by Monica James
When we get to the garage and a large Hummer SUV waits for us, I brace myself for what’s ahead. Saint walks to the driver’s side while Hans opens the door for us, indicating we’re to get in the back. I breathe a sigh of relief, hopeful Alek has decided to ride in another car, but when I climb in and see him in the passenger seat, my optimism takes a nosedive.
Hans closes the door, hinting he won’t be riding with us. Saint adjusts the mirror, positioning it so he can see me. The small gesture is enough to calm my racing heart. Until Alek turns over his shoulder and smiles at me.
“Buckle up,” he says lightly as though we’re simply going out for a casual outing. I do as he says, my fingers trembling as I fasten my seat belt. Saint takes off with speed, his patience already wearing thin.
The radio provides background noise, and when Alek speaks to Saint in Russian, it’s clear he doesn’t want us to know what he’s saying. Although curious, I decide to lose myself in the landscape because this is the first time I’ve been outside.
Although it’s night, the sky radiates a royal blue. The color could be from the abundance of lights illuminating the heavens. Though some of the architecture is quite contemporary, the feel is old world mixed with modern.
Although summer has come and gone and it’s early September, tourists still walk the streets, taking selfies and marveling at the beauty. Something so mundane seems so foreign to me now. I can’t take two steps without looking over my shoulder. I wonder if my life will ever return to normal if I escape? When I meet Saint’s eyes in the rearview mirror, I know the answer is no.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
We drive for about forty-five minutes, and when the neighborhoods become run-down, I guess we’re close to our final destination. The abandoned buildings have graffiti scribbled on them and faded advertisement posters rustle in the wind. The vibe points to these structures being vacant for years.
A flashing bright neon pink sign up ahead seems to be the only functioning establishment in the neighborhood. Saint pulls up in front of the building where two beefy security guards stand watch over the front door.
Craning my neck, I see the sign reads The Pink Pussycat. I dare say this is a strip club. My suspicions are confirmed when two women in jeweled thongs and silver stilettoes walk out the door and make a beeline for our car.
Saint looks at me in the mirror and nods subtly. His reassurance makes me feel remotely better. But when one of the women opens his door and leans in, batting her false lashes seductively, that assurance turns into the green-eyed monster. It seems he and The Pink Pussycat are well acquainted.
She says something to him in Russian, pursing her shiny red lips as she zeroes in on his. His gaze flicks to the mirror, watching me narrow my eyes as I challenge him on his next move. When he stops her advance by placing his hand on her shoulder, she peers down at it, confused.
Alek’s door then opens, and woman number two appears. The corner of her mouth lifts into a slanted grin. She goes in for a kiss, but he too stops her, mimicking Saint’s pose. “Nadia, I want you to meet Willow.”
The moment I hear my name, I stop glaring at Saint and remember where I am. Both women scowl at me, considering I’m the reason they’re not locking lips with their beaus. But Nadia knows better than to upset a man like Aleksei.
“Hello,” she says in a thick accent, nodding.
I nod back.
The thick tension can be cut with a knife, so I’m thankful when Alek gently pushes Nadia aside so he can exit the car. Saint does the same with his admirer, who unhappily walks back into the club with Nadia hot on her heels. When he opens my door and offers me his hand, I peer up at him, wondering if the surprises will ever cease.
Not wanting to rouse suspicion, I place my hand in his, ignoring the sparks crackling between us, threatening to electrocute me where I stand. We instantly drop hands when Alek walks over.
“There is no need to be frightened. You will be by my side.” If that’s supposed to make me feel better, he’s sorely mistaken.
Another car pulls up, and when Hans and two other men exit the black truck, Sara sighs. That soon turns into a strangled wheeze.
“Hans, you will wait outside. I need someone to watch the door.”
Hans nods, but something doesn’t feel right.
“Shall we?” Alek offers me his arm as though he’s some gentleman. With no other choice, I hook my arm through his, hating how close I am to him.
Saint leads the way, our own personal shield as he scopes out our surroundings. The guards at the door move aside, allowing us entry. When Hans takes his post outside, Sara whimpers softly, but she follows us, not wanting to make a scene in front of Alek.
The moment we step inside, I wish it didn’t look like your sleazy stereotypical strip club, but it does. It’s so dark, I can barely see three feet in front of me. The disco ball reflects the hue from the stage lights, showcasing a naked woman clumsily gyrating against a silver pole. Money litters the small glitter stage she dances on. She barely seems to notice, though, because it’s clear she’s high.
Men in suits, their ties loosely knotted, sit around ogling the women with drinks and cigars in hand. The bar is well stocked, and when the bartender sees Alek, he stops polishing the glass he’s holding and instantly reaches for the top shelf vodka.
Saint leads us to a red booth in the back. Alek gestures for me to enter first. I feel trapped, but I slide along the vinyl. Alek sits close to me, placing his hand on my thigh. Even though it’s on the material of my dress and not my bare skin, my stomach still roils.
Sara sits on a wooden stool as it seems she’s not good enough to sit with us. Saint stands with his back facing us and his arms crossed. By his stance, it’s clear he’s watching the door, and when a group of men walk through it, I can see why.
There are four of them, but the older man in the middle, the one with the piercing eyes, is definitely the leader. The others flanking him have their hands on their guns as they scan the room for any threats. Once they see Saint up ahead, they huddle closer to their boss.
When they reach the booth, Saint doesn’t move an inch. His rigid position reveals he isn’t playing. One wrong move, and they’ll all pay dearly…with their life.
“Are we allowed in?” teases the man in the middle. The well-dressed man smiles, flashing a gold front tooth. Nothing about him screams mobster, but that’s exactly what he is.
“Saint, it’s okay.” Alek taps his back, indicating he’s to move to allow our guests to join us. After a few seconds, he does as Alek says. The man enters the booth but doesn’t hide his surprise when he sees me.
“Adam, this is Willow.” It seems I don’t need further introduction because Adam instantly nods graciously at me.
“Lovely to meet you,” he says in an accent I can’t place.
I wish I could share the sentiment.
Adam’s men loiter near the booth, but Saint makes it clear there is an invisible line they are not to cross. If they do, they will lose a limb.
“Shall we get down to business?” It’s Alek who doesn’t want to dabble in small talk and just go straight in for the kill.
The bartender doesn’t say a word. He places three glasses and the bottle of vodka on the table, then makes himself scarce. He knows the drill, but I don’t. I don’t know why I’m here. Or what I’m about to witness.
“Alek, I am so pleased we can do business. I guarantee the best product out there.” One of the men passes Saint a black briefcase.
He slams it onto a table and pops open the lock while I hold my breath. A single brick of white powder appears. No guessing what it is. He reaches for the switchblade in his pocket and cuts through the plastic. Scooping out a tiny portion, he balances it on the tip of his knife.
He offers it to Alek, who shakes his head. When he gestures to Sara, I shift in my seat nervously. Saint has avoided making eye contact with me, and I know why. I’ve seen the real him, and this cold, callous bastard is n
ot that.
“No,” Sara gasps, gripping the edge of the stool.
Alek simply looks at her, and it’s enough for her to nervously brush her hair back and lean forward so Saint can place the knife under her nose. She presses down on one nostril and inhales sharply, the white powder disappearing up her nose.
She rubs her nostril and closes her eyes tight as she sniffs repeatedly and clears her throat loudly. My attention flicks back and forth between Sara and Saint. Both look in pain. When she stops sniffing, she opens her eyes, and I can’t help but notice they’re wet. Alek may think it’s just the burn of the drugs, but I know better. They’re her tears.
Alek looks at his gold Rolex, and when a few minutes pass and Sara isn’t convulsing on the floor or foaming at the mouth, he nods at Saint. Sara is the lab rat. He used her to test the drugs to ensure they weren’t poisoned. That’s how little her life means to him.
Saint does the same thing, but with a bigger portion this time and passes Alek the knife. Alek smiles, before offering the drugs to Adam. Adam isn’t offended because, in this business, you can’t trust anyone. He accepts the knife and snorts the drugs like it’s candy.
Satisfied, Alek licks the tip of his pinkie. He inserts it into the brick, then slips his finger into his mouth and rubs it vigorously along his bottom gum. I watch all this in utter shock. In my line of work, I’ve seen drug use, but this is something you’d expect to see on the set of The Godfather. Alek squeezes my leg and hollers in delight.
“That’s some good cocaine!” he exclaims, reaching for the bottle of vodka. Adam claps happily as the mood lightens.
“I’ll have my men deliver the first shipment tomorrow at the drop-off point.”
Alek pours three glasses of vodka, nodding happily. “Excellent. I will want to triple that amount every month, and I’ll organize payment the first of each month. As long as we’re clear that you sell to me and only me.”
The whites of Adam’s eyes reveal his excitement. “That can be arranged.”
The vibe may be tranquil, but this is just the calm before the storm because when Adam asks, “And Chow?” it kickstarts the real reason we’re here.
Alek slides a glass of vodka across the table, which Adam accepts. “You let me worry about Chow.”
Sara’s foot bounces uncontrollably, a sure sign the drugs are kicking in, and when Alek slides his hand up the hem of my dress, I know he’s following her in hot pursuit.
I desperately want to flee, but where do I go? I’m trapped in yet another cage with my captor.
“You like this one?” Adam says, watching me closely.
If Saint had hackles, they’d be standing on end.
Alek caresses his fingertips along my flesh. Back and forth. Back and forth. His touch is like fire and ice, and I don’t mean that in a good way. “Yes, I do.”
He walks his fingers higher, inching way too close to my underwear. As much as I want to recoil, I don’t. I won’t show this bastard weakness, so I stare straight ahead, focusing on the barely legal stripper straddling the silver pole. It seems we’re all prisoners in our own personal hell.
A winded gasp has my attention shifting because I wonder what has captured Sara’s attention. What I see, though, has me realizing her gasp is in pure fear, not interest.
“You double-crossing asshole,” says a man, edging through the door. The reason Sara looks seconds away from passing out is because the gunned man has Hans as a hostage.
Saint instantly springs into attack, drawing his gun. But the man uses Hans as his shield. He has the barrel of his gun pressed to Hans’s temple, who has his hands raised in surrender. Saint snarls angrily, coming to a standstill with his gun trained on the assailant.
“Hello, Chow,” Alek says calmly. Regardless of what is happening, his hand caressing my leg doesn’t falter. Adam’s eyes are wide as he watches the scene unfold.
“Don’t hello Chow me!” he shouts, peering over Hans’s shoulder as he seems to know that Saint doesn’t miss. “What are you doing with this slimy bastard?”
Adam’s men also have their guns drawn, but they don’t have a clear shot. They gather closer to our table, flanking us to protect us.
“Put down the gun, Chow, before you get hurt,” Alek mocks, coming to a slow stand. I exhale, thankful he’s removed his hand, but when I see Sara, I know there is nothing to be grateful for.
“Fuck you!” he screams, pressing the gun into Hans’s temple shakily. “Why did you tell me to come here?”
Alek tipped him off? Why?
Everything soon unravels although I wish it didn’t.
“Because our dealings have come to an end,” Alek explains, reaching for his glass of vodka. “You’re indiscreet and can’t be trusted.”
The music over the speakers soon mutes, and the patrons are quick to leave. They too sense the tension hanging thick in the air and don’t want to hang around. The ladies on the stage grab their money and quickly exit through the red curtain behind them.
Even though this is foreign to me, I can imagine it happens in here far too often.
“What are you talking about?” Chow says, but he knows.
Alek leisurely takes a sip of his drink, savoring the burn. “You sold to my rival”—he inhales sharply, hinting this is personal—“when I’m supposed to be the only person you sell to. That doesn’t look good for business, especially when that person undercuts me and sells the product for half of what I do. You know what happens to people I don’t trust? To people who betray me?” He is calm, like psychopath calm, while Chow desperately looks for an out.
My breathing is measured as I’m too afraid to make a sound.
So that’s why we’re here. Chow is Alek’s supplier, and he double-crossed him by selling product to Alek’s rival. How can you be the number one drug lord when someone else sells the same product and for half the price to greedy consumers?
“I will kill him!” Chow screams, creeping closer and closer to us. The entire time, Hans’s eyes are locked with Sara, who is muting her sobs behind her hand. But their ruse is up. It’s clear to anyone watching that what they share is a lot deeper than simply the mutual respect of two colleagues.
Saint tries to get a clear shot, but Chow isn’t stupid. He knows this will end in bloodshed. And what Alek says next kickstarts the shitstorm.
“He means nothing to me.”
“I’m not playing!” Chow is a desperate man, but his seconds are numbered. He never should have come here.
“Good. Neither am I.”
“You’re going to regret this.” But it’s too late for Chow.
It happens in the blink of an eye.
Sara’s blood-curdling scream echoes the exact moment a single gunshot rings out around the club. The remaining patrons flee or duck for cover while I simply stare wide-eyed and unbelieving at the sight before me.
Hans drops to the floor with a sickening thud, and a small part of me hopes he’s okay. But as Sara continues howling, covered in her lover’s splattered brains, I know that the blood and gore hint that none of us will be okay ever again.
Gunshots echo loudly around us. Neither Alek nor I move yet for entirely different reasons. Alek gets off on the violence, but I am frozen in utter shock as I watch Saint shoot Chow dead without breaking a sweat.
Adam and his men dive behind the booth, not interested in being involved in a war that isn’t theirs. My feet are rooted to the floor, and no matter how badly I wish I could black out the horrors unfolding, I can’t. I watch as Saint charges forward and shoots Chow in the head again, ensuring he’s dead. He has taken this man’s life and has done so without remorse.
I’ve allowed this coldblooded killer into my world, knowing full well what he is. But actually seeing it, seeing him covered in blood and brains…is something else. Those hands have touched me in ways no other man has. They’ve given me pleasure. But now, they only deliver pain.
Alek finishes his drink, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He
peers over the edge of the booth where Adam is hiding. The red stage lights catch the disco ball, showering Alek in a sheen of crimson and making him look monstrous. “Let this be a lesson to you, Adam…don’t fuck with me.”
Adam’s head bobbles nervously because this was a lesson learned for us all.
Sara slumps to her knees, sobbing into her palms. The sight breaks my heart because she has just lost a small comfort in this bleak, cruel world. However, when Alek looks at her, unmoved and unsurprised by her emotion, I know why she’s here. Why he insisted Hans was to man the door.
This is what happens when you try to go behind Alek’s back. People die.
This was her lesson. Alek knew she and Hans were a thing, and to punish her for her betrayal, he killed her lover in front of her. Is this a warning to us all?
“Clean this up,” Alek orders Saint coldly, gripping my bicep and lifting me to my feet.
My legs are like Jell-O, causing me to stagger, but Alek isn’t playing. He drags me along, leaving Sara on her knees as she grieves for Hans. Saint spins around quickly, his eyes a cesspool of rage. When they focus on me, they soon realize what he’s done, what I’ve witnessed him do, and they fill with sheer shame.
A look alone can express so much, and right now, Saint wants me gone. And truthfully, I want to go. I can’t unsee what I’ve just witnessed as it has changed the way I look at him forever. He told me he has a darkness within, and right now, covered in blood and other matter, I can see that he does.
He may have been forced into this world, but to kill so efficiently, I wonder was that darkness there all along? Did meeting Alek only feed the beast? If, and that’s a big if, we get out of this alive, how can Saint return to being “normal” after everything he’s seen and done?
How can I because, at this moment, no matter what he’s done…I don’t care, and for that, I’m ashamed of myself. The line between right and wrong blurs because whenever Saint is involved, I always manage to find an excuse.
But what plausible excuse is there for taking another man’s life?
I clutch the cross at my neck, an action which doesn’t go unnoticed as Saint averts his gaze. Alek sighs in victory, revealing why I’m here, revealing what my lesson was. He wanted me to see Saint for what he really is. But more importantly, he wanted me to see what I am.