Gabriel pulled out his cell phone and walked over to Klenchvenko. “Call him.”
“Call who?” Klenchvenko asked, looking up at Gabriel.
“Your manager,” Dmitry chimed in.
“Okay.” Klenchvenko reached for his own phone. “But I need to call from my phone so that he’ll answer.”
“Call from your phone, then, just make sure it’s on speaker and make sure he thinks that you’re alone, but first put his number in my phone just in case we need to speak with him again,” Gabriel insisted.
They were not about to leave one stone unturned. Now, everyone was a suspect, and they would go through each and every viable lead until they got the answers that they were looking for.
If Klenchvenko had nothing to hide, it was best to be cooperative so that they could eliminate his name from the list and move on to the next person.
Klenchvenko took the phone and pulled out his cell to access his contact list. “I hope you don’t think I have anything to do with this.” He put the information into Gabriel’s contacts as instructed.
“We don’t,” Dmitry assured. “But that doesn’t mean that you can’t help us fix it in some way.”
Klenchvenko dialed the number to his manager and nodded toward Dmitry. “Whatever I can do to help, I will,” he said, pressing the cell phone to his ear.
His manager, Mickey Shelton, answered without giving Klenchvenko a word, edge wise.
“For Christ’s sake, where are you?” Mickey barreled in. “Your public relations team needs you to be ready in one hour for a slew of interviews around this fucking shooting. Did you get my notes? Have you memorized them? You need to memorize them. Unrehearsed lies show up on camera better than an extra ten pounds. I need you good, baby. I need you ready.”
“I needed to get some fresh air,” Klenchvenko said, holding the phone out so that Gabriel and Dmitry could hear the conversation.
Gabriel stepped closer to the phone, biting on his bottom lip to keep quiet. He hated fast talking managers and promoters. They thought they were smarter than the rest of the world, when they were more like used car salesmen.
“We’ve got a fucking nightmare on our hands, Klench. We have to keep it together for a while. No running off for fresh air or anything else. The paparazzi is going to be stalking you, following you everywhere, watching everything that you do,” the manager warned.
Klenchvenko had assumed that much, which was why he had smuggled himself out of his house in the trunk of his maid’s car. Confused and sworn to secrecy, she was outside in the driveway right now waiting on him.
“Are you still there?” Mickey asked in a panic. The silence made him think the line had dropped.
“I’m here. I’m listening,” Klenchvenko answered with a growl. This bastard was already getting fifteen percent of his check, which was higher than industry standard, but the fact that he was talking to him like a child was really starting to piss him off.
“We’re already raising suspicion with you inviting that Russian mobster to the fucking party, and after I made it clear that you needed to keep your distance after the fight. People are speculating that you threw the fucking match for them. Between that and a fucking shoot out at this club, your reputation could be ruined.”
Klenchvenko cut him off. “Forget all of that shit. What I want to know is who was the girl Anatoly was chasing? Who were any of those girls from last night? I didn’t know them. Did you?”
There was a deliberate pause, like his manager was trying to prepare for a lie. “I did not know that woman. If you can recall, I was in one of the suites occupied with my little action,” he answered defensively. “Did you know the girl?”
“No,” Klenchvenko said, looking over at Dmitry. “Did you happen to know who brought her there?” He could see that they wanted him to urge the manager into telling him as much as possible. Before the manager could answer, he asked another question, one more to the point. “Do we have any connection to her at all? If the paparazzi and the newspapers and the cops are going to be up my ass about her and Anatoly, I need to know if you know anything first.”
Another long pause made everyone in the room, including Klenchvenko, believe that Mickey might have known more than he was alluding to.
Klenchvenko tried harder to bait him. He dialed back his accusatory tone and used something a little more team-oriented. “This is us talking, Mick. If I’m going to trust you, you’re going to have to trust me. With the money I’m paying you, my reputation being ruined, takes your wife out of that posh little country club and your kids out of private school.”
“Okay, okay. Look, I’m not proud of it, but I did broker the girls to come to the party through a local strip club owner.” He made sure to protect himself by not giving too much away, especially about the fact that they were paid to do a lot more than simply look good. “But I don’t know the girls. We only paid them to come and dance and make the party hot. Nothing else.”
Klenchvenko gripped the phone, angry that his manager had put him in this position. “What? Wait a minute. You said we. Who is we?”
“I paid for it with the company credit card, but before you freak out, it’s normal to pay dancers to come to a club function. So, even if the payment is traced back to us, it’s not illegal.”
“It’s embarrassing,” Klenchvenko said before he could catch himself. People might think he couldn’t get a girl on his own. “Who is the strip club owner?”
“A guy named Ryan Colt. He owns some high-end place called the Bouncing Beaver,” Mickey explained. “But if I were you, to keep you protected on this, I wouldn’t call him or contact him or anything. You know, you can still have a certain amount of plausible deniability.” There was also the matter of the CYA Mickey needed to keep his job.
“I can’t believe that you’d do this to me. You know how I hate that. You told me you were going to invite people, not pay for them.” Klenchvenko nearly forgot what his purpose was on the call. His voice strained. “You’re getting fifteen fucking percent. You can’t go out and build a respectable guest list with that kind of money?”
Gabriel waved at Klenchvenko, signaling for him to cut the conversation short. They had what they needed. The rest of the argument could be handled at another time.
Mickey tried to reason with Klenchvenko. “It was a mistake. I was short on time. Hey, it’s me, man. Your fucking guy. I always produce results, don’t I? This time it just happened to be the non-traditional way. It will never happen again. Scouts honor.”
Klenchvenko had heard enough. “I’ll call you back later,” he said, disgusted with his manager’s lack of taste.
“Don’t forget. We have a call in one hour,” the manager said quickly.
“Whatever, man. We’ll see.” Klenchvenko hung up the phone and pushed back in his chair. “Unbelievable.”
***
Four minutes to noon, a knock at the door pulled Klenchvenko’s attention away from his own problems and made him realize that he was the lucky one out of the group. When the door opened, Boris and Marat came barging in with the redheaded bartender from the party. She was wearing a short, pink satin bathrobe, green thong flip flops with her hair still wet from a recent shower.
SHIT!
Dmitry put a finger to his temple and shook his head. Today was getting more bizarre by the moment. “What is this?” he asked.
“This is what you asked for Boss,” Marat answered, pushing Rebecca forward. Her footfalls echoed around the room. “The person who put the drugs in Anatoly’s drink.”
All eyes were on her.
Rebecca wiped the tears from her eyes. “Please, don’t hurt me.” She glanced over at Klenchvenko and then back to the two giant strangers sitting in front of him. Were they going to rape her? Kill her? Nothing was off the table considering she had already been kidnapped out of her home in the middle of the day.
“Go on. Tell them what you told us,” Marat said, walking up behind her.
Rebecca stepped a
way from him. “A guy paid me to do it. Ryan Colt. He owns the Bouncing Beaver.” She wiped tears again. “He pays me from time to time to drop a few pills in the bottles or the drinks for his clients. It’s all consensual.”
“How many pills did you drop last night?” Gabriel asked.
“Just the one,” Rebecca answered. “Ryan said it was for the guy who owns one of the football teams here. Ryan said the guy was waiting for it. So, I figured it wasn’t going to hurt anyone.”
Dmitry’s voice was eerily calm. “It did hurt someone, dear. Ryan was wrong,” he said, eyes narrowing on her. “Your actions nearly killed my son.” It took everything inside of him not to jump up from his chair, charge across the room and snap her flimsy neck.
Rebecca’s heart began to race. Things were worse than she thought. “I’m sorry.” She sobbed in between her clumsy words. “It wasn’t my fault.”
This was getting heavy.
“Can I go?” Klenchvenko asked, standing up. He had done his part to help Anatoly, now he had to go and worry about his own career. He also had to fire his manager for introducing Ryan Colt into his life. Had it not been for whoever this asshole was, he’d be at home right now probably enjoying an early morning threesome. Instead, he was facing a mob boss and answering for someone’s sins.
“Yes,” Dmitry said, standing up. “I know you have other business to handle today, Klench. But do me a favor and don’t say anything to Mickey Shelton, yet about his job status with you. I know you’re angry, but he might have more information, and even if he doesn’t, I still have plans for him.”
Rebecca’s eyes went large. She looked up at the giant and felt her stomach turn. Shit! Nothing about the situation seemed safe. Mansion. Guards. Guns. The men behind her had barged into her home, snatched her out of the shower, interrogated her with only a towel on, and then dragged her out of her front door and put her in the back of an SUV to bring her here.
Dmitry walked past her and shook Klenchvenko’s hand. “Thank you for coming,” he said sincerely. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Give Anatoly my regards, please,” Klenchvenko said, walking with Dmitry to the door. He couldn’t even put into words how happy he was to still be alive. A few times on the way over here, he had considered an alternative ending.
“As soon as he awakes, I’ll tell him personally,” Dmitry assured.
Klenchvenko looked over at the girl one last time before excusing himself out of the room. It wasn’t that chivalry was dead. Had it been anyone else, or any other situation, he might have stepped in on her behalf. But Rebecca had screwed herself. Now, he wanted nothing more than to get some distance between himself and this place before anything else crazy happened, but he also felt in debt to Anatoly for what he had done for his father. Hopefully, now they were even.
Dmitry opened the door for Klenchvenko and saw him out, then he told his guard, “Send for Renee and Royal. Tell them to meet me down here now.”
Rebecca turned from the door and the stares of Marat and Boris and looked over at Gabriel. He was sitting on the edge of the desk in black slacks, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, watching her quietly. His mossy green eyes, long legs and raven-black hair made him look like a model, but his aura was dark and menacing. Being in the room with him made Rebecca deathly afraid. Still, she tried to sway him, praying maybe he had a soft spot for redheads.
“Please, let me go,” she said, pleading to his sensibilities. “I’m not the person that you want. I’m just a bartender.”
“You’re exactly who we want, Ginger. The question now is what to do with you.” Gabriel was unmoved by the girl’s tears. He had seen more than a few women cry in his lifetime, and the only ones that mattered to him now had Medlov on the end of their name. There were no exceptions.
Dmitry walked passed Rebecca and took his seat. “Young lady, please tighten your robe,” he said, avoiding eye contact with her large breasts that appeared to be pushing out the front of her too-little garment. It might have been a tactic to garner mercy or a mistake in all the chaos, but either way, he wasn’t entertaining it.
Rebecca reluctantly closed her robe. She had hoped that being pretty would persuade them to be lenient. But she was wrong.
Dmitry continued when she was more presentable. “Do you realize the severity of your circumstance?”
“I don’t think she does,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes. “She’s too busy trying to be cunning.”
“I do realize.” Her voice strained in desperation. “I should not have trusted Ryan. I should not have put drugs in that bottle…”
Dmitry cut her off before she could continue. Desperate people were full of lies and excuses. “I don’t care to hear what you should have done. It’s irrelevant. The point is that your actions have led you here.”
Rebecca was about to speak again, but Dmitry raised a finger to warn her. “Say another word, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
***
Sitting around the kitchen table, Royal, Lilly and Valeriya comforted Renee while she tried to put some food on her stomach. It had been like pulling teeth to get her to leave Anatoly’s side, but they reasoned with her that it would be illogical to fall ill while he slept, because she wasn’t taking care of herself.
The sun blasted through the bay windows, bringing with it clear blue skies and the sound of chirping birds through the open windows. The smell of fresh air and freshly cut grass eased their spirits just a bit.
Renee looked around at her family and felt grateful for them. She was battling with a lot of emotions, and it was therapeutic to talk to people who understood her unique position, but more than anything else, she wanted for the first time in her life she wanted payback.
“Things are different now,” Renee said, sipping on her orange juice. “I see everything clearer. When he came in the house in Marat’s arms, I felt like what had been done to him had been done to me.” She tried to make her words paint the picture etched in her mind. “He was so vulnerable, y’all. I’ve never seen him like that.”
Royal recalled all the times Dmitry had been the target of an attack. “We’ve been there.”
“Yes, we have,” Valeriya said, recalling the state of Gabriel when they rescued him from the Neo-Nazis in the Ukraine. “You want to burn the world. You want to make them pay.”
“Yeah, you do,” Lilly said, nodding. “It’s either them or us. This is our life. This is our family. What they do to one of us, they do to all of us. If we don’t send a message now, they’ll be back with more bullshit.”
“Exactly,” Renee said, wiping tears. “It takes a snake to do something so underhanded. They couldn’t just come for him outright. They drugged him.” She balled up her fist and waved it before she pushed it against her forehead and looked down at the table. “The doctor said that the drugs could have fried his brain, left him a fucking vegetable.” The thought of her husband’s life being altered so dramatically filled her with hate. She jutted out her jaw. “I’m going to tell you right now, someone is going to pay for this.”
Royal was glad to see that Renee was no longer being naïve. It was just a shame that it took Anatoly being attacked to arrive at this point. Still, she offered comfort. “One thing I know about my husband,” Royal said, voice full of determination, “he will find who is responsible for this, and he will make them pay.” She ran her hand over her neck.
The scar from Ivan Medlov’s attack still hurt from time to time. But it served as a healthy reminder of what was possible if they let the wrong person get too close. “You can’t second guess yourself. When it’s time to pull the trigger, you damn well better be ready.” She knew because she had been the one to pull the trigger once with a man named Dorian who tried unsuccessfully to destroy her family.
A guard walked into the kitchen, rendering the ladies silent. They looked over at him, waiting for his news. He kept his expression neutral, as he had been instructed to do when delivering any news to the Medlov wome
n, but inside he wished that he could be in the room when they found out the culprit they so desired to hold responsible was now here to answer for her crimes. It was going to be a blood bath.
“Speak,” Renee ordered, anxious to know what was going on.
“Boss Dmitry has requested that you all come down to the office immediately,” he said, stepping to the side of the entry way.
Renee looked over at Royal. “Do you think he’s got news?”
“He wouldn’t just call us down there for nothing.” Royal jumped up.
The screeching of the heavy white wooden chairs pulling away from the table echoed through the room. Dashing out of the kitchen, they bolted toward the study where the men were holed up.
Side by side, they marched toward the impending news.
Renee’s heart constricted. Rubbing a hand over her heart, she clutched her necklace. Please let it be good, she prayed.
She hadn’t walked so fast since she got pregnant. Her feet could barely keep up with her racing mind.
“Whatever you hear, know that we’ve got your back,” Lilly said, ready to get in the fight.
“Whatever you hear, don’t lose your nerve,” Valeriya reminded.
Bursting through the door of the study, the women were shocked to find Marat and Boris standing behind a nearly naked young white woman, and Dmitry and Gabriel sitting in front of her.
Renee walked up to Rebecca and looked her up and down. “What’s this?” she asked, looking to Dmitry for an explanation.
“This is the woman who drugged your husband,” Dmitry said, sucking his teeth. He gave a crooked smile, uncrossing his legs and pushing to the end of his chair.
“This bitch?” Renee snapped her furious glare back at the woman. “Why?”
Rebecca was still afraid to speak after Dmitry’s warning. So, Dmitry spoke for her. “She was paid by a man to do it. She claims it was not her fault.”
“I don’t care whose fault it was.” Renee spit at her feet. “You almost killed my husband.” Only a few inches away from her face, Renee could smell the conditioner on her hair and fear seeping from her pores.
Anatoly's Retribution Page 6
