Chapter 7 Kitten

Vicktor’s POV “So you’re a thief and also a liar?” I asked, standing over what she called a home, a makeshift collection of what most would call trash. “Are you a homeless beggar?” I prodded further, watching as she vigorously blinked away tears and then met my gaze once more, a fire kindling behind those weary eyes. “What are you doing here? Why did you follow me?!” She sprang to her feet, startled, her gaze darting around as if she was looking for an escape or maybe a weapon. “I’m not stupid, kitten. I don’t stay at the top of my game by just believing what a stranger tells me. I needed to make sure you weren’t lying and definitely not spying,” I explained. Trust doesn’t come easily to me; it’s a luxury I can’t afford. Ever since three of my most trusted men betrayed me, I've become even more cautious, especially with the myriad of enemies I have—from mafia gangs to businessmen and even some dirty players in the government. “Fine, now that you know I’m a homeless beggar, are you happy?” she retorted, her voice thick with embarrassment. She avoided my gaze, her eyes fixed on the ground. “This place is dangerous,” I stated simply, observing our bleak surroundings. “It’s none of your business. I’ve been surviving, so nothing will happen. And if you’re here for your money, I’ll return it,” she said, her voice defiant yet defeated. She started to pull the cash from her bra, her face a mask of resignation. “Kitten... I can’t leave you here,” I said, stopping her hand, firm yet gentle. I couldn’t let her return the money. It was clear she needed it more than I did. “For goodness sake, my name is Amanda, and I’m not a kitten!” she shouted, frustration boiling over. I looked around at the rubbish heap she’d turned into a sort of home and noted how she’d managed to give it a semblance of coziness, a feat that in itself deserved some respect. "Definitely a stray wild kitten," I murmured to myself, pondering what to do next. "Why did you even follow me? What do you want from me now?" Amanda’s voice broke through my thoughts, her tone shifting from anger to curiosity. "I told you, I can't just trust anyone. And after seeing where you live, I'm not convinced you're safe here," I replied. Amanda crossed her arms, her initial fear subsiding into a challenging glare. "So, you're what, my guardian angel now? You think because you gave me some money, you can control where I live?" I couldn't help but smirk at her fiery spirit. "No, I don’t want to control anything. But it doesn’t sit right with me, leaving you in a place like this. You're tough, I can see that. But this city eats tough for breakfast." She scoffed. "And what do you suggest? I move into a fancy apartment? Come on, I can't afford anything." We stood there for a moment, the tension hanging between us like thick fog. I considered her situation, then made a decision. "What if I offered you a job?" I suggested, watching her reaction closely. "A job? Doing what? I'm not getting involved in any shady business," she said quickly, her eyes narrowing. "It's nothing illegal, I promise. Just a place at the club where you can work and get paid. You'd have a place to stay, too," I explained, trying to make the offer as appealing as possible without seeming like I was trying to buy her. Her skepticism was palpable, but so was her desperation. "And why would you offer me this? You barely know me." "Because I believe everyone deserves a second chance. And maybe... I need to make amends for some of the bad I've done," I confessed, a rare moment of vulnerability that I rarely allowed anyone to see. Amanda looked at me, really looked at me, as if trying to decipher if my words were sincere. Finally, she nodded slowly. "Okay, I’ll consider it. But no funny business, or I'm out." "Agreed," I said, relieved. We spent the next few minutes discussing the details. I told her about the job responsibilities and where she would be staying. The more we talked, the more she relaxed and even cracked a few jokes. Her humor surprised me—it was sharp and had a darkness to it that matched the night around us. As we wrapped up our conversation, I extended my hand to help her up from the makeshift seat she'd fashioned out of an old tire. "Let’s get you out of here. We can start fresh tomorrow." She took my hand, her grip firm. "Thanks... I guess. For not being a complete jerk." I chuckled, leading the way out of her camp and towards the car parked a short distance away. "For goodness sake, my name is Viktor, not some random rich jerk," I said, glancing back at her with a grin. She laughed, the sound surprisingly melodic in the cool night air. "Alright, Viktor. Let's see what tomorrow brings." As we walked, I thought about how unusual this night had turned out.It was definitely not what I had planned for this evening. As we approached the car, Amanda suddenly stopped, her expression turning serious. "I just want to make it clear—I can't work as a stripper," she said, her voice firm yet tinged with a hint of fear. I looked at her, her slight figure hardly fitting the image of a club dancer, and chuckled, not because I found the idea amusing, but more out of disbelief that she would think I'd suggest such a thing. "Fine, I know I don’t look sexy or beautiful, but people like you can make people like me do anything for money. Please don’t let me dance in front of hundreds of men with nothing on my body," she added softly, her eyes pleading. "I’m the boss here, I can decide whatever I want. You don’t have a say besides it’s either you obey me or I will hand you over to the police for stealing at my club," I said with finality, watching as she gulped and looked straight ahead, her body tense. "Where are we going? Will I be sleeping at the club?" She asked, her voice carrying a hint of innocence, yet laced with worry. The drive was quiet for a while as I contemplated her question. I had no intention of putting her in any uncomfortable position, despite my harsh words earlier. It was all a test of her character, to gauge her desperation and honesty. I needed to be sure she wouldn’t just take the job out of fear. “No, I still don’t trust you. So you’re coming with me,” I said finally, without giving her any room to protest. Her face fell slightly, confusion and a trace of fear passing over her features. As the car sped through the city streets, I kept glancing at Amanda. She sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, the streetlights casting shadows across her face. I could tell she was processing the situation, trying to figure out whether she was in a better or worse position now than she was before meeting me. “I’m not going to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with, Amanda,” I said after a while, breaking the silence. “The job I have in mind for you involves handling some administrative duties, answering calls and helping the bartenders at the club. No dancing, no inappropriate activities. I run some legitimate business too, despite my other ventures” She turned to look at me, her expression mixed with skepticism and relief. “Why help me? What’s in it for you?” she asked, her tone wary. “I don’t answer to you or anyone besides I found you that means you’re mine now. I will do whatever I want to do with you” I replied, keeping my eyes on the road.