber eyes and sharp chin. I refuse to become like him, adopting the same selfish, controlling personality…

Although after today’s antics, I’m already halfway there.

I eat crackers straight from the box, munching on them in the corner as Fleur searches for emergency birth control on her phone.

“In future, you should see a doctor. They can prescribe you some pills.”

“I’m not sleeping with him again.”

“Sure, I’ve heard that one before.”

I glance at the time on Fleur’s watch. “Shit, gotta go,” I say, stuffing the rest of the crackers in my mouth. “Doors open in ten, and I want to get a podium in VIP.”

I pirouette around the pole, climbing. I might be two grand short right now, but I’m about to turn my luck around by doing aerial the full night.

I climb the pole, inverting and coming into an outside leg hang. I start this night how I mean to go on, grabbing my other leg, pressing it into the pole as I release my hooked leg and enter a jade split.

Applause fills the VIP booth, dollar bills flying my way as I hold the position, spinning around the pole. I focus on breathing, on keeping myself gripped.

These poles get slippery fast.

I exit the position and look down at my stage. We’re off to a good start. The two gentlemen sitting at the front look like they have money to spend, both wearing black and white tuxedos and luxury watches. I know twenty-four karat gold when I see it.