Beth stared at the image in the mirror, locking eyes with a woman she hardly recognised. Her reflection could have belonged to a stranger.
The last time she had truly examined her appearance had been a long time ago. Beth had avoided looking at herself when she had learned she could not afford to be particularly critical about her façade. Jewellery, make-up, nice clothes - they had all become frivolities, their importance secondary to buying food and keeping a roof over Beth and her mother's head.
No wonder she seemed transformed. Gone was the overworked drudge Beth usually pictured herself to be. She had put aside her ugly waitressing uniform and the hideous blue overall she wore for her other job - cleaning offices. Instead she had put on a black dress, Beth's first clothing purchase in nearly two years - even if it had come from the thrift shop. The hem was slightly frayed and the fabric worn, but it fitted her well, the narrow waist and flared skirt flattering her slender frame.
Her auburn mane of hair had been brushed until it shone and tamed into a ponytail to hide the face the ends were uneven - after she had bought the dress, Beth had been unable to afford a visit to the hair salon. Her nails were unpolished, but the tips had been meticulously filed into neat ovals and she had even borrowed some make-up from a friend at work. Having carefully applied layer after layer of concealer, Beth could barely discern the faint smudge of a bruise marring her cheek.
"Ahem."
Beth whirled around to see Kevin Cotter, her stepfather, loitering in the open doorway to her bedroom. He had not knocked and the door had certainly been closed. Beth had no idea how long he had been standing there for. But he had been doing that a lot recently - entering unannounced, sneaking up on her.
"Still gawping at yourself?" he smiled at her, but it was a sinister smile - not because he threatened violence, although he was certainly capable of that, but for reasons Beth didn't even want to contemplate.
He'd been doing that a lot recently too - smiling at her.
"I'm about to leave," she replied quickly, picking up her handbag.
"Why the rush, little Beth?"
She cringed at the supposed endearment, disguising her reaction by rifling through her purse to check she had the correct bus fare.
"If I don't go now, I'll be late. Where is Mum, anyway?"
"She's got another one of her migraines." Beth's forehead furrowed with concern. "Is she going to be ok?"
Kevin chuckled. "You're such a worrier, Beth. Relax. She'll be fine."
"Make sure you give her plenty of water. And don't smoke around her. Your cigarettes make her migraines worse."
"I can look after her," he dismissed her concerns, ignoring her instructions. "Leave the worrying to your old man."
Beth wanted to snap at him. If she left 'the worrying' to him, as he proposed, both she and her mother would be broke and homeless. The only way they had been able to make ends meet was because Beth worked, and although she was only twenty-one, she was the sole breadwinner of the household.
"I thought you said it was important I met Mr Voronov on time," she said through gritted teeth.
"You'll be on time. I checked the timetable - you've got twenty minutes before the next bus. So go on, give us a twirl," he continued.
Slowly and uncomfortably, Beth turned on the spot. She had thought she looked so smart. But her stepfather managed to make her feel unclean. She could feel his leering gaze, his eyes settling on her most intimate areas.
"Well look at you, little Beth," Kevin let out a long, low whistle. "All grown up. Good to see you've neatened yourself up a bit," Kevin continued.
"I couldn't meet Mr Voronov in my cleaning overalls, could I?"
Kevin's jaw clenched with a sudden flash of irritation. "Watch your tone, young lady. I won't have you disrespecting me under my roof."
Beth swallowed before she could retort. It wasn't his roof.
"I have to go," she said instead, trying to moderate her tone. "Or I'll be late."
"You've got fifteen minutes."
"What if I miss the bus?"
"You won't miss the bus. Why the rush?" He cocked his head. "Why don't you keep me company?"
Her stomach flipped with disgust at the same time as something inside Beth flared up. "You told me last night how important it was for me to be on time to see Mr Voronov. Now you're saying it doesn't matter?"
Beth didn't know how it happened but within three seconds Kevin had her pinned up against the wall. His forearm held her in place so that she was sandwiched between him and the plaster.
"What did I tell you about disrespecting me in my house?" he hissed, so close that he sprayed droplets of spit over Beth's face.
"It isn't your house!" Her voice was unusually high-pitched - despite the outburst, she was nervous. "It belongs to the council and it's my wages that pay the rent! I'm the one who works two jobs so we can stay here so I can bloody well do whatever I like!"
For a moment he looked shocked, before his mind processed what she had said. "You little cunt," Kevin raised his hand, balling it into a fist.
"Hit me and I won't go!"
Kevin froze. His nostrils flared. A vein in his temple bulged. His jaw was tightly clenched.
Slowly lowering his arm, he pressed her against the wall, crushing her with his bodyweight. Beth's face was scrunched up in pain. More bruises would darken by the following morning. At least on her back, they would be easier to hide.
"You'll go all right. You go and see Mr Voronov. You tell him you're going to pay him his money, you just need more time. Because if you don't go, or if he says no, I won't still be here when he sends his men round to teach you about paying your debts before they're due." He loosened his hold on her.
"But it's not our debt!" Beth protested futilely, resisting the urge to rub her throat, which felt tender from his force.
"Do you think his thugs will care?"
Beth's shoulders sagged, defeated. She knew he was right. And even if he wasn't, did she want to take that sort of risk? Her mother hadn't been particularly strong since her father had walked out on them. The last thing she needed was Mr Voronov's men knocking on their door.
"I'll go," she said.
"Good girl. You might look grown up, but you'll do your duty to your family, won't you? You're still my little Beth, aren't you?"
She nodded, even as she winced at the endearment. Every time he used it, she felt polluted. It was the way he formed the words - 'little Beth' - as if he was talking affectionately to a whore he had just fucked.
"Oh I know you're trying to look like a woman," he crooned, whispering in her ear, his breath hot and damp against the bare skin of her neck. "But have you ever been kissed?"
Beth didn't know why she responded, but she shook her head, dropping her chin so that her hair fell forward, hiding her flaming face.
"I didn't think so. You've never even been with a man, have you? I bet you're still a virgin, aren't you, little Beth?"
Beth knew she had turned bright red, burning with embarrassment. Somehow she managed to wriggle away from him, snatching up her purse and fleeing her bedroom. Even as she flew down the stairs and out the front door, she could hear him chuckling after her, his laughter ringing in her ears.
***
There were two types of business that were conducted in Dmitri Voronov's bars - the drinking kind and the not-quite-legal kind. And Dmitri Voronov had considerable stakes in both. London was his playground. And he knew its games well.
Too well, he sometimes thought. People could be so predictable.
Like the anxious salesman in front of him, who was sweating like a pig and trying desperately to hide the fact he was far out of his depth. It was just after midday, which meant that, as it was just about too early for alcohol, Mr Voronov was concentrating on his other sort of business.
"Please, Sir, I can assure you, this is the best powder you will find on the street - "
"Mr Paraskevas," Dmitri held up a hand, silencing his would-be business partner mid-sentence. "Does my establishment look like the type of place that deals with substances found on the street?"
The salesman looked around. His hair was greasy and lank, damp with perspiration. Through the glass wall of Dmitri's private office he could see the elaborate interior of Decadence - one of the mogul's most exclusive clubs.
"It does not," Dmitri continued, not requiring any form of response and therefore not waiting for one. "My clients - the men and women who come here and those who request my more specialist services - they enjoy the finer things in life. They are not drug addicts. They come to me looking for pleasure. And this - this will not bring them pleasure. It is not good."
Dmitri wrinkled his nose as he held up a plastic sachet of white powder, conveying his disgust for the product he had been presented with.
"But Mr Voronov, Sir - "
"Enough. We are done." Dmitri signalled to a man standing on the other side of the glass. Vladmir, his bodyguard, entered. He was muscular and well-built and, as he clapped a beefy hand on Mr Paraskevas's shoulder, the smaller man visibly shook.
"Vladmir, this meeting is over. Escort my visitor outside."
"Please Mr Voronov, this is a premium product!"
"Mr Paraskevas, I have no desire to do business with you. You may leave. And Vladmir, tell my next appointment to go away. I am not in the mood to see them."
Vladmir nodded, giving Mr Paraskevas a moment to stand before steering him out of his employer's office.
Once he was alone again, Dmitri sighed in tedium. Scaring wannabe drug barons no longer excited him like it had when he had first taken over his father's affairs. Back then, exercising his power, even over rats like Mr Paraskevas, had given him a higher rush than any illicit substance. He had once delighted in knowing that people feared him.
The truth was, he was bored. He needed to inject some sort of adventure in his life. He had thought about diversifying his empire, but to what?
A few of his rivals had added human trafficking to their repertoires, but Dmitri found such business distasteful. Supplying drugs to the rich and senseless of the world was one thing. Exploiting innocent girls from his motherland was another. Dmitri had no problem with selling sex. He had regular dancers at most of his clubs, none of whom had any qualms about revealing their natural assets to the public. But he had no appetite for the sort of prostitution rings that some of his acquaintances were involved in.
Perhaps he should take up golf.
Suddenly his reverie was shattered by a shriek. A very female, piercing shriek.
A girl slammed open the door of his office with such force that had it not been made of bulletproof glass, it would have shattered. She ran inside, her eyes darting around from side to side as if she were afraid to be caught, but had barely made it two paces before she was captured by Vladmir, who followed her in swift pursuit.
"Let go of me, you bastard!" The girl tried to wriggle out of Dmitri's bodyguard's grasp, mussing up her unkempt mane of auburn hair further.
"I'm sorry, Sir," Vladmir garbled breathlessly, struggling to keep hold of his captive. "I told her Mr Voronov wouldn't see her but she wouldn't take no for an answer."
"Of course I wasn't going to leave without seeing Mr Voronov - I had an appointment!"
