I, Porn Star (I #1) (22 page)

26

BACK LOT

5
March 2015

The
Airport

The plan starts
to unravel as we stand on the tarmac awaiting Edward Krakov’s plane.

Ridge is two feet
from me, doing absolutely nothing to respect my personal space. The plane is taxiing
into the private hangar, but his eyes aren’t observing the client’s safe
landing. Nor is he doing anything remotely security-like, as is his job
description. In fact, he’s barely even glanced around since we arrived.

No, those
flint-colored eyes are as firmly fixed on me as they have been since we left
the Villa. God only knows how he managed to drive and keep his eyes on my tits
and bare legs without crashing into a tree and killing us.

I tug at the
disgustingly short ice blue tube dress I’m wearing, and barely stop myself from
reaching up and ripping off the pearl choker. Even in March, the California sun
throws off enough heat to piss off an armadillo, and I’m no different.

Toss in Clayton’s
parting words in his office this morning, and the sight of the vile Russian
exchanging last words with his pilot on the steps of the private plane a few
dozen feet away, and my nerves are shot to pieces.
 

I don’t have room
for the ominous look lurking in Ridge’s eyes or the waves of creep bouncing off
him.

My attempt to
step away from him backfires when he immediately shadows my move.

I should be
scared of him. I am on some self-preserving level. But my temper has been known
to give reason a finger at the worst possible times.

“For fuck’s sake,
Ridge. If you come any closer, I’ll become intimately familiar with what you
ate last week.”

“Watch your
mouth, little girl,” he growls. But he reaches into his pocket and pops a mint
into his mouth. Then moves even closer.

“Look, Ridge, I
don’t want to give Krakov another excuse to report me to Clay. You know how
possessive he gets. You practically breathing down my neck isn’t going to go
down well.”

“Fuck the commie
asshole. He doesn’t deserve to touch you.”

My breath
hitches, both at the blistering possessiveness in his voice and the waves of
animosity pulsing from his massive frame. My shocked stare makes the mistake of
catching his, and I glimpse blatant intent in his gaze.

A ball of
trepidation knots in my gut. From the corner of my eye I see Edward Krakov
approach. Ridge takes a half-step away from me, but he counteracts that move by
folding his thick arms and staring with cold, dead eyes at Krakov.

My brain reels
with the extra problem just dumped in my lap, but I shove a thin lid over it
and produce a blinding smile for the man I’m supposed to make feel like a king.

“Eddie, I’m so happy
to see you again.”

He takes the
hands I hold out and kisses me twice on each cheek, even as his small arctic
grey eyes slide to Ridge.

“As am I to see
you,
babushka
. I hope you’re fully recovered from your little…ailment?”

I nod and smile
brighter. “I am, and it’s so sweet of you to ask.”

The snake-like
gleam that always sends chills down my spine enters his eyes. “I am sweet only
for you,
’
bushka
.
Because
you’re my special one.
”

“And I appreciate
you all the more for it.”

We false-banter
all the way to the car. Behind us, Ridge’s mountainous presence hulks
ominously. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s about to go down.
Something that involves me.

In the limo on
the way back, I do my best to entertain Krakov. Bile rises up my throat when
his hand slips underneath my dress. Swallowing it down, I blank my mind and let
my gaze wander. Unfortunately, it wanders to the rearview mirror, and I catch
Ridge’s impenetrable gaze. He locks on me for uncomfortably long seconds before
his attention switches back to the road.

The knot of fear
in my belly expands.

Definitely
something going on.

We arrive at The
Villa and enter the large boldly decorated foyer. A handful of guests are
mingling in the space that doubles as a selection area, and
Entertainers
are busy chatting up clients. A server carrying a tray of champagne approaches
and Krakov helps himself to a glass. I select a watered down mimosa and try not
to tense when I see Clay approaching.

Greetings are
exchanged before he says to Krakov, “I’ve reserved a room at the casino in town
for a few selected guests. It’ll be an honor to have you as my special guest.”

Krakov’s mouth
twists and he shrugs. “I may be too busy with my
babushka
, tonight. I’ll
let you know.”

It’s a
poorly-kept secret that Clayton part-owns Getty Casinos and likes nothing
better than to help The Villa’s guests offload even more of their money at his
gaming tables. I can almost see the dollar signs in his eyes as he attempts to
reel in Krakov. “Of course. And naturally, Lucky will accompany you if you do
decide to join us.”

I will my stomach
not to turn as I smile at both men. “If you’ll excuse me for a second, I’ll
just go a take a quick peek at the schedule.” Edward Krakov, like most men,
have their Villa favorites—in his case, me—but he also likes to
sample other wares during his three day stays. Remi, Clayton’s long-time PA,
who also doubles at a receptionist, keeps an electronic schedule on her
discreet mini tablet. If I’m lucky, Krakov will have booked two or three other
girls, leaving me free of his vile attention for five or six hours per day.

Edward Krakov
holds the dubious honor of having been my first client at The Villa. To date,
I’m not sure how much he paid Clayton for me, but judging by Clayton’s smile as
I was delivered to Krakov’s room the night of my seventeenth birthday, it had
to be a small fortune. For his part, Krakov took pleasure in using my body to
satisfy every sick perversion, the Russian’s proclivity for pain-edged sex a
rough and shocking introduction to a world far removed from the fumbling
teenage efforts that robbed me of my virginity two months before Ma died.

My only saving
grace is that Krakov has a pencil thin dick, which causes discomfort but not
lasting hurt. Of course, what he lacks in the cock department, he more than
makes up for with his hands, his mouth, and copious amount of sex toys.

I suppress a
shudder and start to turn away.

Clayton catches
my arm. “Did I not mention it earlier? Edward has booked you for the whole
three days.”

This time, I
don’t quite manage to keep my horror from showing. A cold look enters Krakov’s
eyes. I need to appease or I’ll pay for it later.

I return to his
side and slide my hand down his arm. “In that case, I’ll just go a powder my
nose. You must also be getting hungry. Shall I have the chef prepare you some
borscht
?
Or would you prefer
pelmeni
this evening?”

His beady gaze
slides over me and he licks his lower lip. “You can help me decide a little
later,
myshka
.”

“Okay. Let me pop
into the little girls’ room and I’ll be right back.”

My smile stays on
my face until I enter the lavatory. Then I cling weakly to the sink and
struggle to keep from throwing up.

Three days with
Krakov. I can barely stand him for three minutes, never mind three days. My
feigned illness during his last visit was because he wanted to fuck me without
a condom. For an extra five thousand, Clayton allows that. The thought of him
inside me with no barrier caused me enough distress to become physically ill, a
fact that didn’t please him.

Today, I know
both he and Clayton are on board. That I can’t stop it from happening without
causing serious issues with Clayton. Issues I can’t afford to bring down on top
of my head with suspicion already aimed at me.

I stumble into
the bathroom and try to calm my racing mind. Five minutes pass without a clear
resolution as to how I can avoid being bare-backed by Edward Krakov.

I flush the toilet
and exit the stall.

To find Ridge
leaning against the vanity, arms crossed.

Naked fear
freezes me for precious seconds. Then I step back into the stall and slam the
door. Or I attempt to. He blocks me easily, his superior strength making a joke
of my efforts. And he’s not even expending much energy.

“Easy, girl. I’m
not here to hurt you,” he rasps.

“Then let go of
the door,” I reply, fear making my voice and body shake.

“I’m just here to
talk, but I’m not talking to a fucking closed door, Lucky. You come out, or I
come in.” The sick relish in his voice is at variance with the
just talk
line.

I kick myself for
picking the rarely used, less posh toilet nearest the kitchen, instead of the
snazzy one the girls prefer nearer reception. I wanted to put a bit of distance
between myself and Krakov, totally forgetting Ridge and the loaded looks he’s
been sending me all day.

“I can hear you
just fine from here,” I say, injecting as much power into my voice as my
shaking will allow.

“Not happening. Come
out and let’s get this over with. Clay’s gonna come looking for you soon.”

“Yeah? And what
do you think he’s going to say when he finds you in here?” I challenge.

“I heard you in
here, crying. Came to investigate.” I hear the shrug in his voice. “You locked yourself
in here because you don’t want to fuck that asshole. I’m trying to talk you
out.”

The answer sounds
pat. Well thought through. My heart lurches as I wonder how long he’s been
planning this.

“Come out, Lucky.
You can’t stay in there forever.”

My arms quiver
from the strain of trying to keep him out. Mild terror threatens to scramble my
brain. I tell myself he could’ve entered by now if he wanted to.

Slowly I release
the door and step out. The look on his face hasn’t changed. I don’t know how to
accurately describe it. It’s a cross between lust, possession, pity and anger.
The first two I understand. The last two baffle me.

I quickly measure
the distance between the door and me. He spots and intercepts any move I might
try to make.

My fists ball and
I force my gaze to meet this. “You want to talk. Well, talk.”

He doesn’t speak
immediately. Those flint eyes rake me from head to toe, lingering on my bare
legs and my tits. “Christ, you’re so fucking pretty.” His voice is thick with
hunger.

My terror mounts.
“Ridge—”

He clears his
throat and gives a single shake of his head, as if he’s clearing his thoughts.
I sure as fuck don’t want to know what those thoughts are, so I remain silent.
Vigilant.

“I know what you
did.”

Tension roars up
my spine. “Excuse me?”

“You went into
Clay’s office two nights ago. Took something. I know it was you.”

“I have no
fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Watch that
mouth.”

I bite back
another curse and try to keep my voice even. “I don’t know what you
think
you know, but I didn’t go into
Clay’s office.”

 
He ambles over to my side, crowding me
again. I breathe in his excessively applied aftershave and try not to gag. “I
did two tours in Fallujah. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t. Thank
you for your service.”

He smirks for a second
before his features return to their gut-freezing intensity. “You know what my
specialty was?”

I shake my head.

“Computers.
Electronics. Anything with a chip or a motherboard, I can dismantle and put
together.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an electronic card. It
looks like the security pass we use to get between buildings. Only it’s the
wrong color. “Clay had me design this special baby for him. It records
everyone’s movements between the buildings, including his, and it’s also
connected to face recognition software on his laptop. Clever thing about this
card is, it also flags discrepancies. For instance, if the camera spots you
say, in the North Wing, but your card is swiped at the front gate two minutes
later, it sends an alert. Do you get where I’m going with this, Lucky?”

My heart climbs
into my throat. “If…if that belongs to Clay, why do you have it?”

“Good question.
He
thinks
he’s misplaced it.”

“And?”

“I have until
tomorrow to find it or I make another one for him. Either way, we both know
what he’ll find once he gets a hold of this card again.”

I swallow hard.
“What do you want, Ridge?”

His features
twist with a blend of anticipation and triumph. He slips the card back in his
pocket and takes out something else. It’s a tiny pouch, containing about three
pinches of white powder.