"...embrace all that comes
and die with a smile
Don't show the world
how alone you've become."
~ Tears in the Rain, The Weeknd

Once a whore, always a whore.

It was the inevitable truth. As I got older, I learned to accept things. Though, I guess acceptance was never really an issue. I accepted my mother's personality, her habits, her issues. I accepted her death. I accepted what it would mean.

I accepted who I was. A whore. I didn't deny it. I didn't even really feel ashamed of it. I'm a slut. There was a 'all-you-can-eat' sign on my pussy, and everyone lined up for seconds. And thirds. And when they were full, they left and it was okay, because they knew they could come back tomorrow and have some more.

Was it disgusting? Maybe.

But it was money. It's why everyone gets up and goes to work in the morning. It's why people go through 12+ years of schooling.

It's why I couldn't be ashamed of who I was. Because once I start to feel shame, I'd have to accept the other simple truth:

I'm worthless.

My pussy may have value, but I don't. I'm just a body. It's all I'll ever be.

Acceptance. It was never an issue.

Which is why the second Elias died, I accepted the fact that the bond I had with Tyler would be severed forever.

"You just sat there."

I blinked, my eyes refocusing on the scene in front of me. Elias' head was resting in Tyler's lap, and Tyler just stared at the side of his face and stroked his hair. Nicolas was gone. I can't recall noticing him walking away, but at some point he must have because he is no longer here. Neither are his men. It's just me, Tyler, and the body.

I accepted that too. Elias was just like me now. A body.

"You didn't do or say anything—you just sat there." He didn't sound angry. Just dull. Broken. As lifeless as his boyfriend.

"I..." My voice trailed off, the rest of the sentence dying on my lips. There was nothing to say.

I just sat there.

"I've done everything for you. I'd have stayed. For you." Tyler finally looked up at me. It was the first time he looked at me since Elias was killed—no. Executed. "And you let him die."

"He would have died either way," I managed out.

"You don't know that!" Tyler growled.

"I do." My voice was soft. I closed my eyes. "I do. You heard what he said. He thought of ways to hurt me."

"How would..." His voice rose and he paused, taking a breath to calm himself before continuing. "How would killing Elias hurt you? You hated him."

I didn't deny or agree. "It wasn't about Elias, Tyler. It was you." I ran my fingers through my hair, suddenly tired. "He said all that stuff...about you abandoning me and leaving me alone, knowing it'd affect me. Knowing I'd get upset. And it worked. I hesitated. I just sat there.

"And because of that, because of a two second pause, Elias is dead. And you will blame me for it. Because it is my fault. Because if I'd just agreed to fuck this Roman Petrov guy, if I'd just agreed to be the whore we all know I am, maybe he wouldn't have died like that. In front of you. But, Ty, there was no way he was making it out of this alive. None of us will."

Another thing I had to accept.

I stood up and looked down at the dress, covered in his boyfriend's blood. "In order to keep you alive for as long as I can, I have to fuck Roman Petrov. And I will. Because, even if you hate me now, you were the only person on this earth who cared about me. And I can't let you die."

I turned away, and walked through the doors back to the dining room.

Nicolas sat at the head of the table, food piled on his plate. There was a plate on the other end, with food on that as well.

I sat.

He stared at me for a long moment, before smiling and raising his glass.

We ate.

He won.

*****

"Look what you made me do, Cherry."

He dropped the sponge on the floor next to me. I picked it up numbly. There were cleaning supplies next to me as well. I looked back at the tub, covered in blood and swallowed the bile threatening to rise up. My eyes watered again, and tears threatened to alert him of how all this was affecting me. I forced them back.

He won't win.

He couldn't.

Her body had been dragged out the tub. Just like that. And I was left to clean up what was left behind.

"Suck it up, Cherry. It's far from over."

*****

The city that never sleeps.

The Big Apple.

New York City.

My destination.

I drummed my fingers on my lap and peered out the window. I use to be scared of flying, once upon a time. Chris found it hilarious, how I refused to sit by a window or even glance out of it. I didn't want to be reminded of how high up from the ground I was.

"Tell me again," I said, not looking away from the window now.

"I do not like to repeat myself," Nicolas said, a warning in his tone. He was clearly agitated with me, and if I wasn't so worried about how this would pan out, I might have cared a little more.

Not really.

"I need to hear it again." My eyes are on the side of his face now. It probably wasn't smart to be demanding anything from him, especially so soon after he put a bullet in Elias' head— may he rest in peace.

Nicolas turned his head slowly, until his piercing gaze was on me. I don't know what he saw on my face, but whatever it was made his lips quirk up in wry humor.

*****

The door was opened for me by a slender man in a uniform. He nodded politely at me as I stepped through, but as I walked past him, I could feel him watching me walk away. I glanced back in time to see his eyes on my ass, before they raised to meet mine. He had the decency to look ashamed.

"Find Roman Petrov. You can't miss him."

My eyes scanned the room as I entered. Women were dressed to the nines in fancy, skin-tight dresses and heels made for a runway. Men were dressed just as importantly in suits and ties, drinks in their hands, smiles on their faces. It was loud and alive—lively jazz music played in the background, conversations sparked in ever corner, drinks served on silver trays. As a waiter passed by, I picked up a glass from his tray and downed the contents.

I had no idea what this Roman guy looked like, or how to figure out which one would be him.

"Do not get drunk," a voice to my left murmured in my ear, voice low and accent thick. I barely glanced at the man Nicolas sent with me. Lucas. He was there for protection, but not entirely my protection. He was there to make sure the plan remained unknown to those uninvolved. He was there to make sure I don't fuck up.

"No shit," I murmur under my breath. "What does this guy look like anyway?"

When I don't hear a response, I glance over my shoulder.

"Great," I sigh heavily, my eyes landing on the empty spot where he once stood. "Fucking assholes."

"That is no way for a lady to speak."

I turned around, my eyes meeting a pair of green ones. I looked him over and frowned, unimpressed. He wasn't attractive in the slightest, but he was loaded, if the couple thousand dollar watch was anything to go by. His nose was too crooked, his eyes were too close together, and his lips were too thin. He wasn't Roman Petrov. Somehow I knew that.

He grinned at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. There was a light in them, as if he'd just won a prize.

As fucking if.

Judging him wasn't my place, though, and it definitely wasn't what I was here for so I flashed him my best smile.

"Be polite. Have class. Don't appear as if you grew up in the projects with a bunch of lowlife crackheads and whores." Nicolas paused. "Even if you did."

I hadn't, but whatever. He's such a prick.

"I suppose not," I reply with a slight laugh.

"You here to watch or play?"

"There will be a poker game taking place in uptown Manhattan. It's exclusive—the minimum buy in is $25,000.  Just you watching costs $15,000. Petrov will be playing."

"To watch," I answer him with a nod. "Will you be playing?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I will be." He smoothed down the front of his suit, a subtle gesture to make me look at it. It wasn't necessary—I was well aware of its worth. "Are you here with someone? Is he playing?"

"Oh, no," I laugh again. "I'm here on my own accord."

This only seemed to satisfy him.

"That is very good to hear. I hope you'll be watching me tonight." His eyes flickered behind me. "If you'll excuse me..."

I nodded and stepped aside, but before I could walk away, his hand caught mine.

"See you later?"

I wanted to pull away, but instead I smiled again, feigning interest. "See you later."

With one last smile, he walked away to speak to someone.

Sighing, I turned back around and continued looking around. My eyes find a clock hanging above an exit. 8:45. Fifteen minutes until the poker game starts.

"He is important."

Everyone in this room looked important.

"You will know when you see him."

Vague, and quite frankly, unhelpful.

I grabbed another drink and begin walking around. A few women glare at me in obvious disdain, and men watch me like the last piece of steak on the grill. Looking for Roman Petrov was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Everyone here looked rich and important.

I raised my glass and downed that drink too.

I didn't really have a choice here. If I don't find Roman, if I don't get this done, that's it. Tyler's dead.

He can hate me all he wants and needs but I will not let him die.

My hand begins to shake and I tighten my grip on the glass. A waiter passes and I stop him with my hand.

"I need another one." I murmur, showing him my empty glass. "Now."

The waiter's eyes narrow. "What you need, puttana, is to find the target."

I blink in surprise. Of course he sent another one of his men without my knowledge. "Really? For fuck's sake—"

The lights suddenly shut off.

Immediately, I feel like panicking. I reach out, but grasp nothing. Just as quickly as the lights were off, they were back on. Some people start making their way towards a door. I glance at the clock again. 9:00. It's time.

Paying no mind to the fact that the "waiter" disappeared, I follow behind the people.

When I reached the door, a woman in a tight red and gold jumpsuit holding a clipboard smiled at me. Her blonde hair was tied up on top of her head, showing off her sharp facial features.

"Name?"

What?

"Uh—"

"If your name is not on the list, I can't allow you inside." She manages to keep the smile on her face the whole time. "Name, please."

I think back to the conversation with Nicolas, trying to remember if he'd given me a name to use. Nothing comes to me.

"My name...it is, uh—"

"She's with me, Ramona."

I turned and relief washed over me. He stepped up beside me, gently placing his hand on the small of my back.

"Oh," the woman flushed. "Of course, Mr. Edison. I apologize. We missed you last year."

He nodded. "I was in Thailand."

"Must have been very exciting." The blonde — R-something? — grinned at him, obviously enjoying this mediocre conversation.

"Yes, very. If you'll excuse us." His green eyes shone as he led me past her and into a hall.

"Any reason why you didn't want to give her your name?" He asked, lips right by my ear as we walk.

I smile. "I associate with people who may or may not be welcomed here. I prefer to avoid risk. The enemy of my friend could be my enemy."

He chuckled. "Whatever the case may be, you owe me now."

"I don't do sexual favors."

Ha.

"I respect a woman with integrity and self-respect." Yep, that's me. "But sex isn't actually what I'm looking for."

My eyebrows shot up. "I'm not sure if I should be relieved or offended."

"Not at all. The thought of being between those legs..." His eyes travel down the length of me and his lips curve upwards. It took a lot in me not to gag outright. "Well, you've seen yourself. You know your beauty. Unfortunately, I was raised in a well-mannered home, so I know better than to use sex as a favor."

"Unfortunately," I repeat dryly.

He grinned. "But I could use a good luck charm."

"And I'm guessing you would like for that to be me."

"Sexy and smart." He shrugs. "With you by my side, I can't lose."

"Well then how can I say no?" I smile flirtatiously. If I have to pretend to be interested in him to get inside, so be it.

"Have you ever been here before?" He stops right outside a black door. I shake my head no and he chuckles. "Come on."

He knocks twice and the door opens. He gently nudges me inside.

The room seemed to fancy for a simple poker game. A chandelier hang from the ceiling, there were candles and an luxurious looking poker table. There's security manning the door and two cameras set in corners.

A woman in a skirt that barely covered her ass held a tray of glasses, all containing alcohol.

"Wish me luck," Green Eyes says with a wink. He saunters to the table and slides into an empty chair. He's greeted by a few, and smiles casually at his opponents.

I take the moment alone to look around the table. The man to Green Eyes' right is fairly large and bulky. Everything about him screamed 'inheritance'. Not Roman. The two woman were obviously not who I was looking for, so I barely spared them a glance.

"Ma'am." A voice behind me says. When I turn to look at him, he gestures to the chairs on the opposite side. "You can't block the door, but you can sit over there if you'd like."

It's where the others who were interested in watching were seated. Hesitantly, I made my way over. I headed for the seat closest to the exit, and just as I was about to sit—

My eyes met his. They were blue. Pure blue. The bluest of all blues. And they were trained on me. There was something off about him. Something that set him apart from the rest. His posture was perfect, back straight, head high. There was a man standing a few inches behind him, hands locked in front of him. I noticed the slight bulge on his hip, and my brows raised. A bodyguard? He didn't look like he needed one. He had a great build, broad shoulders, muscular chest. And he was tall. Even sitting, his head was above everyone else's.

Yes, there was something about him. Eyes shifted to him every few minutes, as if nervous or waiting for him to do or say something. Even in what appears to be a relaxed state, he seemed to demand respect and attention.

It was hot.

He was hot. Albeit, a bit older, maybe in his early to mid-thirties. But hot.

"Petrov will be playing."

And I knew.

I found Roman Petrov.

He turned away and eyed the people he'd be playing against.

"Let's begin, shall we?" His accent was thick and heavy. And sexy. And Russian. My thighs clenched together. This is the man Nicolas wants me to fuck? I suddenly had no issue with that.

He beckoned the woman with the drinks over and took one off the tray. His lips tilted upwards into a cold smile. "I have money to win."