Page 45 of The Seller

“Mhm,” he nods with a smile. He’s so fucking sexy, and he’s not even trying to be. I suppose I’m hugely attracted to men who save me and solve all my problems with a single bullet.

“Why did you do all of this? Just for me? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” he says, sitting in a chair and taking another swig of his drink. “You don’t owe me a thing, Siri. You don’t owe anybody anything. You’re free. You can go if you like.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he nods.

“There has to be a catch.”

He leans forward, his hands around the beer, holding it between his knees as he fixes me with an intense look. “The catch is that I want you to be happy, whatever that means for you. I told you I love you, Siri. I can’t claim to love you and hold you hostage all over again. You’re free. I really mean that.”

I can’t believe him. It’s not physically possible to force the neurons of my mind to believe what he’s telling me. I was born indebted, told over and over that I was worth nothing besides what my father said I was worth. My mother was taken from me by an act of violence which showed me that my life could be snuffed out if I made the same mistake she did. And now Stavros, a man who sells women for money, who shoots other men dead, is telling me he has saved me from all of that? Not possible.

“Does that mean you want me to go?”

“Absolutely not,” he says. “I want you, Siri. I have always wanted you. From the moment I set eyes on you.”

“The moment you set eyes on me, you were trying to work out how much you could get for me.”

“That never crossed my mind.”

That, I find very hard to believe. Selling things is what Stavros does. He had me transported to his basement so he could train me and turn me into a commodity. I might have been saved from Don Corelli, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe from Stavros.

I’m probably being ungrateful. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have slept with a very old man and possibly be pregnant by now. Stavros saved me a hell of a life with one bullet. I know I owe him. And I know how he’s probably going to want to take payment. There’s only one currency men like him understand.

“So, do you want to, uhm, fuck me, then?”

“Always,” he says. “But not right now.”

“So… not always?”

“Siri, you’ve been through a lot. Just relax and let me take care of you.”

“Uh huh. Seriously. What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“There’s always a catch.”

“Not this time.”

I look him over. He’s so fucking handsome. I owe him my life and my freedom and everything else and he’s not even taking advantage of that. Maybe he really has changed. Or maybe I never really knew him at all.

“Since when are you a hero?”

“Since you needed one.”

I look at him, uncertain. I know he wants me, and he has to know how vulnerable I am right now. I would expect him to take advantage of that. Men like him always exploit weakness. My father did that ruthlessly.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Of course I owe you, but I can’t be with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you sell people. And I used you.”

---