by Kenya Wright
“They’re not your buddies or friends. They’re around you to—”
“Protect me. I understand, but I will still talk to them from time to time.”
He sighed.
“And guess what else?”
“Yes, Ms. Jones.”
“I may also smile at them.”
He scowled.
Isabella loudly barked. The other girls followed.
“Yeah and then wave your fists in the air.” Maxwell nodded. They pumped their fists and barked. Maxwell gave them a thumbs up. “You’ve got it.”
I returned to Misha. “Yefim didn’t even want to tell me his name. I hate the fact I got him in trouble.”
“A guard is expected to be nameless and faceless. They’re silverware. They have small purposes. With a fork, you need it to cut and pick up bits of food. That’s it. Do you ask the fork its name?”
“I like to know the names of my forks and spoons.”
He smirked. “And if your fork dies protecting you?”
“That’s even more reason why I would like to know his name. He is keeping me safe. The least I can do is learn a little about the person that is guarding me.”
“Will you bend on this?”
“No compromises. I won’t bend on this. And if you don’t leave Yefim alone, I won’t be bending over for you either.”
Misha grinned.
“You think that’s funny?”
“I think that I’ll have to teach you another lesson this evening about denying me those panties.”
Warmth gathered in my chest. “I’m open to those lessons.”
Leaning my way, he brushed his lips along my chin, slipped them up to my ear, and whispered, “You’ll have Yefim back tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight.” Sighing, he pulled out his phone, leaned away, and spoke into it.
I returned to Maxwell and his giggling group. Alyssa smiled my way. “You look fabulous, Ava.”
“Thank you.” I took in her white gown. “You look beautiful too. You all do.”
Isabella turned to me. She had on a violet off-the-shoulder number—tight and sparkling. “Oh my God. I’ve drunk too much. I didn’t even know you were in here or that we were moving.”
Ulyana burped and adjusted her silver dress. “Yes. We should have eaten first.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Misha turned off the phone. “We’re close.”
Ulyana burped again. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s cool.” Maxwell winked at her. “I dig chicks that burp.”
O-kay.
Alyssa waved her hands. “Oh! We said thank you to Misha and Maxwell, but we haven’t said thank you to Ava yet!”
Everyone turned to me.
“No.” I waved the comment away. “This is all Misha.”
They told me thank you anyway.
Maxwell eyed me. “Yo, Ava. You do look good. Very black swan.”
The other ballerinas and I groaned.
“What?” Maxwell held out his hands. “You all don’t like the movie Black Swan? It was a ballerina movie. You’ve got to like it.”
Ulyana shook her head. “It’s just that the character Nina is. . .” She snapped her fingers. “How would you say it?”
“A wimp.” Isabella sipped her champagne. “The movie also had ballet all wrong.”
I nodded. “During barre, the artistic director doesn’t stroll in and give some big speech.”
Alyssa laughed. “Barre is for doing barre.”
“Announcements are after class.” Ulyana dotted her each word with her finger. “And there’s only one principal in the company. Real companies have a handful of soloists and principals. That’s why Ava so quickly stepped up.”
“Which was long overdue,” Alyssa added.
Misha whispered to me, “I like these new friends of yours.”
I laughed.
Ulyana continued. “And Nina’s crazy mommy is her roommate. Preposterous.”
“Exactly.” Isabella rolled her eyes. “The average professional ballerina has lived on her own for many years.”
“Probably since her teens.” Ulyana held her glass as Maxwell poured her more champagne.
Alyssa bobbed her head. “I was on my own at thirteen, fending for myself in Russia. In a dorm and far away from my family.”
“I came at sixteen,” I offered. “It scared the hell out of me. It was the first time I’d ever been out of America.”
Maxwell grabbed another glass. “You want some champagne, Ava?”
“Yes, please.” I looked at Misha. “What were your thoughts on the movie?”
He smiled. “I didn’t like how my beautiful ballet world came out so distorted. While there is a darkness to it, there is also hope and strength.”
Maxwell handed me a glass.
Misha continued. “You women are athletes who have trained for years. I would have liked to see more examples of your endurance and the utter power that radiates off of you all.”
“Wow.” I blinked. “I love that answer.”
“Cheers to that.” Maxwell raised his glass in the air. “To strong and gorgeous ballerinas!”
We all raised our glasses and then sipped.
Maxwell took a long chug and then raised it again. “However, I will say that I still loved the damn movie. Natalie Portman was hot as fuck in it.”
Isabella frowned and glanced at the other women. “What will we do with him?”
Maxwell undid his tuxedo bow and let it hang around his neck. “I’m not against you three disciplining me.”
I snorted.
And then conversation shifted to the performance. I leaned back in Misha’s arms, enjoying this moment and hoping evenings would always be this way. It has been a long time since I’d been around people just for fun. It had been many years since I had even partied after a performance. O and I barely went to the nightclubs. I had been too focused and always told her no. Now that she was dead, I wished I’d took her up on going to a bar or lounge.
I turned to Misha, drinking in my handsome new boyfriend, and loving every inch of his face. If O were alive, she would have told me to have a blast, dance the night away, and fuck until morning.
I will, O. I will.
I spent the rest of the ride telling Misha about the agent call from Mrs. Hightower.
Chapter 5
Misha
We stopped in front of a two-level building with shattered windows and cracked paint. No car or human was in sight. There wasn’t even a door.
I climbed out of the limo. Ava followed. With an odd expression, she took in the dark street around the building. When her friends left the limo, they held the same odd curiosity in their gazes.
Then Maxwell stepped out. “Where the fuck are we?”
“It’s called udovol'stviye.”
Maxwell smirked. “Does that mean ‘crack den’ in Russian?”
Ava laughed. “No. It means pleasure.”
Maxwell pointed at one of the cracked windows. “This building and street look like we’ll get stabbed for our shoes if we stand outside for too long.”
“That’s the intention.” I guided them forward. “In St Petersburg, the best things are hidden.”
Maxwell studied the building. “Even the night scene?”
“Especially the night scene. All the secret locations offer the best food, most exotic cocktails, and provide atmospheres from drugged-out dreams.”
Maxwell rubbed his hands together. “I like the sound of that. Where’s the door?”
“Once everyone arrives, we’ll go.” I turned around.
The other limos stopped behind us. One by one each driver let fabulously dressed ballerinas out. Maxwell whistled and hit my back. “Man, have I told you how much I love spending time with you?”
“Yes. Which means that you should be my main guy.”
Maxwell drank in a few more ballerinas. “I’m supposed to be by Em’s side, but I must tell you something. You’re
making it hard for me to remain loyal.”
“Consider staying with me.” I guided us forward.
“I’ll think about it, man.” He kept my pace. “But this place. Is it going to deliver? I’m trying to take some ballerinas home tonight.”
“Don’t I always deliver?”
“Well. . .in Mrs. Jones’s case, that delivery didn’t turn out well.”
I frowned.
He chuckled. “Too soon to joke about that?”
“Too soon.”
Maxwell raised his hands. “My bad.”
“Let’s go.” I pointed to the corner of the building.
A long line of ballerinas followed us. The ones that rode with us, chatted and stayed on Ava’s side. I learned all their names on our ride from the theater.
Isabella giggled. “This is so exciting.”
Fear hit Ulyana’s voice. “Are we going in the alley?”
“Shh.” Alyssa hushed them.
We rounded the corner.
An electric blue cross glowed in the alley’s darkness. A camera was above it. It zipped and focused on us.
The next second, the door opened. A tall man stepped out. “Welcome, Mr. Stronz. Do you have the passcode for this evening?”
Nodding, I shifted to Russian. “In a quiet lagoon, devils dwell.”
With a grim expression, the man took in all the people with me. Many represented my guards—scarred, tattooed, and extremely dangerous men from the Brotherhood. The rest were captivating women—the top ballerinas of the city and maybe even Russia. It must’ve been around thirty.
The man wore a grim expression. “And these are your guests?”
“Yes.”
He opened the door wider and moved out of the way. “Enjoy, Mr. Stronz.”
I gave Ava my arm.
She took it and strolled forward with me.
This will be fun.
With circular metal walls, the hall was dark black and all shiny. It was like being inside the polished barrel of a massive gun. A stream of blue light lined the ceiling and bathed our path in a dreamy haze.
Ava whispered, “I’ve never heard of this place.”
“It’s exclusive to the filthy rich. There’s a code that changes every five hours.”
“How did you get the code for tonight?”
“I called the manager. We’re colleagues.”
Giggling and soft chatter sounded behind us.
“This is a secret club.” She leaned in closer to me. “You’re not going to get in trouble for bringing all of us?”
“You’re the prima ballerina—the most talked about woman in Russia. And with you are glamourous ballerinas, dressed in the highest fashion. The manager will be pleased. It’ll make more of the top-tier want to seek the place out.”
The hallway ended at a wall.
I knocked on it.
Ava widened her eyes as the wall pushed five feet forward, revealing a glass floor. A beep sounded. The glass floor slid to the side and showed stairs. Loud music rose from the space.
“Wow.”
“You still haven’t seen anything yet.” I guided her down the steps.
Two men in black suits waited for us at the end, wearing white gloves. All around the large space people partied, danced, and drank.
As we lowered into the club, all of the delights of Club Pleasure revealed itself. It was an underground palace with a cinema-like atmosphere—grand casino meets elegant spy lounge. Red velvet furniture sat on a chessboard floor. It boasted high ceilings with glittering chandeliers that dangled pink crystals. On every table was a gold lamp shaped into a nude woman.
Music filled the air. A deep voice sang over a song with heavy bass. It was an electronic jam that didn’t amp one up to jump out of their seats. This song demanded to be danced to at the table. Many rocked their shoulders as they conversed.
At Pleasure, celebrities hobnobbed with the children of oligarchs and oil sheiks.
In the area where we walked, most of the walls were black. Some walls had red paint. I knew from my earlier visits that the red walls hid poker dens for games starting at half a million.
All turned our way. Many whispered to the other. Lots of men appeared intrigued at our tantalizing group. Surely after dinner, many ballerinas would be approached on the dancefloor.
When Ava and I made it to the end of the stairs, one of the men in black bowed. “Mr. Stronz, will your guests and you be eating this evening?”
“Yes. Take us to the White Room, please. And bring us your vintage champagne on ice with plenty of caviar.”
The man bowed again and left. The other guided us forward.
We followed.
Excitement showed all over Ava’s face.
We passed a 24-foot-long glass bar lining one wall. It was called the Drink Laboratory. There, award-winning bartenders used state-of-the-art molecular mixology equipment to reinvent classic cocktails. One could sip a salted caramel old fashioned or have a bottle of 50-year-old aged whiskey. They employed a full-time Ice Chef who made different flavors of diamond ice cubes to complement each drink.
I checked over my shoulder. Maxwell had a ballerina on each arm. Both women pointed to this place and that with giddiness on their faces.
“Misha, this is amazing. Thank you.” Ava squeezed my arm. “We would have been happy with a local diner and bottle of vodka to share amongst us. No one expected this.”
“It’s a celebration. We must do it big.”
Our man in black guided us to the back. Then, he stopped us at an unmarked wall, coated in white.
Smiling, he held his gloved hand out. “Enjoy, Mr. Stronz.”
The white wall slid open. A large white space greeted our eyes. Ivory walls surrounded the place. Two snowy white chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Polished seashells dangled from them.
The only color in the room was a long crocodile-skin-covered table in the center. It seated over thirty people. Yet, white chairs circled it. White dinnerware and dishes covered the crocodile skin. The white bowls and plates boasted ribbed texture, giving the whole set up an irresistible charm.
The utensils were white too. The forks and knives looked like they were shaped from pearls. And in the center of the table, white candelabras held lit white candles.
The floor looked like milk—liquid, and moving. It was all an illusion—a trick on the eyes. Still, Ava tapped the floor with her toe before stepping inside.
I whispered in her ear. “Can Bob do this?”
“I can’t with you right now.” She giggled. “And no, he can’t. This is so insane. I love every exciting detail. Everywhere I look there is something new to entertain my eyes.”
“Great. I’m glad you love it.”
“Nothing will ever compare. This is the oddest place I’ve ever been too.”
Once she went to my family castle in Prague she would change that statement. Perhaps that was why I chose this place. I wanted to get her prepared for the crazy in my life with one odd space at a time.
The line of glamourous ballerinas gathered inside the room.
“Yo, I like this.” Maxwell hit my side, still with a ballerina on each arm. “It’s very Mission Impossible.”
“Make sure everyone knows the food and drinks are on me.”
“I’ll spread the word.” He got ready to walk off with his ballerinas.
I stopped him. “And yes.”
He arched his brows. “Yes?”
“Yes. You can smoke in here, but you must go to the other end of the table. That’ll be the smoking section.”
“Misha.” He smiled at me. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Maxwell.”
“Wow.” Ava giggled. “You two are already at I love you. Meanwhile. . .”
“Oh, he loves you too.” Maxwell winked at her. “He’s just not ready to explore that yet. Not while my sexy ass is around.”
My words left with him as he walked off. I turned back to Ava. One of the ballerinas grabbed he
r. They pointed at the main lounge as the white wall slowly slipped closed and gave our group privacy.
Together, they giggled and talked more about the place.
I took that time, drinking her in some more. That black dress did things to my body. So glamorous and alluring. The fabric hugged her body. The smartly placed ostrich feathers decorated the right spots. The V-neckline presented her small breasts in an enthralling light.
You’ll have your time to make friends. After that, you’re all mine.
We all sat down at the long table, covered in crocodile skin. Ballerinas and gangsters. The beautiful and cruel. The fragile and dangerous. A white room full of dark and elegant creatures.
Weed smoke filled the air. I spotted a few ballerinas passing around joints. Maxwell rolled some more at the end of the table. He looked up at me.
I raised my glass.
He gave me a thumbs up.
This is the life.
Ava sat next to me at the end of the table. “Tonight is so magical, and it’s all because of you.”
“That’s what our days will be from now on. We had a rough start, but no more.”
She widened her eyes. “You saved me. No. You saved everyone in my company from the terror of those men.”
I didn’t want to tell her this part. However, I feared that the theater closed to wait this conflict out with the oligarch families and me. Perhaps, they hoped that someone would kill me off and things could go back to normal. But there was no need to let Ava or her friends know that just yet.
I will win.
“Thank you for everything, Misha.”
“Why would the theater think that they could auction off your body?” I sneered. “I wish I could say my solution was about your fellow ballerinas, but it was all about you. No one will ever force you to do anything you don’t want.”
She gave me a wicked smile. “And this pussy is yours.”
A growl lodged in my throat. “It is.”
Worry crossed her face. “So. . .I have a question.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I noticed you left during the second act.”
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“I noticed. Tonight, I danced only for you.”
Every part of my body burst with desire. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
I moved in to capture those lips.
She left my reach. “Stop avoiding the topic. Where did you go during the second act?”
