Dirty Passions

by Wright, Kenya

  He shot the gun, pumping bullets into the ceiling.

  I wrestled with him for several seconds and took the gun out of his hand. I needed this moment. This exercise in aggression.

  “Thank you for making this easier than I thought it would be.” When I wrenched the gun away, I slung it on the ground. “You don’t deserve a gentle death, my friend.”

  He covered his face, trying to protect his eyes.

  “How many girls have you abused? How many have you enslaved under the brotherhood’s name?”

  Abram’s knee came up and crashed into my back.

  But it was too late and too little.

  “You’re lucky it’s me killing you and not my mouse.” I placed my hands on the side of his face, lifted his head up and slammed the back of his skull hard into the polished restaurant’s floor. Blood splattered underneath.

  Screaming, Abram flailed his arms.

  “She wouldn’t have been so nice.” I slammed the back of his head into the floor again and again. Until his skull was no longer shaped correctly. Until the skull was shattered bits of what it used to be. Until my hand held only wet, warm mush. Until my men grabbed and dragged me away.

  Abram lay on the ground, dead. Long gone. Body twisted. His head exploded gunk on Charisma’s polished floor.

  I left my men’s arms, pulled out a handkerchief from my jacket’s pocket, and wiped the blood and sweat off my face. I felt light-headed and high from the blood lust. I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself before walking into this restaurant, but I knew I was going to kill my friend.

  What else could I have done?

  Perhaps, I knew I would kill him when Emily first told me about the brothel. It was disgusting. It was wrong. But most of all, the place represented the very symbol of hellish perversion and child abuse that terrorized her.

  And I didn’t want a place like that to exist for her or my child.

  I also knew that soon she would not only shut down his brothel, but she would go after him. If not for the monkey head situation getting in her way, she would have made it her top priority.

  And once she shut the place down, she would have gone after him and all his clients. And she would have cut, and stabbed, and done the things she did in Harlem.

  And maybe. . .I would have lost her. She would have returned to not remembering when she killed me.

  I wiped my bloody hands on the handkerchief, slung the dirty cloth on Abram’s face, and turned to my men. “Kill his people. They won’t be loyal. Any man that will serve a person who pimps little girls, is not a man I want in the brotherhood. Spread the word!”

  Hysteria erupted.

  Shots rang.

  Men yelled and screamed.

  And I walked away.

  A little guilt and even doubt came my way. I considered my past actions. I had told her that we would deal with Abram together. I knew it was a lie, when it came out of my mouth.

  I had to murder Abram, before Emily. She was pregnant and this pregnancy had already made us lose one of our twins. Nothing would get in my way of keeping her healthy and safe. She wanted to save these young girls. Of course I understood. But I could do it for her, whether she liked it or not.

  Now there was only one friend left.

  Pavel. He must be loyal. He’s all I have from the old days.

  I had no idea if Zahkar had more to do with the monkey head situation. I wasn’t sure if Abram had been behind it also. At this point, I would kill everybody one by one to keep Emily safe.

  However, she had convinced me that all of the dead animals could be a distraction.

  Pavel is left. If it wasn’t one of my three friends, then I have no idea who it could be. These were the ones that would have been up for the Italian assets.

  I made it to the limo, but I didn’t get in, I just stood there and stared at the door.

  David got to my side and looked at it too. “Is everything okay?”

  “Long week.” I rubbed my face with both hands. “Take as many men as you can get down to Kapotnya. I want you to shut a brothel down. Call and get the address from Boris.”

  “You want survivors?”

  “The girls, but not the customers or any adult working at this place. It was a sex ring of children.”

  David shook his head. “Got it. Kill everyone at the pedophile pyramid.”

  “Especially the men. And do something theatrical. Get their addresses from their wallets and send their heads to their houses. I want this to be a message to all. Something that people will discuss throughout history.”

  My phone rang.

  I climbed into the limo and left David outside.

  My head fogged.

  The phone rang again.

  I put the device to my ear. “Yes?”

  Pavel’s voice came on. “It looks like the French are heading toward your penthouse, but I’m not sure.”

  It took me a minute to get my head around everything. So many thoughts spun around in my mind.

  “Kazimir?”

  “Yes, Pavel.” I cleared my throat. “Stay on them.”

  “I already called our men ahead to watch out.”

  “Good.”

  “Kazimir?”

  I gazed out of the window. “Yes.”

  “Why is Zahkar dead?”

  I didn’t respond. Emotions tornadoed through me. Anger and sadness. Guilt and confusion.

  “Kazimir, I’m sorry for asking, but. . .it was Zahkar. What could he have done?”

  “He did enough. Abram is dead too. If I was you, I would focus on staying alive and less on why others died.”

  I hung up, not sure why I had been so harsh with Pavel. He had done nothing wrong.

  Pain hit my temple.

  An ache filled my chest.

  And all I wanted to do was get back to my mouse.

  Chapter 33

  Frenemies

  Emily

  My phone rang, waking me up. Yawning, I opened my eyes.

  Darkness bathed my room.

  “Kaz?” I touched the other side of the bed and only felt the round belly of my furry baby.

  Harlem liked to sleep like a fully satiated human—belly up, legs spread out, and mouth open with his tongue wagging to the side. He lounged in doggy heaven.

  Kaz isn’t back yet.

  The phone rang again.

  “Okay. Okay.” I dragged myself up, crawled over, and grabbed it off the nightstand. “Hello?”

  A French accent rode the male’s voice. “We need to talk, friend.”

  “J.P. unless you’re going to give me some names then call me later.” Groaning, I collapsed back on the bed and closed my eyes. “You woke me up.”

  “I would think you have more pressing matters around you than to worry about my disturbing your peace.”

  “What do you want, J.P.?”

  “A better nickname. You do understand that my mother spent a lot of time thinking of my first name and it is a grand one. Many women love it. Men are probably jealous—”

  “Did you get the people involved?”

  “Did you dream about me?”

  “No.” I quickly opened my eyes. “And. . .I never have dreamed about you. Never.”

  “That sounds a bit guilty.” Curiosity laced his voice. “I wonder why.”

  I sat up. “Who’s involved with the monkey heads and the gorilla?”

  “Come downstairs so we can talk. Bring no more than two men.”

  “I’ll bring as many people as I want.”

  “If you do, you won’t talk to me, and you may find that these gorillas can turn into other things.”

  I let out a long breath. “Where do you want to meet downstairs?”

  “I’ll come to you. Just be down there in five minutes. We don’t have much time. The lion’s cousin is probably listening to this call. So be quick and bring an umbrella.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s wet outside.” Jean-Pierre hung up.

  Turning on the light, I cli
mbed out of bed and checked my watch. I had barely been asleep for an hour.

  This better not be any bullshit.

  In that moment, Harlem woke up and stared at me through half closed eyes.

  “How was your sleep, buddy?”

  He rolled onto his stomach and watched me.

  “What the hell does J.P. have up his sleeve now?” Taking off Kaz’s big shirt, I hurried to get dressed. “He better have a name. I know that. I should take my gun and shoot his ass for waking me up.”

  Once Harlem noticed my dressing, he jumped off the bed and wagged his tail, excited and ready for an adventure.

  I put on a bra, put back on Kaz’s big shirt, climbed into jeans, and then put on some sneakers. Most important, I grabbed my gun, made sure it was loaded, and then got the holster.

  They won’t get me again, if that’s the plan.

  Next, I shimmied into a jacket, making sure my gun was hidden.

  “Come on, Harlem.” I left the bedroom.

  He trotted after me.

  Max and Boris sat in the living room. Although Max simply watched tv, I sniffed the marijuana smoke in the air.

  “Kaz is going to kill you for smoking in here.” I yawned and headed to the front door. “Come on, guys. The French want to meet us outside.”

  Max shot up from the couch. “The French as in Jean-Pierre?”

  “Yes. He only wants me to bring two people, so you both win the dumbass lottery.”

  Boris frowned. “More of our men will be waiting in the hallway. There’s no way I’m going to have you unguarded like that.”

  “Fine, but make sure the French don’t see them.” I headed out of the penthouse. “He wants to meet in five minutes.”

  “I’ll meet you downstairs.” Boris hurried outside of the penthouse, probably to get everyone in position.

  “Where are you meeting him?” Max asked.

  “All he said was downstairs.”

  Max grabbed both of his guns from the coffee table and put them in their holsters. He made no move to put a coat on, but he picked up the small purple leash off the table and snapped it to Harlem’s collar. “This should be interesting or incredibly stupid.”

  “Let’s hope it’s interesting.” I took the leash from Max and guided Harlem with me.

  We headed out.

  Kaz’s men stood at the front door.

  “I’ll be right back.” I gestured to Harlem. “I’m taking him for a quick walk. Max, Boris, and my men will be with me. It won’t be more than ten minutes.”

  They didn’t look happy, but the one on the right nodded.

  After that, we got on the elevator and headed away. The doors closed and the elevator lowered.

  Max looked my way. “Are you ready to hit this brothel tomorrow?”

  Rubbing my eyes, I yawned again. “Yes. What’s the plan?”

  “You look exhausted.”

  “Because I just woke up.”

  “Or because you’re pregnant.”

  “I’m sure being pregnant doesn’t mean that I can’t do shit. Kaz and you are treating me like I am disabled.”

  “You have more than you to think about now.”

  I sighed. “True, but what about these little girls? I feel like shit for not taking the brothel down the first moment Boris told me about it. I shouldn’t have waited. So much time has gone by.”

  “You couldn’t have done it without possibly getting killed,” Max said. “You had no idea how many guns were in there or what the security measures were. With dark shit like that, explosives could have been around the door.”

  “But still. . .time has passed, and these girls are still in there.”

  “And shit has gone down.”

  I shook my head. “Forget tomorrow. We hit the place tonight.”

  “Em, that’s crazy. Boris and I still aren’t sure about who’s there. We might get everyone killed, including you.”

  “I feel like shit letting those girls still be there. We’ve got to shut it down with the men and plans we have.”

  Max turned my way. “Fine. You want to do this tonight. Then, have your lion with us.”

  I frowned.

  “It’s either saving these girls or maintaining your dignity. Pick one, Em.”

  “It’s not about my dignity.”

  “You could have had Kazimir shut the place down on his own. You didn’t because you wanted to do it yourself. You wanted to be the one to save them.”

  “Fuck you, Max.”

  “You love me because I tell you the truth.”

  I swallowed down the reality of it all. “Maybe, you’re right. I wanted to do it myself.”

  “Let Kazimir handle it.”

  An overwhelming sadness washed over me. “That’s fucked up.”

  “What is?”

  I turned his way. “Why didn’t I just let Kazimir handle it from the beginning? Was it really all about pride?”

  “No. It was Yuri’s mother’s death and killing people in the krokodil drug houses. It was finding out who put the dead gorilla there as well as dealing with the Knights of Babylon. It was an old photo showing a racist Russian piece of shit and the continued annoyance of the French. You’ve been busy, Em. You can’t save everybody, when you first haven’t saved yourself. Start outsourcing, motherfucker.”

  I shook my head. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You know the airplane shit about the oxygen mask. You’re supposed to put that shit on your face first, before the kid.”

  “My dumb ass would probably still put it on my kid’s face first.”

  “Stubborn as hell.”

  “And then we both die.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m calling Kaz after the French and asking him to shut down the brothel. In the end, it’s not about me taking Abram down and saving Kapotnya. It’s about those girls being free and safe.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up too much. You’ve got Abram to take your feelings out on.”

  The elevator stopped.

  The doors opened.

  Boris stood by it. Several armed men were behind him. Boris gestured to them. “They’ll stay in the lobby and never be too far away.”

  “Good.” Harlem and I walked off and headed outside the building.

  Boris and Max flanked each side.

  I looked around. “Have you seen any sign of the French yet?”

  “No.” Boris shook his head. “Lots of people walking back and forth on the street. Regular pedestrians. And there’s a few crowded around a street performer, but nothing else.”

  “Okay. Keep a look out.” I sighed. “J.P. is a sneaky, smart bastard. Never sleep when it comes to him.”

  Near the building’s entrance, a man stood by a tree, dressed in a silvery white coat with a hood on his head. He had long blonde hair that spilled out of the opening. There he played for several onlookers the sweetest song on a violin. An ivory leather violin case sat on the ground full of rubles and coins.

  I stood there in shock, not sure if I should question the moment or not.

  Boris, you didn’t say the street performer was playing a violin. That very important.

  Max and I exchanged glances.

  What were the chances?

  I tried to get a look at the violinist’s face, but he whipped that bow back and forth so fast, thrilling and captivating all with his song. I knew Jean-Pierre had played the violin long ago. His hands were now injured, and he couldn’t perform anymore. But performing for an orchestra in a long concert and a quick song on the street were two very different situations.

  Is that him?

  I leaned close to Boris. “That might be Jean-Pierre. Even though I can’t get a good look at his face. Assume the violinist has something to do with the French. Also, keep your eyes open for Giorgio and especially Louis. That motherfucker is the craziest one of the bunch.”

  More people crowded around the performer, blocking my view. Several clapped along. A few took videos. A small kid did a little d
ance.

  “Give me some money, Max.”

  He handed me a ruble. “You’re going by yourself?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got my guard dog.” I pulled Harlem along. “Just stay close so we don’t scare the French away.”

  Max shook his head at Harlem who had hid behind my legs, not sure what was going on with the music and people.

  I headed over to the performer and squeezed between two people. Harlem growled a little as we got closer, but thankfully didn’t bark. Nearer, I still wasn’t certain it was Jean-Pierre, but I knew it would be a good chance.

  When the performer finished the song, I waited for everyone else to pay him. Keeping the hood over his head, he nodded and said thank you in Russian. That long blonde hair swung in the breeze.

  If he has a wig on, then I’m going to laugh at his ass for the rest of the year. I mean. . .really?

  I walked up after everyone left and dropped the ruble in the case.

  The violinist looked my way and switched to English. “That’s it, mouse?”

  It is your crazy ass in a raggedy ass wig. Jesus Christ.

  “I say again. Is that all, mouse?”

  Smiling, I pointed at the case. “It’s a ruble.”

  “It’s Danse Macabre.” Jean-Pierre scowled at me from under the hood. “By French composer Camille Saint-Saëns. It’s worth more than a ruble.”

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  “Let’s walk.” He gazed at the puppy. “Did the lion buy you that dog?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would have assumed he would get a cat.” He handed the violin to a homeless person that came out of nowhere.

  I squinted at the sad, dirty man.

  Hold up. No way.

  Shock hit me, and then I shook my head. “Is that Giorgio?”

  Frowning, Giorgio took the violin and handed Jean-Pierre an umbrella. “I apologize for this disgusting get-up, but my cousin refused to—”

  “Enough, Giorgio. No one cares that you’re dirty.” Jean-Pierre gestured for me to move forward. “Let’s go this way. I see you’ve already broken the rule, mouse.”

  I held on to Harlem’s leash and guided the furry baby to stroll with us. “What rule?”

  “I said only two men.” Jean-Pierre held the umbrella over my head as we walked forward. “It looks like twenty guys in the lobby.”

  Damn. You weren’t supposed to see them. In fact, how did you see them?