Red Rocket

by Raine Miller

  I get up and shower, then cruise the shops to find something appropriate to wear. I find a cute maxi dress that is almost the same color as my hair. It’s probably too casual, with its deep V neckline and empire waist, but it’s pretty and I think I can dress it up with accessories.

  I dress quickly, adding chunky, gold jewelry and gold sandals. I do dramatic, gold eye makeup that really highlights my green eyes. I leave my hair long and loose and a little wild.

  The effect works. Viktor practically salivates when he sees me, his eyes slowly working the length of me as I stand, watching the short, sweet, and funny marriage of Pam and Georg. I try to focus on the couple. They are so perfect for each other, matching each other’s witty comments, both light and happy and clearly deeply in love. When they kiss, it heats up the room.

  Holly, her maid of honor, cries through the whole ceremony. Evan, on the other side, grins at her, visibly still on cloud nine from the news of baby number two. Holly’s uncle Troy holds baby Danya in the audience. He’s a good-looking man, with hair that’s flecked with gray. I’m distracted by Viktor only long enough to wonder why Troy never married, banking the question for a later conversation with Holly.

  At the reception, I spend time talking with some of my other colleagues, keeping a careful distance from Viktor. He looks incredibly handsome in a tailored, gray suit. He wears a white shirt, open at the top button, no tie. It’s a sexy look that he wears very well. A little too dangerously well for my self-control. And I want to lick that bit of exposed skin at his throat. So, sue me.

  I. Cannot. Help. It.

  Our flash mob goes really well. The guests love it, and of course, Holly is on her phone posting it to the team’s social media feeds. The woman literally never stops working.

  When we send off the newlyweds, I feel emotional, hugging Pam tightly. I can only contribute my melancholy to this being the first wedding I’ve attended since Stephen died. By now, I should have had my own special wedding day. Been the beautiful bride. But that was stolen from me…Yet, I did gain a new direction and new friends, and I cannot begrudge that.

  “Thank you for being my friend,” I say as we embrace. “I love you.”

  “Awww, Scarlett, you’re going to make me cry.” Pam kisses me on the cheek.

  “It’s been such a long time since I’ve had real girlfriends and I’m just so very happy I got to know you.”

  “I’m not moving away,” she says, playfully nudging me. “Just going on my honeymoon. I’ll call you as soon as we get back.”

  “Go, go,” I say, wiping a tear from my cheek. “You’re beautiful. He’s beautiful. You’ll make beautiful babies.”

  “Oh, God, I hope not,” she exclaims. “At least not yet. I’ve only just got Georg out of diapers.”

  We both giggle and he rolls his eyes, leaning in for a quick hug.

  “That big asshole really likes you,” Georg says. “Make him behave.”

  They move along and I catch Viktor’s gaze, once more feeling that stupid, crazy spark of want that buzzes between us like electricity.

  As soon as our friends leave, I book it. I have one more night in the hotel suite and I intend to soak away all thoughts of Viktor in the huge tub. I strip off my clothes, run the hot water, and dump in a bunch of bubble bath. I pull my hair up on top of my head and sink into the water with an audible sigh of satisfaction.

  As I soak, I think of this week. Of the women I’ve hung out with, of the laughs we’ve shared. I know it sounds cheesy, but I miss it already. I miss these women and these new friendships I’ve built.

  I know I’ve not let people in these past couple of years. During my time with Stephen, I was overwhelmed. I was focused on him, on his increasing issues. I worked and I went home, or I went out to find him. Stressful is an understatement. And when he died…I just shut down. I shut people out, including my father, who went missing shortly after Stephen’s suicide. The two most important people in my life were gone, and I was alone with debt up to my eyeballs, no education, and no way of ever saving enough to be free of Las Vegas and all its heartbreaking memories.

  I’m lost deep in thought when a loud knock sounds at the door. I jump up, pulling a thin, silk robe over my wet body and shuffling quickly to the door wondering if it’s one of the girls up for one last night of decadence in this awesome suite.

  But when I open it, Viktor is there, still in his suit.

  He steps inside and lets the door shut, his eyes meeting mine.

  “I need to talk to you.” God, that deep voice of his…

  The sound is delicious and I’m suddenly ultra-aware that I am nearly naked, but for this wet and totally see-through silk robe. My breasts hang heavily, aching, and my nipples are pebbled, ready for his touch.

  But I must stand firm. There are a lot of questions about Viktor Demoskev that need some answers.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Us. This thing that is between us.”

  “There is no us. We had sex. That’s all,” I say, my chin jutting out defiantly.

  “Your body says otherwise. It always gives you away.”

  “So I’m turned on by you,” I say dismissively. “So what? You already know you can make me come. It doesn’t mean I want to marry you.”

  “No, perhaps not,” he says, stepping closer. “You are correct. There is more than sex between us. What it is, I do not know for sure.”

  “It’s just lust.” My words sound ridiculously weak.

  “What is it you want from me, Scarlett?”

  “I don’t want…” I breathe in and out quickly. “I don’t think you’re being honest about who you really are. I don’t feel like I can trust you.”

  “There is no reason not to trust,” he says with a shake of his head. “I have done nothing of concern.”

  “You make bets on sports. You hang with creepy guys with creepy briefcases. Are you in the mafia?” I blurt all of this out. It’s word-vomit soup.

  He lets out a humorless chuckle. “This again. Is nothing.”

  “Is nothing,” I repeat in a bad imitation of his accent. “Okay, well then what did you do with that stripper after you licked her butthole and ate a cherry out of it?”

  “Was not her butthole.” He shakes his head and looks uncomfortably guilty.

  I scoff at this. “I told you already that I watched the video.”

  “No. Was her elbow. Truly. No excuse for licking. I was drunk, but I did not do more. I thought of you all night. I came in my own hand thinking of you.”

  Oh.

  Well, there’s that again.

  The thought of strong, masculine, muscly Viktor with his huge cock in his hand really, really turns me on. Like, a lot. I lose my train of thought just picturing it.

  It must be obvious, because Viktor steps even closer, his knuckles grazing against my sensitive breasts, outside of the thin, wet fabric.

  I lean into him. It’s an unconscious thing, uncontrollable. My body recognizes this, wants this. I’m getting wetter from just this tiny touch.

  Viktor leans down, his lips grazing my neck, his tongue darting out to taste my skin. I sigh as his hand lifts the short hem of my robe, his fingers dipping between my legs for some quick strokes. He pulls away just as quickly, leaving me breathless, wanting so much more.

  He licks his fingers slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “I do not lie, Scarlett. I hate dishonesty. I am not mafia. I do bet on some MMA tournaments, but it’s not frequent. Not necessary.”

  I dip my head as I don’t want to look into his hazel eyes and see dishonesty. More lies. But then I consider our interactions to date. He hasn’t shirked from stating facts, just not seen the necessity to clarify. I don’t think he’s a liar. I’m still wary, but I do know what deceit looks like.

  He reaches up and puts his fingers under my chin, lifting it. “Let me take you away. Scarlett…My Red Rocket. Pack a bag and let me take you away from here. We will talk. Get to know each other. M
aybe find pleasure again and again.”

  “I have this suite for another…” I start the sentence and then realize it’s stupid to finish it. I want to go with Viktor. Very much.

  So, I just nod and ask him for a few minutes to change and throw an overnight bag together. He says he’ll be waiting for me in the lobby. I watch him leave; the door shutting behind him, and try to gather myself. I’m incredibly turned on. Aching. I can’t believe I let him out of this room without taking him to bed.

  But now I’m turning in my chips.

  Because I’ve given up resisting him.

  Wherever we go next, I’m his.

  For as long as it lasts.

  Eighteen

  Possible B.S.

  Viktor

  Lake Tahoe, Nevada

  With the help of a computer voice on my cell phone, I drive us to Lake Tahoe from the airport at Reno. Honestly, I had no plan when I showed up at Scarlett’s room. I wanted to strip her naked and take her right then and there. Her wet, flimsy robe had me straining to keep my cock contained.

  How is it I could go so many months without sex and now I can think of nothing but? It is her, but why? I don’t know a single thing about her. Not really. Only that she is beautiful and sensual. Our bodies fit together like they were made for one another. How can I want someone so badly that I know so little?

  I asked the concierge at the LINQ for ideas and he suggested booking a cabin retreat at the lake, the flight only a little over an hour from Las Vegas to Reno. He also arranged a rental car to be waiting for us when we landed. I tipped him handsomely to manage the details for me, and as we near the check-in office, I feel I could have tipped him even more.

  The sky is bright blue, disappearing under a canopy of evergreen trees as we pull down a long drive. I have Scarlett wait as I check us in, and then drive us farther into the site, until we reach a quaint cottage along the water. We drop our bags and walk to the back door, taking in the view of the lake from a small, private deck. There are no other cottages in our immediate view, but we can see white-capped mountains in the distance.

  “I’ve never been to Lake Tahoe before,” she says, a little breathlessly. “Can you believe it? It’s so close and I’ve never been here.”

  “Have you ever left Las Vegas, Scarlett?”

  She blushes, a rarity, and shakes her head. “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but, no. Not really.”

  I tilt my head and consider this. “Why does this embarrass you?”

  She shrugs. “You’re just…you’ve seen the whole world. I haven’t been anywhere.”

  “Well, now you have been here. What a beautiful place to start.”

  She gives me a small, grateful smile and returns inside.

  “There are bicycles. Though I am very big and will look stupid on one.”

  Again, a tiny smile. “Should we go for a swim? Or take a hike? What do we do first?” Her questions are punctuated by the sound of her stomach rumbling loudly.

  “Well, I think that the first is to get food. I will go find us something.”

  “I guess I am hungry. I didn’t eat much at the wedding.”

  “And it is dinner time. I apologize for not thinking of this in our plans. I will come back with pizza. Is that okay?”

  “Pizza is great, Viktor. Thank you.”

  I don’t actually know where to get pizza, but I have to meet Oleg and Vasily for another piss test. It is a cumbersome, tiresome practice, but the Russian officials require testing windows every twenty-four to thirty-six hours for a week straight each month. It is a practice meant to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that all captures are clean and consistent.

  We meet near the check-in cottage, and I piss quickly in the restroom, Vasily there to watch as always. They also agree to take two bets to the bookies for an MMA fight this evening. As I hand them a wad of cash to handle the bet, I see her. Scarlett has followed me on a bicycle.

  I speak in Russian, telling the guys to get moving, then head in to ask about having food delivered to the cottage. The manager says he can have pizza and drinks sent to us.

  When I walk back out, Scarlett stands in front of the door, hands tightly crossed against her breasts. “What was all that? Why were those guys here? What the hell is going on?” She is being crazy again. This is not how I wanted things to go for us.

  “Let us talk about this at the cottage please.”

  “No,” she says firmly. “I want answers now.”

  “I said, we will talk at the cottage. Get in the car.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” she shouts, that fiery red-headed temper flaring. “What kind of corrupt gambling ring are you involved in? And what do they have on you? How much do you owe?”

  I don’t know where this is coming from, but I need to talk to her in private. People are starting to stare. I grab her arm and drag her to the car. “Get in,” I order. There is no argument to be broached as I open the door. She gets in and I shut it, grabbing the bike, and tossing it into the back of the SUV.

  It is not until we are back in the cottage that I speak.

  “You must stop talking about this, Scarlett. Gambling. Mafia. Corruption. It is not like that. This thing I must do. I piss.”

  “You…piss?” She is clearly confused.

  “I piss in a cup to prove I am not on performance-enhancing drugs,” I explain. “It is something my Russian agents require as backup to American tests, and it also creates a record for Olympic players. It is annoying, but it allows proof that I am clean.”

  “The briefcases?” she asks, somewhat stunned.

  “Medical testing supplies. Latex gloves. Piss cups. Plastic bags. Vasily and Oleg both work for my agent.”

  “But you do…gamble. On sports. I saw you hand them money to bet on a fight.”

  “Yes, I bet in off-season. Never on hockey and never during the sports season. I place bets on MMA. It is a hobby of mine, fighting. I enjoy it.”

  “You do mixed martial arts?” Her voice is now small. Her temper abated.

  “I do. This is why I wished to spend time here. To have you know more about me. To learn more about you.”

  “Oh.” Her answer is so simple. I don’t know how to take it.

  “I have our dinner ordered,” I say, filling the silence. “I do not know how long it will take. Perhaps an hour. Would you like to take bicycle ride as we talk?”

  She nods. “Sure.”

  As expected, I look comical on a bicycle, as evidenced by Scarlett’s smirk. She looks lovely on an old-fashioned, yellow bike with a basket in front. It has a small bell, which she rings, grinning widely.

  “I would take a photograph of you like this,” I say. I can’t figure out how to say that the light hits her hair in just a certain way. She looks youthful and sweet on this silly bicycle. Not like me, so big and clunky on a blue machine that is far too small for me. She laughs at me fumbling with my phone as I take several photos. She even poses under a tree for me when I ask her to.

  We ride along a marked path and Scarlett is the first to talk.

  “I was engaged once,” she begins. “His name was Stephen. He was a world-class poker player and an addict. A gambling addiction led to a drug addiction. And when he started losing, his life fell apart. He lost everything and then I lost him. I got roughed up by some Russian mafia thugs he owed money to, and he killed himself.”

  Ublyudok. The bastard. Coward.

  And I barely keep hold of my anger as Scarlett tells me very graphic details about her assault, about her relationship with her fiancé, and about the money she still fears she owes them. No wonder she was terrified of Oleg and Vasily, thinking they were mafia. And to think her father also left her with his debts. How would she ever want to trust another man?

  “I am sorry, Scarlett. To know you have had to endure such tragedy…for someone so young.”

  She waves me off as we ride. “I’m done feeling sorry for myself. It’s just that I can’t be with another addict. Do you hea
r what I’m saying?”

  “But I am no addict,” I say clearly. “Is hobby.”

  “I want to believe you, Viktor, I do. But I don’t know anything about you. You’re not exactly the sharing type. You know what I mean?”

  “Well, this is first we have had time to talk,” I argue.

  “I guess that’s fair. So now I know you grew up in Saint Petersburg, you played in the Olympics, and you like to do MMA. What else?”

  “Do you ever think your fiancé’s death was not suicide?” I have the beginning of working a theory in my mind. “Perhaps it was murder?”

  “I’ve thought of that.” She stops her bike abruptly on the trail in front of me. “We should probably turn back. To meet the delivery guy, remember?”

  “Probably yes,” I agree. We turn our bikes around and take the trail back to the cottage.

  “I tried to push the possibility of murder with the police, but beyond my own assault, there was no sign of violence. It looked like straight suicide. I was told by the medical examiner that he just took one too many pills for his body to handle.”

  I find this very suspicious, but do not press her further. “Your father was also in debt? To Russians?”

  “Yes…he may be dead, too, for all I know.”

  “You have not looked for him?”

  “I didn’t have the money and I had no idea where to start my search.” She sounds sad and I understand why. So many unhappy experiences in her young life.

  I have an idea, but I don’t share it with her. Not yet.

  “Do you have hobbies?” I change the subject.

  “Not so much anymore. I used to think I was going to be on a big dance squad because I danced all through high school. But I started working full time right after graduation and then I got with Stephen and…”

  She sighs and the meaning is implied. She gave up whatever dreams she once had. She works to survive, now. Scarlett is so much more than just the red-headed beauty I met a week ago. She’s a fighter. A survivor. And I know all about those. She asked about my love of MMA. Does she have similar outlets?