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“Five card draw?” Rumo says after the girl leaves, and everyone agrees.
So, they play cards, chatting lightly about girls they've abused and the wives they wish they could abuse. James and I keep quiet for the next two hours, antipathy radiating through us. We don't agree with whattheydo to girls. We have sneakily spoken about what we've seen and heard, but neither of us really knows what to make of it. We don't share their fancy for abuse, of course, but we know nothing else—we were so young when we came to Maksim. Once, James actually asked if he was wired wrong because he cannot bear to see girls getting mistreated—even if they do consent at times. He doesn't understand why Maksim enjoys being brutal. I couldn't give James an even answer. I just don't know if he's wired right or wrong. I know what I feel—what they do is immoral. But this sentiment only came over me when Maksim granted me freedom, and since then, I've lived in the world amongst the normal and with television and books. James has only ever lived under our master. He's never tasted what 'normal' might be; never felt that satisfaction of freedom that comes with living alone...
“Charlie spoiled our fun,” Maksim says, and the mere mention of Charlie's name pulls me from my thoughts. “And he was mad as hell. I swear, if anyone questioned his actions, he would have shot us all.”
He must be talking about the Prince's party last night.
“I heard about what happened.” Umberto lifts a glass to have a sip of vodka. “The gossip has spread like wildfire. Glad I wasn't there. I know how excited Decena can get when angry.”
Carl comes to life, telling stories about Charlie in his younger years. “If anyone so much as attempted to pull a gun on him, they'd be dead. He doesn’t fuck about.”
The tension in the room skyrockets, and I grip my gun a little tighter, remembering Charlie say he was coming to this poker game. Hopefully, he's changed his mind.
“Do not worry, my friends,” Maksim lifts a hand, grinning from ear to ear, “I straightened things out. He wanted me to send Blaire home last night, so I did-”
My stomach rolls with shock. James gawps down at me.
“-And luckily,” Maksim adds, “that girl we were fucking was old enough and willing to let us abuse her.”
“Yeah, luckily…” Charlie says from the open doorway, gaining everyone's attention.
My eyes flicker to him and an overwhelming tightness forms in my chest. He's leaning against the doorframe on one shoulder with his arms crossed over a strapping chest, looking cool in his pose. Wearing a black shirt tucked into dark blue jeans, the collar unbuttoned to a hard, dusty chest. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing masculine forearms tanned in black hair, thick with veins. He's got that silver watch on his left wrist, a minute statement of money.
Our eyes align for a split second, where he flashes me a cunning smile, showing even white teeth. I'm the one to look away, unable to endure his presence.
“Hola, Charlie.” Carl pivots to him from the table. “Where have you been? We expected you hours ago.”
Are they close friends or something?
Uncrossing his arms, Charlie saunters in and rounds the snooker table, his motions oddly graceful. As he passes James and I from behind, I hold my breath, and my toes fist in my trainers. I'm expecting him to do something—touch me in secrecy.
He doesn't but the fact remains. He puts me on edge—even more so with knowing Maksim has betrayed him somehow.
“Tis' good to see you, Carl.” Charlie approaches the poker table; smiles coolly at Carl and only Carl. “Work kept me late. I'm sure I’ve not missed much.”
I check him out from the corner of my eye. His hair is tied back, enhancing his gorgeousness—if that's even possible. It's so black and shiny; looks finger touching soft. I've never thought about touching a man before. Maybe I haven't because all the men I've been around are either on Maksim's payroll or at the end of my barrel.
Charlie shows no interest in anyone but Carl, though the other men fuss over him like he's some kind of god, offering up their chairs and their drinks.
“The end chairs are the most comfortable,” Rumo says, giving Maksim a funny look, curtly nodding to the right, as if to say, ‘get up and move’.
Charlie doesn't react to them with smugness—he doesn't really indulge their fussing at all. He simply shakes everyone's hand while asking Carl, “How's the wife?” acting as polite as ever.
I'm itching to know who the fuck he is, especially after he saved that girl last night. He's like the light and the dark; good and bad. It's so confusing because no one in this game is both.
“She's doing great,” Carl says, cradling his whisky glass on the table. “We’re on our third child. Her name is Gabrielle. She's the most perfect little thing.”
“I'm sure she is perfect. Your wife is beautiful,” Charlie says, though not in a smutty manner. He sounds like he genuinely thinks highly of Carl and his wife. “Tell her I said congratulations,” he adds, then takes Maksim's seat by grabbing the back in a way of authority, forcing Maksim to move over one. James and I follow him to the right, staying behind him.
“A drink?” Rumo says to Charlie, appearing a little nervous, tugging open his silver tie.
Charlie nods, slowly taking to his chair. Then, his eyes flitter between James and me, causing my stomach to roll with anxiety. I don't meet his gaze. I stare past him, endeavoring to come across collected in my pose.
“Someone’s got a thing for redheads,” he teases, referring to James and I, flicking up his eyebrows at Maksim. “They've gotta be related…” Turning his head, he says to James, “What's your name, boy?”
Maksim waves out a hand and James states his name, his voice coming out cold and detached.
“And you're obviously part of Maksim's security alongside Blaire?”
