by Liv Bennett
What the hell is she talking about? I’d rather have keeping my ass safe as the main problem for the weekend than trying to escape from an international war zone. And when did Russia ever have control over Afghanistan? I guess I should waste less time on sex and read more about history.
Then, out of the blue, she bursts into laughter, pointing her finger at me. “You should see your face. That’s hilarious. Did you seriously believe me? You, silly thing. We’re here for only business. To make money, then off we go and you can have your boyfriend all to yourself.”
What can I say? She got me good. I honestly thought I should find a way to sneak out and contact the FBI to inform them about the wicked plans of the Russian couple.
“Now it’s your turn to answer. Is he good in bed?” she asks, while I try to find my tongue.
“I’m not in the position to answer that.”
She studies my face for long enough to be considered rude, then crosses her arms over her chest, still holding her glass of champagne in one hand. “If you don’t give me a clear answer, I’ll take it as a green light to go ahead and try my chances with him.”
Oh, the nerve she has to threaten me like that. She licks her lower lip in a slow, provocative way, and a disgusting image of her licking Ace’s penis forms in my mind. I guess that’s exactly what she wants me to envision and it is working. Yuck. I start thinking making me uncomfortable is more of her intention than trying out what Ace has to offer in bed. As long as she doesn’t realize her threat, I’m fine with any kind of disturbing image occupying my mind.
“Do you seriously think the answer can in any way be a no?” I respond, reflecting the cynical tone she’s used talking to me.
She laughs again, gulps down the entire glass of champagne, and orders more. I’m glad I can entertain at least one guest without losing my dignity.
“Looks like you and I are going to get along well. Here’s the deal. You’ll find a way to distract my husband and I’ll have a little fun.”
Exactly the thing I’ve been trying to avoid all this time—well, just the distracting the minister part, because I don’t care if she sleeps with all the Pleasure Extraordinaire escorts.
The dance show ends, and JJ and Nick walk the girls down the stage. The music changes to a modern interpretation of a classical song.
“Don’t worry, I won’t make a move on your boyfriend,” Devora says. “I guess I can find a more giving one than your boyfriend.”
If only she knew…
I follow the direction her eyes are fixed at and find her exchanging heated looks with JJ. How fitting. JJ will turn her life upside down in terms of sex and pleasure, but I guess she deserves it for playing with me like a toy.
Hoping she’s the jealous type, I can’t stop myself from asking, “How exactly am I supposed to distract Mr. Vasilyev?”
“I don’t care how you do it, but just make sure he doesn’t go around looking for me for half an hour.” She winks at JJ, who is sitting at a table a few feet away from us with his dance partners, and flaunts her hips as she walks toward the group of men.
I watch her intently as she joins the conversation with them for five minutes and then excuses herself, likely for the restroom. On her way out, she glances at JJ, points her chin toward the door and disappears with elegance and confidence oozing from her body. JJ gets her sign, but cleverly takes Clarice along with him as he leaves five minutes after Devora’s departure.
“I can do it,” I whisper to myself. There’re only four guests, with Michael, five. Five might be an odd number but it isn’t a number as destructive as seven. Besides, Ace is here.
I guess Michael has sensed Devora’s plans, because he signals me to come to him with his finger, and Ace pulls a chair for me next to Michael’s majestic seat. I take in a sharp breath of air that doesn’t smell so sweet anymore with the fear rippling in me as Demyan’s eyes now follow me attentively.
From the corner of my eye, I see Vas sitting at a table with Laila, and Pavlo is dancing with one of the dancers earlier in the show.
“What happened with your previous girlfriend? What was her name? Miss Tiffany Jordan,” Demyan asks Michael the second my buttocks touch the chair. “She was a fine lady.”
“Oh, yes, she was,” Michael confirms Demyan’s observation of Tiffany. “We had to split up due to unexpected events, but I can’t complain because I got to meet this beautiful lady.” Michael reaches over, smiling, to grab my hand and lifts it up to his lips. Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow hard not to throw up at the kiss of his lips on my knuckles. How could I ever have found him attractive? He’s the very definition of repulsive with his pretentiousness, selfishness, and evilness.
“I’ve always admired your taste in women,” Demyan says, scanning my body up and down, instantly adding himself to my list of disgusting men, thanks to the gleeful grin attached to his lips.
“Would you like to have dinner now?” Ace chimes in, saving me from Demyan’s hungry stare.
“Dinner?” Demyan raises his hands up, palms facing the ceiling. “No. We don’t have time for it. We should be going to the project. Shouldn’t we? Michael.”
The project. Will I accompany them during their ride to the project? Heavens, please!
Michael answers him. “We’ll take a bit longer. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
For some reason, I immediately think of Clarice. Is Michael going to offer her to Demyan as a gift for their partnership? My chest constricts in pain with the revolting thoughts of Demyan taking Clarice’s virginity here, in front of everyone.
Demyan looks around with a curious expression plastered on his red face, as if to say, “Who?”
“Let’s skip the dinner and have only hors d’oeuvres for now.” Michael glances at Ace, and just like that, Ace gets his message and calls a server to whisper in her ear the orders.
As we’re served our hors d’oeuvres, a man with a strikingly familiar face appears at the doorway, and all the heads turn to him, as if someone has announced his arrival through loud speakers. The musicians stop, so do the murmurs in the suite.
The new guest is as tall as Michael, perhaps even taller, has clean-cut jet-black short hair, prominent blue eyes, and a strong jaw emphasizing his pouting lips. Casually dressed in a gray suit, he strides through the room toward us with authority.
With each step he comes closer to us, my memory yells at me that I know this guy, but how and where? Did I see him at Hawkins Media Group headquarters? At Taylor’s company? Or perhaps on TV?
The feeling of familiarity becomes unbearable as he stops before us and runs his eyes on each of us intently, as if he’s trying to hypnotize us into complying with his wishes.
Ace stands next to me, his hand touching the small of my back, and I feel an aura of protectiveness spreading from him over to me. Both Vas and Pavlo drop the girls and join us in our little union.
“Demyan,” Michael is the first one to break the silence, “I suppose you’ve heard of Edward Neuberger, Attorney General of California.”
Oh, that’s how I know him. From the news. I guess I’m not as much of an idiot as Devora made me out to be. The Attorney General himself is gracing us with his presence in a party organized by Michael for Russian diplomats. Never in a million years would I have thought of finding myself surrounded by so many mighty men.
He’s not only Attorney General but also running for the next gubernatorial election. I’ve been thinking about voting for another candidate, and now I remember why. Edward Neuberger gives me the impression of a cruel man, a Machiavellian-type personality. That cold expression seems to be permanent on his face, the smile never reaching his eyes. Just like how Michael is in reality but manages to hide it beneath his fake smiles and friendly demeanor. Perhaps this man is a warm-hearted man deep down beneath the harshness of his appearance.
“Of course I do.” Demyan offers his hand in a practiced manner, introducing himself and his two brothers. “Good luck for the upcoming el
ections, but I guess you won’t be needing any since everyone is saying you’ll win.”
Edward thanks Demyan for his observation and turns his gaze to Ace. For a brief second, I see a jolt in Edward’s unfriendly eyes as he shakes hands with Ace, then he resumes his trained expression as Michael presents me to him.
Edward is the sixth guest in the party. Six is my favorite number of all time. It has never failed me. Which means Edward can’t be dangerous or criminal. With that realization, I find my body relaxing a bit.
Despite Demyan’s tactful protests against having dinner, we gather around the large table for dinner upon Edward’s request. For some reason, Michael offers the main chair at the head of the table to Edward and sits beside him and across from Demyan. That’s odd for many reasons, for one: Michael severely suffers from the Entitlement Personality Disorder and would never willingly let someone take his place as the head of any group he is in. Giving up on the main chair must be like a king giving up on his throne. And for the other, Demyan deserves that seat for being the guest who’s coming from overseas, not to mention his diplomatic ranking as the Minister of Interior Affairs of Russia as opposed to Edward’s status as Attorney General of California.
I sit between Michael and Ace, slightly amused by the fact that one is the angel and the other is the devil.
To add more mystery, all the girls leave the suite while servers place our plates on the table. Is the sight of the girls suddenly not appetizing enough for their majesties? Or perhaps they have other plans in mind; like getting me stripped down, and eating food off me, while inserting food into my vagina. The little appetite I had, vanishes with the thought of food entering my system in a completely wrong way.
Soon after the appetizers are served, Devora shows up, saving me from my frightening thoughts. I couldn’t have been happier for having her, a fearless woman as my comrade while surrounded by unpredictable and vile men.
She looks happier and more relaxed. Exactly the look Ace and his employees guarantee to plaster on their clients’ faces. Her eyes sweep Edward from head to toe as they shake hands, and she has the guts to do it openly without the need to hide her intense examination. I see a little smirk on her lips as if she’s already given him a rating, and I’m dying to know what rating Edward got from her.
“I can’t say nice to meet you, Mr. Neuberger, because we met before. I was part of the Honors program at the Board of Immigration Appeals for three years, about thirteen years ago after graduating from Columbia Law. You’d just taken up your duties as Attorney General at that time,” Devora says, clearly upset by not being recognized. How gratifying to see there are women out there who can put even powerful men in their place.
“I apologize for my terrible memory, Mrs. Vasilyev,” Edward says, and he sounds indeed regretful for his mistake. Honestly, he could have easily avoided this mistake if he had his assistant run a quick Wikipedia search on the Minister and his wife. “Please enlighten us as to how we could lose such a brilliant employee to competition?” Yeah, right, Mr. Attorney General, like sucking up to her will get you anywhere.
“Do you mean to Russia as your competition?” Devora laughs; even her laughter has classiness to it. “I wasn’t planning to go back to my parents’ Motherland, but Demyan convinced me that I’d be better off in Russia than having to juggle with a half-successful career in the States as an attorney, and it seems he wasn’t completely wrong.” She takes her place next to Demyan, right across from me, and mouths her thank-you to me. She licks her lips discreetly, I guess, to show me the deliciousness of the few minutes she spent with JJ. Smiling, I shake my head at her bluntness.
Rolling her eyes at me now, she focuses her attention to the glass of liqueur in front of her. I’ve lost count of the amount of alcohol she’s drunk, but she looks sober as if it is only plain OJ she’s been drinking all this time.
Demyan and Edward take over the conversation about politics in Russia and USA, while Devora and Michael join occasionally, and when they do, it’s mostly to make a humorous remark to uplift the heavy and mostly boring atmosphere in the room.
Ace eats his food silently, and I dare take secret glances at him and see his face shine brightly when our gazes meet. Vas and Pavlo seem to be bored and are unsuccessful at their attempts to hide it. Particularly Vas with his unsuccessful efforts to conceal successive yawns with the firm pressing of his lips. Like Devora, they find solace in alcohol and ask for a refill each time the servers walk around to offer more drinks.
As the dinner ends with the last sips of our dessert wines, Demyan reminds Michael of the importance in inspecting the project.
I have this nagging feeling that they won’t take me to the project sightseeing and that I’ll miss a crucial piece of information by not being able to see exactly what part of the project is relevant to their secret visit that made them come all the way from Russia. How can I convince Michael to take me with them? It’s not like I have the tricks of an undercover agent to get myself secretly into the vehicle that they’ll drive in, yet it seems more plausible than trying to persuade Michael to include me.
Devora excuses herself to the restroom again, but this time I don’t think she’ll pay a second visit to JJ, so I accompany her after receiving Michael’s discreet nod to my request to leave. Although I know practically nothing about Devora, she seems to be my only option to get some information. She seems to be the kind of person who is motivated by money and power, but I can’t picture her as demeaning as Michael. The fact that she is a woman helps a bit with my trust issues.
While Devora is in the stall, I pace up and down the restroom, trying to come up with the best way to open up to her. She may tell on me to Michael and that’d be the end of my spying activities for eternity.
Devora eyes me curiously as she leaves the stall and heads for the sinks. “Is everything okay?”
“Nothing is okay, but you know it already,” I reply. “Michael has been keeping his daughter prisoner for a while now. Ace says he hurt her terribly, beat her up in front of her fiancé the last time he saw her about a week ago. He fears she’ll attempt to commit suicide after Michael’s tortures. Please, please, help me locate her. It’s not for me. It’s to save her. I don’t know who else to ask for help. Everyone is working for him. I know that you’re doing business with him, and I have no intentions to endanger that, but if you know where he’s keeping Chloe, please tell me so we can save her.”
“Oh, dear. I would tell you where she is, if I knew it.” Devora washes her hands slowly and then turns around to face me. “Seriously though, I’m regretting getting into a deal with him. The worst part is that it was me who persuaded Demyan to do business with Michael. I keep hearing rumors about him trying to sell our product to some Saudi sheik. I swear if the deal doesn’t go through, Demyan will not just divorce me, but also exile me from Russia.”
“Did you just say Saudi sheik?” I ask with a rather high-pitched squeak, remembering the two Arabian visitors at Michael’s office during the week. “Look, what I am about to say is not made up to gain your trust but is completely true. I saw two Arabian guys in Michael’s office on Tuesday afternoon. Michael wasn’t there but his secretary attended to them while they were visiting, and at the end of their visit one of them said, and I’m quoting, ‘Tell Mr. Hawkins that we would be very pleased to do business with him.’”
“Damn it. I knew it. I saw it coming.” Devora lifts her hand to rub her forehead and starts walking up and down the bathroom just like I did a minute ago. “Why else would he have Saudi visitors if not for selling —” She stops short, perhaps sensing my heightened curiosity. “Look, I can’t tell you anything about the deal we have with Michael. That’s like a national secret if you know what I mean. But if what you’re telling me is indeed true, I might help you find Michael’s daughter.”
“I swear on my dead parents’ graves that I’m not lying. Please, help us.”
She lifts her hands up, palms against me. “All right, all right. I�
�ll see what I can do.”
I stifle the urge to run forward and hug her to show my gratitude. Even if she’s doing it for all the wrong reasons, ones other than being helpful to a person in danger, if she can help me out, I will raise her to the top of the list of the women I admire.
I open the door for her, feeling obliged to serve her every way I can, and walk beside her in the long hall. As we’re about to turn the corner, Devora holds up her arm in front of me to stop me and lifts her finger to her lips, urging me to keep silent. She’s gesturing with her head toward the corner.
I stop short in full-panic mode and focus my attention in the direction she’s pointing toward. But rather than seeing something, I just hear murmurs. Instinctively, we lean closer to the corner but not leaning out so far to get caught. When I pay close attention, I hear Edward Neuberger and an unfamiliar man’s voice.
“Bring something with Desflurane. He doesn’t do well on Chloroform,” I hear Edward saying and nudge at Devora’s arm to ask if she understands what they’re talking about just with my gestures.
She leans down and whispers to my ear, “Desflurane and Chloroform are used for general anesthesia through inhalation.”
“Why would he be talking about general anesthesia?”
“I don’t know what impression you have of me, but I don’t read minds,” Devora says with a joking tone. “It’s very unsettling though.”
The disgust in my stomach rises at the possibility of Michael or Edward using anesthesia on Chloe to keep her unconscious while torturing her, but no. He clearly said ‘he’. That discovery, however, still isn’t enough to keep me calm, because it smells terribly of malice.
