by Kenya Wright
“…bombings continue in New York—"
Valentina continued to switch.
Both Em and I yelled, “Go back!”
Valentina jumped and giggled. “Okay. Okay. The news it is.”
The reporter sounded British. I wasn’t sure what radio news broadcast it was, but I was glad he spoke in English, although some words were hard to understand.
“Several areas in Manhattan, including the Financial District, Upper East Side, and Greenwich Village have been assaulted with violence in shootings. This morning’s recent incident was a bombing in Harlem—Manhattan’s historically African American neighborhood. Since the 1920s, it has been known as a major African American residential, cultural and business center. Today, neighborhood blocks were leveled, hundreds dead, others injured, and thousands homeless—”
Valentina turned it off. “This is sad news.”
“Turn it back on.” Em leaned forward. “I want to hear the rest.”
Valentina didn’t move. “Sasha was busy today.”
Em glared. “I see.”
“You think he did that?” I asked.
“Of course, that was Sasha.” A grim expression fell over Valentina’s face. “He’s looking for you.”
“And what was tonight about?” I asked, since Valentina was in a confessional spirit.
“Sasha is letting Kaz know that he won’t back down. That was war tonight.” Valentina shook his head. “It wasn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?” Em asked.
“If Uncle Igor dies, then Sasha has solidified Kazimir’s win. Everyone in Europe will back my brother in this war. Uncle Igor was loved and feared, but most of all, he was our legend.” Her bottom lip quivered. “He’ll…he’ll be missed.”
“I still want to hear the news,” Em said.
Valentina wiped her face. Tears must’ve left her eyes. She finished and then turned on the radio.
“One of the most celebrated ballerinas of our time was found dead in the presidential suite of the Four Seasons Hotel right in the heart of Prague.”
Valentina reached for the dial.
Oleg smacked it away.
Em and I tensed.
What’s up?
The British reporter continued, “Olesya Pavlova, great great-granddaughter of famous Russian ballerina, Anna Pavlova, had carved her own path, revolutionizing the role of The Dying Swan.”
Valentina frowned for the first time that night and leaned back in her chair. Oleg gripped the steering wheel hard and sped up. I held the edge of my seat to not fall into Em.
“Olesya was discovered in the Four Seasons’ suite this evening. The police are looking into the matter due to Ms. Pavlova being last spotted at an event with Igor Stronz, who has a history of being affiliated with international crime. Authorities are looking into Ms. Pavlova’s death and its possible connection to the early reported shooting at the Igor Stronz event, where several UN officials and world leaders were injured.”
Music came on as the reporter shifted to discussing the weather in different parts of Europe. Oleg clicked off the radio. Valentina said nothing.
Em watched them, and I did the same.
The ballerina was important, that was obvious. But how? And what about the devastation to Harlem?
Someone had to end Sasha.
I glanced out of the window. When we first arrived, I didn’t get much of a view in the limo. Now that I was by the window, the place appeared magical.
Even within the darkness it was cold and scary looking. Lightning hit the sky, but I saw no oncoming rain. Yet, I felt the cold, like ghost rose in the area at night and filled the space with a deadly chill. All around the tall creepy trees and the haunted, ancient buildings, a city bustled with drunken tourists.
Some were on the sidewalks. Others danced in the streets near men playing instruments.
I felt comfortable that Oleg kept us around people. Had we driven off on a lonely rocky road, I might’ve shot him in the head.
Better safe than sorry.
I thought back to all that had happened and wondered how a dead ballerina could fit into this madness.
What would make Oleg smack her hand down to listen? Is that what she did? Did Valentina kill that ballerina? Why would she do a thing like that? And did it matter to me? Did Valentina have the ability to sneak outside and come back to kill Igor? Why go out that way and why have me cover?
Too many fucking questions and not enough answers. I didn’t just need a drink. I needed some pussy too. That was the only thing would calm me down tonight.
And Valentina’s pussy would do fine since she’s as confusing as her brother.
We parked at some odd-looking building. Really, it wasn’t a building at all. It was some sort of quirky nightclub with a graffiti-covered door that jutted out of a hillside.
Is the club inside of the hill? What the fuck?
It was a bit further from the other crowded streets, but tons of people were out there. I really did believe Oleg and Valentina were taking us to get drinks. They could’ve killed us long ago, right in the room or even outside of the castle. There were plenty opportunities to get rid of us.
Oleg parked.
Valentina got out.
Em stopped me before I opened my door. “Stay close to Valentina.”
“How close?”
She shrugged. “What does that mean?”
“Bouncing on my penis close?”
“Really, Max?”
“I’m not a Baptist preacher, Em. I need to get my rocks off from time to time so I won’t lose my mind.”
“Stay close to Valentina, and fuck someone else.”
“Why? You think your Russian would be mad?”
“No, I think she might kill you.”
“Don’t worry about that, Em.” I winked. “I’m used to loving a woman that could kill me.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she opened the door and left me in there with my cruel laugh.
This shit is fucking us up. We need a vacation. Fuck this Eastern Europe shit. We need to hit Jamaica and smoke some blunts.
As I walked toward the building, I checked my phone. Harlem was trending on most social media. Darryl and the majority of the Shower Posse were probably dead. Those deaths also included innocents—people that Em and I had probably grown up with.
I shut the phone off.
Now close, I made out large colorful graffiti sprayed all over the door and metal that was stuck in a massive hill. It wasn’t a building at all. It looked like some sort of hidden spy space leading down into a secret lab or something. Still, elaborately dressed people stood in line waiting to get inside an ironed door where four bulky men with guns stood.
Valentina must’ve caught my confused expression. “This used to be a bunker during the Cold War.”
“Nuclear bunker?” Em asked on Valentina’s right.
“Yes,” Valentina said. “The Cold War ended two decades ago, but here they keep the party going.”
“And what about their drinks?” I asked.
“Perfect.”
We bypassed the line. Everyone who’d been standing there caught Valentina’s face and had no complaints. Many looked away. Others secretly snapped a picture.
The bouncers rushed and opened the door for us. No checking for identification or asking for money.
She’s royalty here.
The club was housed underground, and the shit did look like a 1950s nuclear bunker. Inside was warm. The space pulsated with avant-garde electro-pop mixed with some sort of industrial rhythm. A DJ spun some digital looking records in front of him. Foreign words rode the tracks.
I glanced up at the ceiling. Two ventilation towers were on the right. I spotted a few emergency exits too, but that didn’t help me with the claustrophobic feeling that came over me.
As we walked in, mannequins in dark brown gas masks and green protective gear stood on our right. They looked like the aliens in one of those old ass sci-fi movies.
Damn, I need a drink.
There was no flash, but it damn sure was a unique drinking experience.
We descended further, deep into the dark nook. It was eerie, even with the hip music and flashy people dancing around the gas-masked mannequins. Grenades dangled over the dance floor.
I can’t with these motherfuckers tonight. Next time they ask me where I want to go, I’m saying the strip club.
We went all the way to the back. Two small tables were there. It looked as VIP as one could get in an old nuclear bunker. Several bottles stood on both tables. Three waitresses waited and smiled.
Valentina gestured to the table. “Have anything you want. Drinks are on me.”
“I like the sound of that.” I sat down and grabbed a glass.
Em got a bottle and inspected it.
Valentina shook her head. “If I kill you, it wouldn’t be from poison.”
Em twisted the cap off and poured all four of us a drink. “How would you kill me?”
“Knife to the chest.” Valentina touched the space in between her breasts. “That’s how I do it.”
“Hmmm.” Em finished pouring our drink. It was clear liquid, probably gin or vodka. Neither I liked, but I didn’t give a fuck anymore. I needed a minute.
I swallowed, and the alcohol stung my tongue.
Em sat down with the bottle and took a gulp from it. “Why a knife to the chest?”
Valentina grinned and sat down with her, sipping her glass. “The only reason I would kill someone would be because they betrayed me. If they hurt me so bad that it felt like a knife to the chest, then that is what I would do to them.”
“Let them feel how you feel.” Em nodded.
Oleg didn’t touch his drink and he hadn’t looked at Valentina since the radio announcement of the ballerina. Em gulped more of the bottle.
I’d now determined from my third sip that the liquid we were drinking was not vodka or gin. It was simply some form of jet gasoline, and this club was trying to kill us.
In fact, everyone’s trying to kill us right now.
Em took another swig of the stuff.
I cleared my throat, hoping she’d get the signal to chill.
Em drunk usually meant that I had to draw smiley faces in people’s flesh.
I tried to grab the bottle.
She flipped me off and turned back to Valentina. “A knife to the chest. I get it.”
“I heard you would.” Valentina placed her elbow on the table and continued to sip. “I heard you like knives too.”
“Who told you that?”
“You’ve killed lovers.”
“No, they weren’t lovers.”
“Good.” Valentina leaned forward, and a seductive threat lay in her gaze. “I would hate for something to happen to my brother. Losing him would be like a knife in my chest. Make sure you resolve issues with him in a…healthy way.”
Em’s jaw twitched as they stared each other down. She nodded and took another gulp from her bottle.
“Yo.” I grabbed the bottle from her. “You’re good.”
“Good news.” Em whispered to me, smelling like a distillery. “I don’t think she’s trying to kill Kaz.”
“Why not?”
“She just threatened me.”
“That’s not necessarily good news right now, Em.” I gave her a weak smile as Valentina and Oleg watched us whispering to each other. “Give me the bottle back.”
“It is. If she is threatening me to not kill him, then she’s not trying to kill him.” Em leaned back and rubbed her face with both hands. “I’ll be right back.”
My body tensed. “Where are you—?”
“I’ll be right back.” She rose.
Valentina pointed to Oleg. “He can go with you.”
“You know…” Em grabbed another bottle from the other table and waved Valentina’s comment away. “I’m tired of people giving me suggestions right now.”
Em stumbled off. It could’ve been that she was drunk or the fact that she’d injured her leg. She hadn’t even eaten yet. We were all drinking on an empty stomach due to assassins shooting up the dinner. And since we’d been in Prague, Em had been different. What could I expect? Last week, she’d just learned that she was a serial killer and her brother wanted her dead. Then she found her best friend murdered and left off with a mysterious Russian far across the other side of the globe.
Shit is finally starting to get to her. It’s like the Russian gave her feelings or something.
I directed my gaze to Em as she headed to the dance floor, bopping her head. She just stood there, chugging from the bottle, and watching people twist and turn around each other.
I took a sip from my glass.
“She’s upset.” Valentina gestured to Em.
“We both are.”
“You can’t get too caught up in emotion in my world.”
“I thought I was used to fucked up shit happening every day, but you all are on a bigger level. In Harlem, you have a robbery or something. Bad drug deal. Maybe someone got shot or killed, but it’s not every damn day. You all got bombs and shit. Fucking fighter jets and tanks.” I finished my glass. “This shit is crazy.”
Valentina frowned. “You’re ready to go home?”
“It doesn’t sound like there is any home. If Sasha leveled Harlem, he damn sure hit Em’s brownstone and gallery. That was probably why he did it.”
“I think you will love Moscow.”
“Is Moscow more peaceful than Prague?”
Valentina laughed. And for the first time, Oleg laughed too. It shocked me that he had any other emotion besides a scowl.
I’ll take that as a no.
“Who do you think is helping Sasha?” I asked Valentina.
She shook her head. “I think it’s Misha.”
Oleg shook his head.
She shrugged. “I’m just saying that because I hate him.”
“Why?”
“Misha likes to have information and hold it over one’s head. Don’t ever let him find out anything about you.”
“He won’t. I doubt we’ll even see him.”
“He’ll be with us, until Sasha is dead. You can guarantee that. Someone went after his father. If my Uncle Igor is dead, then Misha will level the Eastern Coast of the US. You better hope Sasha leaves America soon.”
“Would he?”
Valentina frowned. “He should be going to Moscow soon. That would make sense.”
“Did you expect him to attack your brother here?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Sasha is smarter than I thought. He shouldn’t have known that we’d arrived in Prague.”
Oleg turned to the dance floor. A few men were staring at Em. I didn’t know if she knew or not. It didn’t matter. She was more of a danger to them than the guys to her. Still, Oleg rose and headed near the bar facing her direction—not in Em’s space but monitoring just the same.
Oleg looks scared that something is going to happen to Valentina and Em. Shit. He has The Russian’s two most important women with him. He can’t fuck this up.
Valentina slipped her fingers along my arm. “You’re a very sexy man, Maxwell. I love those golden eyes of yours.”
“Many do.”
“You will keep my secret?” She stared up at me. Her eyes held a desperate pleading. “Now, it’s more important than ever.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Had I known this shooting was going to happen, I would’ve waited until I got back to Moscow.”
“To do what?”
“What I needed to do.”
“Hmmm.” I moved my eyes to her chest and lingered there. Whatever I’d had to drink, it was pouring over me. My body grew numb. I felt bolder for the first time that evening.
She licked her lips and leaned forward more, showing me more of her soft cleavage. “What could I do to guarantee your silence?”
“You could pay me with something else.” My gaze roamed her body, letting my meaning become clea
r. I didn’t know what made me say it, but the words were out of my mouth before I could pull them back. I expected her to slap or curse me out.
Instead, she met my gaze with a heated one of her own. “You still want to hear me moan?”
“Among other things.”
“Like what?”
I scanned the space. Oleg was far away. His eyes were locked on Em as she bobbed her head like a drunken idiot and drank straight from the bottle. I bet many people were confused with who she was and why she was there. Em could be utterly adorable when she drank, even though she was inclined to kill someone after too many drinks. It was easy to forget about the danger she put herself in when she was being cute and trying to sing some foreign song she had no idea the words to.
Em is The Russian’s problem tonight.
I turned back to Valentina and drank her in. She’d worn a tight black dress, sexy and showing off exactly what she’d hoped to do. I’d seen Em use her body to get her way—to show off certain body parts to twist and lure the male mind. And with Valentina in that dress, it was damn sure working.
I didn’t care if she was luring me into a trap. After all the blood and bodies I’d cleaned up, I didn’t mind finally getting some pussy out of the deal.
“Are you flirting with me, Valentina, or are you trying to secure my silence with your panties?”
She giggled, checked Oleg, and then dug her hands under her dress. I had no idea what she was doing as she wiggled and stirred. Then, I noticed her gripping little red panties in her hand. She looked at me. “Open your mouth.”
I did.
She stuffed them inside. “Is that an answer?”
Yes. I think that is one.
There was no taste to the panties as I pulled the wet silk out. But the scent of them made my cock rise.
I pocketed the panties. “Pull up your dress a little. I want to see your pussy.”
Excitement blazed in her eyes. She checked for Oleg and then grabbed the hem, yanking up the dress inch by inch and exposing her milky thighs.
“Damn, Valentina.” Tilting forward, I pulled her chair closer to me.
She widened her eyes, but only smiled.
“When’s the last time you’ve been fucked?”
“It’s been a while,” she whispered.
I slipped my fingertips along her soft thigh. Her skin was just as silky as her panties. Reaching down, I flipped her dress up, revealing more of her bare pussy.
