Love Beyond Boundaries

Chapter 8 Forbidden Feelings

I spent the rest of the day working like a busy bee. I rushed from one end of the hall to the other, doing everything I could to show I was trying. I knew Vladimir would be watching. The advance he promised me was my only hope for a peaceful life.

"How did you manage to do it?" Nastya asked in surprise as I wiped down the bar counter.

"Do what?" I raised an eyebrow, not taking my eyes off my work.

"Come back here!" she smirked. "Everyone keeps talking about how you ran out yesterday. And nobody knows what actually happened."

"It doesn't matter," I waved her off. "I just decided to keep working here, and Vladimir gave me a chance."

"You're lucky," Nastya snorted. "He rarely gives second chances."

It was surprising that he gave me one, which was confusing even.

"Seems like it," I nodded.

"The main thing is, don't screw up," she whispered suddenly. "Be patient with the guests. You can't be rude here, even though sometimes you just want to smack some greasy face with a tray."

"What do you mean?" I frowned. "The guests all seem normal."

"Yeah," she smirked. "Until they've had too much to drink. They think they're gods, and we're the servants. So you endure."

"What choice do I have?" I shrugged.

I would have to endure a lot and look the other way. But that was fine; life had taught me this too. I could handle it.

Nastya gave me an encouraging smile and went to the kitchen to grab an order. I kept scrubbing the bar and replaying her words in my head. And for some reason, my imagination kept sketching a man's face with sharp cheekbones and eyes like a dark forest. I frowned, trying to push the thought away. I didn't want Vladimir's image invading my mind. I had enough of him in real life.

By evening, my legs were buzzing with fatigue, and my eyes felt gritty, as if someone had poured sand into them; I wanted to sleep. Last night had been sleepless. I kept glancing at the clock, but time seemed to drag.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere in the restaurant quietly shifted. The hall brightened, and more guests arrived. I could hear low murmurs and the light clinking of cutlery. The wealthy relaxed after a hard day, or maybe after shopping.

During my brief breaks, I observed what was happening. Young women my age sat on the laps of distinguished men, laughing exaggeratedly and hugging them while they conducted business talks. Honestly, it was disgusting. Many of these men probably had wives and children at home.

A little later, Vladimir himself descended into the hall. He sat at a table with his companions, chatting casually while leaning back on the couch. One of the girls stopped behind him and began massaging his shoulders, running her palms over his broad chest and neck, leaning in, brushing her long dark hair against him, and whispering into his ear.

'Ugh.' I barely kept myself from grimacing. But Lenka's father seemed completely unconcerned, clearly feeling in control. Feeling my gaze, he looked straight at me, and my whole body froze. I almost dropped the tray. His stare sent shivers down my spine. And when the girl's lips touched Vladimir's neck, I quickly turned away, my face burning bright red.

It felt like I had glimpsed something private, intimate. But it seemed that I was the only one thinking this; because in this restaurant, as it turned out, anything could happen. The wealthy entertained themselves however they pleased. And it looked like this was only the beginning.

"Liza," Nastya whispered, "cover for me. I need to step away for a moment."

"Which table?" I asked, scanning the hall.

"Table eight," she replied. "Vladimir is there. Bring the order; he's ready."

I couldn't really refuse, so I swallowed and nodded. 'No way out.'

I went to the kitchen, picked up the tray with the order, and carried it to the table. Vladimir watched me with lazy, assessing interest. It threw me off; my legs tangled under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Oh, Volodya, you hired a new waitress," said the man with bulldog cheeks, giving me a greasy look. "Rarely see new faces here."

"Rarely," Vladimir smirked. "But effective."

"And your name, girl?" the same man asked.

I carefully set the dishes on the table, avoiding his gaze, but still give my name.

"Liza, " he chuckles hoarsely. "That's why I like you."

I manage a restrained smile. But when I turn to leave, the man grabs my wrist, forcing me to face him again.

"Where are you going, Liza?" he raises his thick brows. "Stay with us."

To my horror, the bulldog patted his knees invitingly. I glanced at Vladimir in shock, but his face remained unreadable.

"I'm sorry," I said with a polite half-smile. "I have work to do."

"Fine, go," he waved me off. "For now."

The moment I turned away, his heavy palm slapped my backside, hard enough to make me almost jump. And this was supposed to be a respectable restaurant? It was a filthy den for people who thought they were allowed anything.

Clenching my teeth, I headed back to the bar counter. It was fine. I could get through this. My shift would be over soon, and then I could go home.

I kept serving the guests. Thankfully, Nastya returned to the floor, and I no longer had to approach the table where Vladimir and his companions were sitting. Especially since those men weren't paying attention to anyone anymore. Drinking expensive alcohol, they laughed loudly and allowed themselves increasingly explicit touches with their companions, completely indifferent to everyone around them.

The other guests weren't much different. It seemed this restaurant really was a secret place where the wealthy let all their vices loose. And they took full advantage of the privacy. They trusted Vladimir.

But he, apparently, didn't trust any of them.

He stayed sober the entire time; I noticed he only pretended to drink. His shot glass always remained full. He wasn't relaxed, but he played his role well among these people: chuckling, smiling occasionally, and letting one of the girls shift around on his lap.

'A nightmare. Where have I ended up?'

So this was what they had warned me about. In the evenings, this place turned into something else entirely, filled with alcohol, rich men, and girls for hire, and it felt as if I had crossed into another world that was corrupt, dirty, and depraved.

"Hey! Liza!" the same man who had slapped me waved me over. "Come here, sweetheart!"

I cursed silently. Only twenty minutes remained in my shift, and I had hoped they would pass quietly. Of course, I couldn't refuse.

Plastering on a polite smile, I walked over to the table obediently. My eyes met Vladimir's again. He was still sober, still serious, watching me closely with a slight frown.

"Sit with us, pretty thing," the bulldog grinned, patting the seat beside him. "Come on, we'll treat you."

"Lev Alexandrovich," Vladimir cut in, "shall I call for a few more girls?"

"I like this one," his companion waved him off, smiling broadly as he looked at me again. "She's got such an innocent face. Shame girls like that don't become whores. Tell me, sweetheart—have you had a man yet?"

Shock barely covered it. The question hit me like a punch to the gut. I froze, my face flushing, completely unsure how to respond.

"Well?" the bculldog raised his voice, staring at me impatiently. "Have you or haven't you?"

I flinched at his tone.

"She's not that innocent," Vladimir answered for me. "I can call an agency—find you someone fresher."

"I want this one." Suddenly, the man grabbed my arm and pulled me onto his lap. His thick hand settled on my waist, and a chill ran down my spine.

"You'll be mine, waitress?"

My cheeks burned. I didn't know what to do with myself. I wished I could disappear, to run, to hide, to be anywhere but here.

"I'm sorry, but…"

"Lev Alexandrovich," Vladimir interrupted.

"Why, Volodya?" the bulldog frowned. "Feeling sorry for your waitress? Or are you the one sleeping with her? Say it straight instead of dancing around!"

"Me," Vladimir said calmly. My eyes widened. "I'm possessive. Liza belongs to me."

'What?'

I didn't even have time to process it. Under the table, Vladimir nudged my leg with his, and when I looked at him, he silenced me with nothing but a look.

"So you should've said so from the start," Lev sighed, pushing me off his lap so that I landed beside Vladimir. "Why keep her working as a waitress, then? You should just keep her."

"She's proud," Vladimir placed his hand on my knee, sending goosebumps across my skin. "Doesn't like taking my money."

The bulldog eyed me suspiciously. His mood had clearly soured now that he had been forced to give me up.

"I see," he downed his whiskey from a faceted glass, sniffed loudly, then clapped his hands. "Then take your waitress and come with me. Your little restaurant's closing soon anyway, right? I'll host the afterparty. Girls, a pool, everything."

I stared at Vladimir in disbelief, but he only tightened his grip on my knee, wordlessly warning me not to speak.

"Excellent idea," Vladimir replied briskly. "Liza will change, and we'll head out."