“He shit himself.”
I chuckle at Demyan, my right-hand man. “I knew it. Under all the bravado, that Albanian fuck is just a scared little boy. What was the outcome?”
“As expected. He returned all the money he siphoned off on the side,” Demyan tells me with obvious satisfaction.
I lean back in my seat and nod. “Did you take interest?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” he retorts. “Of course I did. Twelve percent.”
I raise my eyebrows. “We usually only take ten.”
“He was dressed like a fucking pimp,” Demyan explains. “Lime green zoot suit, paid for with our money. It pissed me off, so I took an extra two percent.”
“Does he know that?”
“I made sure he did.”
I smirk. “Is that all you did, sobrat?”
Demyan sits down in the chair opposite me. We’re in the garden, looking out over the Boston ivy and bougainvillea that frame the western expanse of the lawn.
“I also made him remove the suit.”
“And then?”
“… And then I set it on fire.”
The laugh bursts from my lips. “Well, all things considered, he got off easily. How long did you give him to pay off the interest?”
“Two weeks.”
I frown. “He has to pay back one point four million in two weeks? He’s going to run for the hills, Demyan.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Demyan licks his lips like a hyena about to pounce on his prey.
The comparison suits him well. Demyan may be almost two heads shorter than me, but what he lacks in height, he makes up in presence. His deadly blue eyes are sharp and merciless. His body is lean and wiry, but it’s covered head to toe in tattoos. The only part of him that’s left untouched is his face. Well, almost untouched—just a tiny dagger inked underneath his left eye. He had it done after our first big fight. Right after I took over the reins and became don of the Makarova Bratva.
“Enough about my errands,” he says dismissively. “What about yours?”
“I have the girl.”
“Which one?” Demyan asks.
“The younger sister. Olivia.”
Demyan glances towards me, his shrewd eyes picking up on my body language. “It went smoothly, I take it?”
“It went perfectly,” I confirm.
“But…?”
There’s no sense lying to Demyan. The man knows me well. “She’s more… attractive than I expected.”
He chuckles. “So fuck her and be done with it.”
I hoist my leg up and rest it on the table sitting between us. “Already did.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Demyan laughs. “Multi-tasker of the year. You delayed an entire flight and got laid? When did you have the time?”
“I delayed the plane so I’d have time to build a rapport—to learn more about her. And it worked flawlessly.” I smirk. “I fucked her in the plane bathroom.”
“Lucky you,” he says. “You must have picked the fun sister.”
I cock my head to the side thoughtfully. “Actually, I don’t think so. She’s as boring as the reports indicated. Dresses like she’s forty and barely has a social circle back in New York. The people she does know are all work colleagues.”
“What’s your point?”
“She’s not the type of woman who fucks a stranger in an airplane bathroom,” I explain. “I think I was a rare exception.”
“Of course you were,” Demyan says. “Having you by my side for half of my life has been the bane of my fucking existence. Women take one look at you and suddenly, I disappear.”
I shrug. “You’ve eaten well on my leftovers.”
“Yeah, but being a bottom feeder sucks ass.”
Chuckling, I reach for the unopened beers that are sweating condensation onto the tabletop. “Want one?”
“Does a bear shit in the—”
“Here,” I interrupt with a scowl. “Take the goddamn beer and shut up.”
I pop the cap and hand him a fresh beer. I grab one for myself, too.
“I was an exception,” I continue to muse, “but I could tell she was trying to talk herself out of it. The entire time I was undressing her, I couldn’t tell if she was going to fuck me or bolt. She’s not confident. Not about her body or her life.”
“Methinks I sense a little fascination,” Demyan suggests in an obnoxiously twee voice.
I roll my eyes. “I just haven’t come across a woman like her before.”
“That’s because you’ve never taken the time to venture out and find them. And they aren’t exactly the type to come looking for you.”
“Fair point.”
He takes a swig of his beer and gives me a curious glance. “Just how attractive are we talking?”
“She’s beautiful,” I say honestly. “But she tries hard to hide it. Seems like she’s been fairly successful in that regard.”
“Beautiful, huh?” Demyan says. “Be careful with that shit, amigo. The last time I used that word to describe a woman, I married her. And we all know how that turned out.”
I smile. “Speaking of which, how is Miranda?”
Demyan leans back into his seat again and sighs. “She’s talking about moving to Nebraska.”
“Jesus Christ. Nebraska? Why?”
“Her family lives there,” Demyan explains. “Her parents and both brothers. The older one got married and popped out a couple of kids and now, she’s talking about moving Callie there so she can be with her cousins.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And what did you say to that?”
“I told her if she wants to move to Nebraska, she’s more than welcome to. But she’s not taking my kid with her.”
I snort. “I bet she took that well.”
“Does she ever take anything I say well?” he growls. He takes another swig of beer. “Trust me, man, it’s not fucking worth it. Marriage is… Suffice it to say it’s not for men like us.”
“Whoever said anything about marriage?”
“Finding a woman beautiful is one thing,” he says. “Finding a woman fascinating is another. When they go hand-in-hand… that’s trouble.”
“This girl is nothing more than a conduit, Demyan. I took her for a purpose. Once that purpose is served, she’ll go right back to her mundane little life. And I’ll get on with mine.”
Demyan purses up his lips. “You sure about that?”
“Just because you married the woman you thought was beautiful doesn’t mean I will.”
“Okay. But just remember I also divorced her,” he says. “You know why? Beauty doesn’t get you very far when you’re living together day-to-day and trying to mesh together two lives that just don’t fit.”
“You married outside the Bratva,” I point out.
“Good point. So remind me: is this chick Bratva?”
I give him the finger. “She is a means to an end,” I growl. “ I sought her out to carry out a mission. You married a girl you met in a club because she got your dick hard. The two things are worlds apart.”
He narrows his eyes. “Does that mean you’re done fucking her?”
“I can fuck her without getting attached. Believe me.”
“That’s dangerous territory, brother.”
“You think too much.”
“Doesn’t make me wrong. Women like them… they’re not suited for this lifestyle, man. She’ll crack under the stress of it. She’ll fall to pieces every time you have work to do.” He shakes his head. “They want quiet and calm. They want stability. And the Bratva feeds on chaos.”
“I’m not going to marry the woman, Demyan. And as for fucking her, I’ve already done that. Why would I need to do it again?”
Demyan doesn’t look fully convinced, but he nods regardless. It’s been three years since his divorce, but it still wears on him. He tries to hide it, but I know the toll it takes. He is a good man at heart.
Me, on the other hand?
Not so much.
“Do you think she’s serious?” I ask. “About Nebraska?”
“Her argument is that I’m barely around anyway,” Demyan says through gritted teeth. “The fact that I missed her birthday doesn’t help.”
“When was that?”
“Three weeks ago, when we were dealing with the Boskovic scum.”
“We were out for three days.”
“Exactly. Which is all it took for it to slip my mind that Callie’s birthday was right around the corner.”
“Fuck. How old is she now?”
“She turned eight.”
“Eight?” I say in disbelief. “Blyat’. Feels like just yesterday she was born.”
He sighs and passes a hand over his face. “Sometimes, I think that Miranda is right. I’m not around as much as I should be.”
“So change it.”
He fidgets in his seat. “I don’t know how to talk to her.”
“You’re her father. Just be there.”
Demyan looks at me with haunted eyes. “I can’t let her take my kid, Aleks.”
“Then don’t let her.”
“She’ll hate me.”
“She does already.”
He snorts darkly. “Fuck, ain’t that the truth? To this day, that’s the part that floors me the most.”
“People change.”
“That’s the thing: I didn’t change,” he says. “I told her who I was from the beginning. She told me she loved me and she would deal with the rest. But it doesn’t matter how many promises are made. When it comes to living this lifestyle, it gets to be too much. We’re better off being lone wolves. We need to fuck faceless women and leave when we’re done.”
“I get the point, Demyan,” I say.
He smiles and holds his hands up in surrender. “Lecture over, then. You think that FBI bastard will back off now that you have his sister?”
“He has no choice,” I say. “The Bureau would have dropped the investigation a long time ago if it weren’t for his irritating persistence.”
“Still hung up on his missing woman, eh?”
“Precisely.”
“See?” Demyan says. “No good can come of loving a woman. Look what kind of hot water it’s gotten that poor son of a bitch into.”
I finish off the last of my beer. Demyan does the same and gets to his feet. “Come on,” he says, “we should celebrate the successful conclusion of our mission.”
I know what’s coming before he makes the suggestion. He’s set things up perfectly. If I say no, he’s going to assume it’s because my interests lie elsewhere. So with a grimace, I stand up and nod.
“Fine. Roxy’s it is.”
With a self-satisfied grin, he leads me out into the courtyard where several of my vehicles are waiting for me to choose from. I select the midnight blue Aston Martin.
Demyan hops into the passenger seat and I take the wheel. The car purrs to life beneath us, lethal and gorgeous.
As I peel out with squealing tires, I can’t help but glance up towards the upstairs windows. She’s been locked inside for a few hours now, but there hasn’t been so much as a single peep from her room.
Not my concern, I tell myself as the gates close behind us. She is only a means to an end.
For the most part, I even believe it.
Roxy’s is only a fifteen-minute drive away. It’s the mecca of strip clubs. A fucking cornucopia of ass and tits. It runs a cool grand to get you into the main area, with two dozen girls at any given time swinging from the poles and rafters and another fifteen or twenty wandering the floor in search of a client. For a normal man, it’s heaven on earth.
We walk straight past it.
Because the second part of the club is hidden away behind black gilded doors. If you have to ask the entry fee, you can’t afford it.
Demyan and I glide towards the entrance. Two bouncers open them without so much as a single question as we approach, their heads bowed in reverence.
It’s quieter in here, classier, although certainly not short on women. They’ve mostly dispensed with clothes altogether in this section. The red lights pirouette throughout the darkness, highlighting curves and temptations everywhere you look.
Demyan and I slide into one of the leather booths. We’ve barely taken a breath before a gaggle of girls descends on us like vultures.
My lieutenant spreads his legs and lets one of his favorite girls plop down not-so-accidentally on his crotch. “Evening, Jemma,” he greets, cupping her ass. “You look delicious tonight.”
“I taste delicious, too,” she says with a demure giggle. She’s wearing a tiny pink bikini top that covers only her nipples and a matching pink skirt that barely covers her ass. It’s a fairly chaste ensemble, compared to the rest of her colleagues.
“Tell me more,” he rumbles.
“Hm, I think I’d rather show you.”
Jemma’s hands disappear inside Demyan’s pants. I turn my attention to the two women who’ve been running their hands all over me and murmuring in my ear.
Weirdly, it’s doing nothing for me. Surrounded by the sexiest women the human race has ever made, offering me any kind of pleasure I can name, and my dick doesn’t even stiffen.
“Shoo, ladies,” a confident feminine voice says. “This man needs a real woman.”
I glance up to see Allaynah strutting towards me. She’s a flawless silhouette emerging from the shadows in sky-high heels and nothing else. Her nipples point upwards from perky tits and the tiny, manicured strip of hair between her legs promises much more.
“We’ve got this, Ally,” one of the girls says with a pout.
“Did I ask if you had it?” she snaps harshly. “Get the fuck off him, both of you.”
They both look up at me pitifully, hoping for mercy. “You heard her,” I say with a laughing shrug. “Fuck off.”
The moment I speak, both girls are off me. Allaynah moves forward with a satisfied smile and sits down next to me.
She’s confidence incarnate. Her blonde hair hangs down her left shoulder in soft waves. With a practiced little sigh, she reaches forward and runs her fingers over my arm. “You look like you need a little cheering up, handsome.”
“We’re actually here to celebrate,” I say.
She glances towards Demyan and Jemma. They’ve now sprawled across the black leather sofa. Demyan is sucking on one of her nipples while he finger-fucks her.
“Well, he certainly is. I’m not sure about you, though,” she remarks. “Why don’t I fix that?”
I try to pay attention as she talks. Allaynah usually does a good job of distracting me. She isn’t like the other girls; she can actually hold a conversation. And she pours shots of tequila like it’s going out of style.
But for some reason, it’s not working for me today. Not for lack of her trying, though.
“Why don’t we find ourselves a private room?” she asks, extending a hand to me.
I consider it. On one hand, it would be easy to say no. I’m not in the mood in the slightest, and even Allaynah’s perfect ass isn’t changing that.
But on the other hand, if I stay on that couch and brood, my thoughts will drift to a scared woman locked up in a room in my house.
And that way lies danger.
I take Allaynah’s hand. She leads me to a studded red leather door at the rear of the room. We step inside to the soft thump of hip-hop. More red leather gleams in here—the walls, a couch, a trunk that I know from experience contains a variety of fun toys.
Allaynah prances to the pole in the center of the room and twirls around it slowly. She expects me to follow her, to touch the way I always do.
Instead, I brush right past her and drop onto the couch. It’s soft and comfortable, making me aware that I’d rather sleep right now than fuck. Allaynah frowns, abandons the pole, and sashays over to straddle my lap.
“What’s the matter, gorgeous?” she whispers. “You wanna cut right to the chase?”
I look over her shoulder at nothing in particular. “I just want a moment’s peace.”
“You know there’s no special charge for you, right?” she presses. “I’d fuck you for free any day.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You should be. No one else is so lucky.”
Her nails glide down my chest, down my abs. The moment she grazes my crotch, though, I pluck them off of me.
“Oh. Are we going rough tonight, baby?” she asks with a wry, arched eyebrow.
“No. We’re not going anywhere tonight,” I say, shoving her off me.
She squeals as her butt hits the soft leather sofa. She straightens up and looks at me with a bewildered expression on her face.
It’s the first time I’ve ever refused her. Usually, she’s halfway to orgasm by now. I know that’s why she homes in on me the moment I walk through the doors. It’s why they all do.
I’m the only man who can actually make these women come.
I get to my feet and pull out my wallet. “Here’s a few hundred for your time. But it’s not happening tonight.”
Her mouth goes slack with disappointment. “But… I… it’s free…”
“Nothing in life is free,” I tell her. “If Demyan asks, tell him I fucked you ten ways to Sunday. Got it? I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.”
She stares at the stack of crisp hundred dollar bills I’ve discarded on the table. Her disappointment turns into confusion, but she can’t find the words to convey it.
Fine by me. I’ve had enough talking to confused women for today.
I nod and turn for the door.
“Aleks,” she calls, “don’t you want me?”
I frown, stop, and pivot back to face her. “Let’s be clear, Molly,” I say, using her real name. “I never wanted you.”
She’s still slack-jawed on the couch when I turn and leave.
