Shameless AF: Dad of the Damn Multiverse

Chapter 44: Svetlana

Sheila had initially wondered if there had been some misunderstanding between Karen and Officer Eddie. After all, the night they left for the purity ball, the two had seemed to be getting along just fine—like a normal father and daughter.

But now that she knew the truth, everything made sense. Sheila finally understood why Karen had come home so furious that night. Her own anger surged to the surface. As a mother who truly loved her daughter—who always placed her child above all else—Sheila was bitterly disappointed in Eddie.

Seeing her rage, Officer Eddie frowned and raised his hand defensively. But Sheila had lost all reason, like a woman possessed. She lunged at him, scratching and hitting, leaving bleeding cuts across his face.

"That's enough!" Eddie shouted, his eyes flaring. With a rough shove, he knocked Sheila to the ground.

"You—!" Sheila scrambled back up, unrelenting.

Smack!

Eddie slapped her hard across the face, sending her crashing to the floor again. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and for a moment, she just sat there—stunned.

Eddie had never hit a woman before. As a devout Christian, he believed in restraint. But he didn't say a word. Without a glance back, he got into his car and drove away.

A long moment passed before Sheila stirred. She slowly stood up, still cradling her face.

"I… I'm outside. I actually walked outside! I finally made it out!" she cried in shock.

Fueled by anger, she had completely forgotten about her severe agoraphobia—the crippling fear of unfamiliar places. In chasing after Eddie, she had stormed right out of the house.

And now, realizing she'd broken free of that invisible prison, an overwhelming joy overtook her. It eclipsed all the pain and fury, and she began jumping in place with excitement.

But at this moment, she had no one to share her happiness with.

---

Meanwhile, Eddie was gripping the steering wheel tightly as he drove, muttering under his breath, "Frank…"

The scratches on his face healed unnaturally fast, leaving no trace behind.

---

"Hey, you're late, Frank!" Kevin shouted as Frank walked into the bar. Kevin slung an arm around him, grinning.

"We found a bunch of hot girls for the party tonight—it's gonna be wild!"

"Hey there, handsome~" several scantily clad women approached, speaking with thick Russian accents.

This kind of street party wasn't complete without prostitutes. The women had been hired for the night—blondes, brunettes, even a few Black girls, but most were Russian.

Russia had long been known for its beautiful women, and due to the struggling economy, many were forced to seek opportunities abroad. Enticed by the seductive lure of the "American Dream," some had snuck into the U.S. illegally. Others had been sold by desperate fathers—for as little as the cost of a few bottles of vodka.

But once they arrived, most were trapped, easy prey in a foreign land. With no legal documents and few options, many turned to prostitution just to survive.

One of the more infamous clubs on this strip specialized in Russian girls. With connections back in Russia, they ensured high "quality." Compared to the local Latina workers, the tall and curvy Russians were a major draw for American men—offering both looks and affordability.

---

The bachelor party was in full swing. Tons of friends showed up. Lip and Ian were there too—though Carl, being too young, wasn't invited.

Everyone wore crazy disco wigs, loud dance music pumped through the speakers, and the hired girls performed strip teases. Of course, there was plenty of weed going around too.

Even John showed up.

It was one of those rare nights when Frank truly let loose. He tossed aside his usual cynicism, downed a few drinks with John, and even hopped on stage with a microphone in hand.

"People ask me, Frank, why do you drink?" he sang.

"To get drunk!" the crowd shouted back.

"And why do you smoke weed?"

"To get high!"

"Then why do you live the life you sing about in your songs?!"

Frank was in his element. For a moment, it felt like the old Frank was back. He even sang two songs in Chinese.

---

"Hey, beautiful. Drinking alone—isn't that boring?" Frank said as he returned to the bar, spotting a sultry Russian woman smoking by herself.

To Frank and his buddies, the party was a wild night of fun. But for these women, it was just another exhausting shift. Kevin had paid good money—not for their enjoyment, but to keep the party lively.

Unlike atmosphere girls at regular bars who just flirt and laugh, these women were expected to provide... everything, including sex. It was physically and emotionally draining work.

"You want me to give you a blowjob too?" the Russian woman asked bluntly.

"No, no. Just looking to share a drink," Frank replied. He'd already pushed his limits tonight.

"You're the first man to say no to me," she said, slightly surprised. As she turned, her ample chest bounced with the motion.

"Cough, uh, what's your name? I'm Frank," he asked, regaining composure.

"Svetlana. You sang Chinese songs earlier—your pronunciation was quite good," she said, switching to Chinese toward the end. Her accent was thick, but her words were understandable.

"You speak Chinese?" Frank blinked, taken aback. Chinese was notoriously hard to learn.

"Not fluently. But my family was poor, and I used to dream of working in China, so I picked up a bit," Svetlana replied, exhaling smoke.

"What kind of education do you have? Why are you… doing this kind of work?" Frank asked, puzzled.

With her looks, body, and language skills, she could've easily found a better job—even in China. Teaching, modeling, maybe even landing a wealthy sponsor. Anything had to be better than selling herself in a U.S. slum.

"I finished some high school, but had to drop out. I wanted to keep studying, but we had no money. My bastard father sold me for 300 bucks."

"When I got to the U.S., I had no passport, no ID—completely undocumented. No money, no choices. What else could I do? If immigration catches me, I'll be deported. I can't go back. Things might be bad here, but back home, I might not even get to eat," she shrugged, completely unfazed.

"So... you learned Chinese on your own?" Frank asked, even more surprised.

"Yeah. English too—I picked it up after I arrived. Way easier than Chinese. Took me like two weeks. I even learned some Spanish along the way—it's pretty useful here, you know," Svetlana said, chatting freely like someone who hadn't had a real conversation in ages.