The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,63
and one that I didn’t. The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoyevsky. Inside it is written:
This is a great Russian novel. I don’t think you’ve read this one.
K.
I still hate him. The gift shows me nothing more than this man is a changeable monster who thinks he can threaten me, use me, play games with me, and then buy me a book and make it all okay. Does he think it’s that easy? Does he care?
I have no idea how his mind works. I think he’s maybe a sociopath, or at the very least not normal. Not in the way most of us are. I investigated him, before he brought me to his lair, and I know he had a hard life growing up in post-Soviet Russia. There was an interview with him in a Moscow business magazine, which with Google translate, I got the gist of, where he talked about how tough it had been when his father left, and they had no money.
Boo-hoo. We all have our crosses to bear, but we don’t all go around fucking over women, other businesspeople, and whole nations simply to enhance our personal wealth and ego.
My stomach rumbles. I could call the extension for the kitchen, or Derek’s mobile, from the phone in my bedroom and order some food the way I have done the last few days, but I need to get out of this room. If only the phone in the bedroom could be used for calling outside, but it can’t. I could ring Suzy, tell her to send help.
Then what? my rational mind supplies. Get murdered by Popov? No, I must stay here, for now, and take the nightmare that is my life. Until the threat from Popov has been neutralized at least, and then I never want to see Konstantin again.
What if Konstantin kills you? Okay, I’m officially done listening to my rational mind; she’s a buzzkill. I try to push thoughts of my possible death out of the way. After all, I argue with myself, if Konstantin wanted me dead, wouldn’t he simply do it himself now, or even better let Popov have me? He brought me here to keep me safe, so he must care about my well-being to some degree.
Or he simply doesn’t want you singing like a canary to his enemies. My rational mind is there again, being the Debbie Downer I don’t need today.
I step out of my bedroom and say firmly to my inner voice, “Shut up, you depressing bitch.”
Unfortunately, I say this out loud, and just as Liza saunters along the corridor. She smirks at me.
“First sign of madness is talking to yourself, you know?”
She goes into her bedroom, a couple doors down, and shuts the door with an added slam. I stand there and fume. And fume and fume some more. God, I hate her as much as I hate him. The devil who brought me here.
I head downstairs and fix a plate of food, and am halfway through the delicious salad when Liza makes another unwelcome appearance. She hoists herself onto one of the breakfast bar stools next to me and watches me eat.
Who does that? I hate being watched when I’m eating. Is she trying to psych me out?
“Do you want something?”
“You gone,” she says in an irritating girly voice.
“Yeah? Me too, but we don’t get what we want, so here we are.”
“He says you’re a colleague, but you’re more than a colleague.” She gets up, goes to the fridge, and pours some wine.
“Erm, should you be drinking?”
“One glass won’t hurt.” She sips at it and sighs as if it’s heaven in a glass.
“I’m really not more than a colleague. Employee, if we’re being pedantic.”
I think back to the book and wonder. But, no, he doesn’t care for me; it’s clear.
“Well, something is going on with him. He’s a man of voracious appetites.”
“Oh, god, please. I don’t want to hear about his bloody appetites. I’m trying to eat.”
“I won’t go into details, don’t worry. Suffice to say, Konstantin likes sex a lot. He isn’t getting it. Not from me because he’s not come near me. Not that I’d let him, I’m in a delicate condition, but he’s not even tried.”
“Maybe because, as you say, you’re in a delicate condition, and he isn’t an animal?” I say, wanting this convo done and dusted.
“Oh, he’s an animal, trust me. The K of old, he’d have come to my room, propped me up on some pillows, and fucked me in the ass if