by C. T. Sloan
It starts with a description of Sergey holding a jar of acid over the head of a blogger who tried to expose the corruption of the Odostan Regime. The Dictator’s son slowly poured the acid over the guy’s face, watching as the poor prisoner’s flesh melts onto the ground. That’s it. I stop reading.
The jet takes off. I look out the window and watch the ground get smaller and smaller. Something in me is saying that this is a bad idea. My hands and feet begin to shake. Oh God. I am having a panic attack. My life is going to be in serious danger when I step off of the plane in Monaco.
My heart begins to race. I want to scream. I want to get off of this plane. This is not going to work. Mr. Peak has all of the power and poise to overthrow a government. But what am I? I’m just some girl who cheated to score a good paying job. This is way over my head.
Mr. Peak looks at me. He can tell something is wrong. “Go have a drink and relax,” my boss orders. The blonde stewardess is dutifully making a drink for my boss. I order a Vodka straight-up. No fucking around. I need to get myself buzzed or outright drunk by the time I get to Monaco.
Against my better judgement, I go back to reading the article: The only thing more feared than Sergey Molidak is the entourage of steroid infused personal bodyguards whose duty include beating those who stare into the eyes of Odostan’s favorite son, ensuring the young man gets into any top club, restaurant or event and procuring supermodels for the evening’s entertainment.
Great. So I not only have to worry about this crazy guy, I have to watch out for a bunch of lunkheaded bodyguards. I click off the article and listen to some chillwave music on iTunes. The stewardess returns with my drink. My head is spinning. I need to zone out for a while.
***
My eyes open up as the plane lands in Teterboro, New Jersey. Wow. Seven hours goes by fast when you get yourself nice and drunk. I feel hung over. The Gulfstream doors open. Mr. Peak goes out to stretch his legs. I stumble outside. It’s nighttime. We walk across the tarmac as my boss runs his hand into my hair.
“Looks like you emptied an entire bottle of Vodka all by yourself,” Mr. Peak announces.
“And I haven’t eaten a thing today.”
“Not good for a small girl like you.”
Mr. Peak gets on his phone and makes a call. As he talks on the phone, I gaze at the Manhattan skyline in the distance. My boss hangs up and says, “We’re having a full course dinner ready for us when we get back into the air.”
Wouldn’t you know it. About thirty minutes later, an SUV shows up with a cart of salad, roasted chicken, steak and dessert. My boss certainly knows how to get anything he wants, whenever he wants it.
We go back aboard the Gulfstream. The food smells great! I start off with a Caesar salad. Then I dig into this really juicy roasted chicken. To top it all off, there is a slice of real New York cheesecake. This is certainly a far cry from the usual airline food.
After that great dinner, my worries are behind me. I start thinking about the great time I am going to have in Monaco. Mr. Peak gets on his phone and begins to talk to various people in French as well as some other languages I can not decipher.
I return to my iPad and continue my research on Odostan. I have to stop being a wimp. Yes, Sergey is a fucking maniac. I could die. But if you don’t risk it all, you can’t win it all. I look at my boss and this is a man who backs down to nothing and no one. Because he backs down to nothing and no one, he has everything. I want everything. I want to win.
As the Gulfstream flies over the Atlantic, I continue to learn more about the brutal Modilak family. Both President Yuri Modilak and Sergey Modilak are degenerate gamblers. This may explain why Mr. Peak insists on the meeting taking place in Monaco. Sergey won’t be able to resist the Monte Carlo casino. Perhaps, if I can keep him gambling, he won’t notice that General Zhukov is off planning the overthrow of Odostan.
My mind races at the possible scenarios that could take place. I could be kidnapped. Sergey may attack me. One of the bodyguards may attack me. I think of every possible escape measure to keep myself alive. In every escape scenario, one thing is paramount: Don’t Panic.
I lose track of time as I plan my rendezvous with the Dictator’s son. Just as my eyes are about to get heavy, Mr. Peak nudges my arm. “Look out of the window,” he orders. I look out and see the French coastline below.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“We will be landing in Nice, France. Then we will take a car into Monaco.”
The sun is just starting to come up. I glance at my clock and it’s about 5:45 a.m. local time. Golden morning light flickers on the beaches. The Gulfstream descends into Nice. Adrenaline pumps through my body. This is it. It’s time to rock and roll!
The plane lands at a little after six and quickly comes to a stop. Less than a few minutes later, the doors open. We are met by French Customs. Mr. Peak presents his passport. I do the same. There are few questions, which my boss answers in their native language. Whatever my boss told them must be effective because the Customs agents tip their hats and let us go on our way. Now, this is the perfect way to travel.
We walk to a terminal where Mr. Peak and myself are met by a fleet of Rolls Royce sedans. A group of men take our luggage and place it in one of the Rolls Royce’s massive trunks. Mr. Peak grabs my arm and walks me to one of the sedans. We get inside.
Under a minute later, the fleet of cars races out of the airport. All I can say is that being a billionaire means there isn’t a lot of fucking around at the airport. I check my watch. 6:15 a.m.
I stare out of the window as the sun rises over the French beaches. The Rolls-Royces speed towards Monaco. It just occurs to me that this is my first time in Europe. I had gone to Canada and Mexico a few times. But this is my first time so far away from home. It can make a girl’s head spin.
The cars enter the Municipality of Monaco. I am instantly hit by the density of wealth in the city-state. Ferraris next to Bentleys next to Rolls-Royces next to exotic cars that I can’t even identify. I look out at the port and see dozens of super-yachts. It’s as though this is a country made up completely of millionaires and billionaires. I remember reading somewhere that residents of Monaco pay no taxes. That explains a lot!
“Have you ever heard of the Hermitage?” Mr. Peak asks me.
“Should I know that place, Sir?”
“Probably not. It’s the finest hotel in Monaco. I think you will like it.”
We pull up to this massive and ornate white structure. It doesn’t look like a hotel. It looks like a palace. The doors open and I step outside into the Mediterranean climate. It is much like the Westside of Los Angeles - Perfect.
My head snaps back as I drink in the splendor of the gorgeous building. I follow my boss inside and now I swear we are inside of a royal estate. The hotel lobby has a huge domed glass ceiling with the biggest chandelier I have ever seen in my life.
We are escorted to the elevators. Naturally, Mr. Peak has reserved the Presidential suite on the top floor. We get to the suite. The doors open and, well, it’s heaven. That’s the best way to describe it. The suite is designed in shades of white. Double French doors lead to the balcony, overlooking the harbor. My jaw drops. My boss walks into the place like he owns it. My guess is that he has been here many times before.
The hotel staff bring in the luggage. My boss hands them a very generous stack of Euros. We are left alone. Mr. Peak walks out onto the balcony and points to the biggest yacht in the harbor. “That’s Sergey’s pleasure craft,” he announces. Damn, that’s a big fucking boat. It also ruins the view. My hands begin to shake. As I look at Sergey’s yacht, I wonder if he sees me on the balcony. As great as the view is out there, I opt to go back into the hotel suite.
Mr. Peak removes his clothes and hops into the shower. I join him. I wash down my master. And let me tell you, I never get sick of running my hands down his strong arms and muscular chest. He returns the favor. Even after the long flight, my boss gets a little frisky. We play around i
n the shower for half an hour before we hop into bed. My boss suggests we catch a nap before the big evening. Good idea.
***
We get up as the sun sets on Monaco. I jump to my feet and check the baggage. To my surprise, the entire wardrobe has been hung up in the Presidential suite’s walk-in closets. Living the life of a billionaire’s pet is going to take some getting used to!
I examine all of the Hermes outfits in front of me. I don’t even remember half of the clothing that Mr. Peak purchased for me. There are some really knockout numbers here. My eye is attracted to this white dress with a flowing blue skirt. I grab the dress off of the hanger and walk to a mirror. Oh yes, this will work.
I try on the dress and it seems as though this item was designed for my body. It shows off my strong shoulders and my chest. That’s not to say I have big tits. But it works for me. I sit down and begin to apply my eyelashes and makeup. The suite has this incredible vanity desk which appears to be over a hundred years old. For a moment, I just stop to admire the craftsmanship of the furniture. The desk is white with gold leafing. You can tell the item is handmade. The thought of some artisan working weeks on end - on this one item of furniture - really makes me appreciate the finer things in life.
Let me just say that I am really enjoying this. Playing dress up, going to the Monte Carlo casino with Mr. Peak is just too much. I begin to forget about the danger that awaits me. Just when things seem fun and light, something in the back of my brain whispers, “This is serious business. Be careful.”
I slip on a gorgeous pair of heels and check myself out in the mirror. All that is missing is the jewelry. The right bling to attract my prey. Ha. Ha! First, I place that huge diamond necklace on my body. Then I drape this diamond studded presidential Cartier watch around my wrist. Next I apply the earrings and the bracelets. Finally, I look at that ring which has never left my finger. I rub that huge, sharp diamond mounted on the platinum band. Yeah, that big rock can cut down King Kong, if need be.
As I walk past the walk-in closet something catches my eye - a feather sticking out of a hat box. I walk up to the box and open it. I look inside and discover the perfect hat for this outfit. It is adorned with about a dozen white feathers. I place the hat on my head and check myself out. Oh my God. I am a pure white swan. There is no way I will be ignored.
When I am done, I walk over to the living room. I see Mr. Peak’s back. He is looking out over the marina. Damn, that man looks good in a suit. He instinctively knows I am watching him. My boss turns around and looks me up and down. There is a small smile on his face. That’s not an easy accomplishment.
While Mr. Peak admires my appearance, I stare at my billionaire decked out in a sharp black suit and a white silk tie. He runs his fingers across the white feathers. He likes what he sees. And I certainly like that my master is happy. “I would fuck you right now if we didn’t have business to attend to,” Mr. Peak says as he puts on a top hat. Damn, he couldn’t give a girl a higher compliment.
My boss grabs a large bag and carries it himself out of the Presidential suite. This is odd since I have never seen him carry his own bag before. I think about asking about the bag. I don’t. If Mr. Peak wants me to know about the bag, he damn well will let me know at his convenience.
We walk down to the Hermitage lobby. People look at us like we are royalty. They know Mr. Peak is a billionaire and they know we are going to the Monte Carlo Casino. It feels good to be the center of attention.
We enter a chauffeured Rolls-Royce. When the doors close, Mr. Peak demands my full attention. “Sergey usually likes to play dice. But when he is in Monte Carlo, he plays Baccarat because that is where all the big shots play. The men sit at the table while their women stand behind them for good luck. That is where you will be situated. Sergey will notice you and immediately make his move to anger me. You will pretend to be attracted to him. He will want you to stand behind him for good luck. And that’s exactly what you will do. I will become upset and agitated. You will further anger me by submitting to Sergey. He will be seen as stealing you away from me. At that point, you will see me leave the table. That’s when I will rendezvous with General Zhukov at a secret location. You will keep Sergey, and his men, distracted for the next four hours. You will most likely be taken to Sergey’s docked mega-yacht along with a dozen other women. Keep an eye on him, especially if he begins to wonder on the whereabouts General Zhukov. After a few hours, Sergey and his men will become drunk and hostile. Many of the other girls will be throwing themselves on Sergey. Begin to slowly act uninterested in the young man and he will most likely ignore you. Then leave the ship. I will pick you up on Avenue J.F. Kenney at exactly 3 a.m. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
We pull up to the Monte Carlo Casino. The doors to the Rolls-Royce open and Mr. Peak takes my hand. A chill runs up my spine. We are not walking in there as boss and assistant. For this evening, I am his date.
We make our entrance and the casino is electric. I see some famous faces. I see people who look like royalty. The best thing is, people are looking at us like we are famous, like we are royalty.
A casino host escorts us to the VIP section. We walk past the masses in the Grand Casino and enter a more private area with a high ceiling, grand arches and a crowd of people right out of a James Bond movie. Every man is in his best suit. The women are covered in diamonds. In short, we fit right in.
My heart begins to race. Even though I don’t see him, I know that I am in the same room with Sergey Molidak. Mr. Peak leads me around to the back of the room. The first thing I see are four large men wearing sunglasses. They stick out right away because they seem to be about a foot taller than most of the men in the room. I look down at the table next to these gorillas. I see an animated man rocking back and forth yelling at the other gamblers - Sergey.
“I told you I was going to win that one, motherfucker!” Sergey yells as we approach the table. As Mr. Peak says, only men are gambling. The very well-dressed, beautiful and quiet women stand behind their men.
My boss takes his seat. He places his bag on the table. He says something in French. One of the casino execs opens the bag. Everyone looks inside. The bag is stuffed with 500 Euro notes. Oh my God! How much was Mr. Peak walking around with?
The casino man takes the bag from the table. A cocktail waitress asks my boss for his order. She walks off. Sergey doesn’t seem to notice my boss just yet. The dictator’s son is still very much into his own game.
I look at the table. Every player is betting with ten thousand, tweny-five thousand and fifty thousand dollar chips. I see plaques with one hundred thousand and five hundred thousand denominations. Fuck, these guys are playing with some real money.
As the waitress comes back with the drinks, the casino exec - who took Mr. Peak’s bag - returns with a rack of 100,000 Euro betting plaques. Good grief. I count fifty bars. Yes, my boss just walked into the Monte Carlo Casino with 5 million Euros. That’s about six and half million dollars. Wow.
I look down at the Baccarat table. The men are betting on whether the “Banker” or the “Player” will have the highest hand. Each man is betting an average of 50,000 Euros per hand. My boss starts with a 100,000 bet.
I am so nervous, even though this is not my money and 100,000 Euros is not even a day’s pay for Mr. Peak. The first hand is dealt. Mr. Peak wins! I almost jump up and down for my man who barely moves an inch.
After the hand is dealt, Sergey looks up at me. He points at Mr. Peak. “Hey, you like young girls. I like young girls! We have something in common!” the brash young guy says as he tosses 200,000 Euros for his next bet. My boss decides to up the ante and bet 300,000.
The next hand is dealt. My boss bets the “Banker” and loses. Sergey wins his bet. The dictator’s son immediately begins to laugh at Mr. Peak. “Ah, your girl won’t fuck you if you keep losing money like that.”
I can see my boss’s face getting red. I can’t tell if he is acting or if he really is getting pisse
d. Mr. Peak puts 400,000 Euros down for his next bet. Sergey puts down 500,000 Euros. The next hand is dealt. Mr. Peak loses. Sergey wins.
“Ha! Ha! I have made over four million Euros in thirty minutes! I love Monte Carlo!” Sergey yells as he slaps a cocktail waitress in the ass. I laugh and smile. Sergey looks at me. The dictator’s son wiggles his tongue out at me. My boss balls his hands into a fist. Oh fuck. I think Mr. Peak is going to go after this guy!
“Hey faggot!” Mr. Peak booms at Sergey, as the rest of the table freezes. “Go ahead and wiggle your tongue out at my woman again. Go ahead and try that young man.”
Sergey stands up and yells, “Fuck you, fuck your mother. She is a whore. I take your money and I take your bitch if I want!”
At this point even Sergey’s bodyguards are trying to calm the dictator’s son down. My boss is gritting his teeth. Dammit. I wish I knew if Mr. Peak is putting on an act. He looks like he is about to go thermonuclear.
