by A. C. Bextor
“You made these?” Vee’s dark voice breaks from where he stands above me.
The skin of my wrist ignites at his touch. My heart beats fast, recognizing how close he’s standing. My chest moves up and down for each shallow breath I’m fighting to take.
Images come fast and hard of us together—his hand on my leg; his fingers beneath my thigh; his words, crass but inviting.
I can’t breathe.
Using the hand not holding my wrist, Vee grabs the cookie from between my fingers. I follow the trail as he takes it to his lips.
With a calculated smirk, Vee’s mouth opens and he takes a bite. Residual crumbs coat his moist lips. I can’t tear my eyes from him. I should. By all rights, my concentrated stare could be considered a challenge.
Vee chews, takes another bite, and then puts the remainder of the cookie to my mouth. When my nerves keep me from responding, he uses the edge of it to prod my lips apart where he silently and gently suggests I bite.
Veni, not too young to understand the intimacy of his father’s actions, turns his back to us and addresses Maag.
“Doesn’t matter how old I am. Little Miss Maag’s cookies will always be the best,” he states for distraction.
Still smirking, Vee ignores his son and continues to drill his stare into mine, harder and deeper than before.
“Oh, so you say,” Maag brushes off, paying no mind to what’s happening at the table.
“Maag’s cookies are very good,” Vee returns, agreeing with his son. Finally, I’m offered a reprieve as he frees my wrist and brings his attention to Veni. “Are you ready to go, or are you happy helping the women in the kitchen?”
“Get your boy out of here, Vlad. He’s been nothing but a pain in my behind,” Maag urges. “Klara and I work much faster without all you young men in the way.”
“Is that so?” Vee asks, looking down on me with his eyebrows raised in silent inquiry. Tilting his head to the side, he questions only me. “Do you work better without men?”
I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. More fast-and-furious recollections of standing close to him in the kitchen the night before strike. He interrogated me about who had possibly touched me, and with my assurances, he already knows no man ever has.
Then, he assaulted me with a feeling of being wanted by a man as vastly powerful as he is. Now, he’s unfairly using this knowledge to his advantage.
“Shoo now!” Maag nags, breaking Vee’s concentrated gaze.
A part of me, one not small and not buried deep, resents her interruption. The same as I resented Katrina’s the night Vee not only cared for my foot but gave away part of himself in conversation in a way he never had before.
“Take that son of yours and keep him out of here until we’re finished. Lucienne will be by in a few hours for pickup.”
All while Maag continues her rant, Veni grabs his bag and shoes to prepare to leave. Vee’s determined gaze may have shifted from mine, but only temporarily. Bending at the waist, he lowers his mouth close to my ear. My hair is up, giving him unobstructed access.
His warm breath cascades down my neck first before he inhales deeply. An indistinct but now familiar growl comes next.
Then he observes, “Klara, you’re blushing again.”
“I’m not,” I whisper smartly while studying the table.
“You are,” he accuses. “And I’ve hardly touched you.”
Concentrating on the array of boxes, tape, and all we’ve baked, I struggle to hold my composure. After he’s taken a step back, I notice he’s right.
I’m burning from the inside out.
“You’ve thought about how my hands would feel on you,” he whispers. “Did you think of me when—”
My eyes slam shut, clearing the way for another visual assault, this one vivid and in color. Breathless and flustered, I gasp as if I’ve run a mile.
“Dad!” Veni shouts, saving me from having to answer.
Tensing, I move my head to the side, leaving Vee still close. Veni’s face is angry.
“I think Dad’s happy to help the women in the kitchen,” Veni smarts to Maag, assuring his father can hear.
As Vee stands straight, I release a breath. The smell of his skin, woodsy and rugged, quickly fades, as well as his devilish grin.
“No, Veni. I’m not,” his hoarse voice replies as he keeps his eyes on mine. “Let’s go.”
“I just walked in, Abram. I’ll call you when I’m finished with the briefing,” I tell him, entering the double doors of Recherché.
The foyer appears the same as it always does. The lights shine brightly against the gray and black ceramic bar stretched out along the far wall. The line of oversized and comfortable bar stools is filled with several male members who I know have already been approved. Some are dressed in business attire, likely now getting off work from their mundane jobs and not wanting to go home to their boring wives and screaming children just yet. Others are dressed down and casual, not caring to take time to impress anyone in particular.
My sweet but feisty bartender, Laine, is rushing around behind the mirrored bar, preparing drinks the waitresses have ordered. Her cheeks are flushed with exhaustion, and her long straight dark hair is pulled back into a low ponytail.
“Boss,” she greets, pouring a tap beer and expertly tilting the glass beneath it. “Katrina’s been out on the floor a few times looking for you. She says you’re late.”
With no surprise in hearing of Katrina’s annoyance, I question, “Where is she?”
Laine hesitates and nods to the closed steel double doors on the side wall. The room she’s gesturing to is reserved for new member introductions. They want a place in private to discuss the terms of the contract they’re required to sign. Most don’t argue with these terms, as the benefits they receive are of the carnal variety.
“Who is Katrina with?”
Looking away, Laine quietly utters, “Thomas Edders.”
The name causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise. Thomas is a man for whom I refused to approve membership. When Abram checked his references, they weren’t clean. And his background as a prior low-level pimp wasn’t one I wanted associated with my business.
“Something’s not right. Katrina called Eve out and escorted her in there with them.”
Eve.
One of my youngest girls with the least experience behind her. For whatever reason, Katrina has been hardest on her in the past.
“Sir, really,” Laine addresses tightly, “I tried to call you. I didn’t have a good feeling.”
“I’ll check it out. Thank you, Laine.”
My concern grows greater as I make my way across the room, shifting through the crowds of guests and opulent furniture.
The door I’ve aimed for isn’t locked, and it opens without effort. The guard standing outside nods in acknowledgment to my unspoken demand to stay close.
Once I’m nearly inside the dark room, I freeze. My blood ignites as the light behind me casts a glow over what’s taking place.
The stench of sweat, sex, and the sound of female cries assault. Looking around the room, I find Katrina standing against the far wall with her arms crossed over her ample chest. She’s dressed in a short black dress and high heels as she smirks while taking in the scene in front of her.
Eve’s eyes are covered in a black blindfold. Her blonde hair tangles against the pillow when she thrashes her head from side to side in search of whoever she fears has entered.
“What the fuck?” Thomas’s narrowed eyes turn from his attention to Eve.
The large, dark-haired, bare-chested predator has his jeans draped around his ankles as the young girl in front of him cries out.
She’s alone.
She’s young.
She’s innocent.
When he pulls himself from inside her, a deep red mist coats my vision, matching the fury stewing inside.
Sensing my reaction, Katrina stands straight from her place against the wall.
Run
ning to me in a flurry, she calculates what I’m about to do and fervently demands, “Vlad, wait.”
Thomas removes his hands from Eve and immediately adjusts to cover himself. Eve cries out again. The red marks on her inner thighs radiate like a beacon in the light coming in from the door.
Thomas’s eyes turn from venomous to panic.
When Katrina’s hand hits my chest to stop me from killing Thomas myself, I grab her wrist and squeeze without mercy.
Without having to ask a single question, I raise my other hand and strike her hard with the back of it.
Katrina doesn’t fall far due to my grasp. I hold her up and she turns back to me, her eyes wide and full of confusion.
Holding her cheek and caressing the mark I’ve made to it, she whimpers, “This was his welcoming into the club. I thought—”
Another strike to her face causes her head to fall the opposite way. Thomas attempts to quickly pass me on his way to the door. As if I’ll let him out of this so easy.
With my voice echoing off the black-painted walls, I call to the guard standing outside the door.
Throwing Katrina to the floor in a fit of rage, I look toward the man in Recherché uniform and order, “Take him away. He’s banned from ever stepping foot inside again.”
The guard curtly nods, stepping into the room with another at his side. Together, the men carry a fighting Thomas away as he pleads his innocence.
“Katrina said it was okay,” he tries. “She said Klara asked for me.”
Klara.
Images of a woman who looks not unlike the one crying in pain and fear plague my senses. The woman tied to the bed across the room looks vastly similar to the innocent one I left at home.
“Brand him,” I add to my order, my tolerance reaching its end. “Then let him go.”
Though Thomas contests that forcing a crying woman is of no fault of his own, he’s a monster. Now he’ll physically be marked as one who crossed my path.
“Vlad, wait,” Katrina voices again, garnering my attention. “I did this for you.”
For me. My anger rises further.
“Klara’s just a girl, but I saw the way you looked at her. You wanted her. I thought—”
“No, Katrina. And if I wanted her, I would’ve been fucking her instead of you.”
Another guard comes to the door. I take a look around at what was done as one of Katrina’s women who oversee the others unties Eve. Her wrists are bruised, and her legs are shaky as she stands. Her eyes move to mine. In them, only sadness and despair are left.
“This….” I pause and point for emphasis. Leaning down, I grab Katrina by the hair to ensure I have her attention. I position her to face Eve and finish, “… isn’t how we treat the women we employ.”
“She’s paid to do what I tell her,” Katrina combats.
Exhausted by her defiance and temperament, I bend at the waist and wrap my hands around her slender throat. As I pick her up, she attempts to swallow but it comes out as a gasp for life. Her fingernails score the skin of my hand as she aimlessly tries to free herself.
Throwing her back against the closest wall, Katrina’s head snaps in place. Eve shrieks at the sound, the only reason I don’t continue my assault.
When I set Katrina free, her feet drop to the floor. Her eyes come to mine with malice.
Grabbing her arm, I pull her to me again while looking at the guard near my side and instructing, “Whip her. Don’t let her forget what she’s done.”
Katrina’s intolerance to my order gets the best of her, and she stupidly murmurs, “You and the little one deserve each other.”
“I haven’t ordered you to be branded and banished, Katrina, although I fucking should. What happened here was dirty, even for you.”
Turning her toward the guard, I grab her hair and push her into his arms. Her body slams against the wall of his chest.
“Now get her out of my sight before I beat her myself.”
“We’re set. Killian Dawson is willing to talk. From what his man Eli said, he’s eager for your call,” Abram concludes after filling me in on everything he’s procured in way of Killian Dawson. “He also gave his word to keep the call and the meet out of Palleshi’s ear.”
“Do you believe this?”
“I do,” Abram assures without having to deliberate. “And I would like to ask just one thing, Vlad.”
Looking up from my desk, I question, “And that is?”
“With Vory due in soon, go in easy with this. For all of us, I’d like your father’s visit to go well.”
“You worry too much, Abram. None of what we’re doing will have any effect on my father’s visit.”
His eyebrows draw up, and he points to the pictures on my desk. “I worry too much? I take that job as my own because you don’t. That man—”
“We don’t have any idea who that man was. Perhaps we should work to find this out soon, yes?”
Nodding, Abram attempts to shelve his smirk. “Perhaps you’re more in control than I’ve given you credit for.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” I reply.
He’s not. My control has been tested more this week than the entire year prior. When I arrived home from the gruesome stupidity of one of my most successful managers, I walked into the house where I found Rueon and Klara playing cards with Aline in the living room. Klara was freely laughing—that is until she saw me standing at the door watching. Once she stopped, I wished she’d have continued. I was happy to find her still innocent and unharmed. My sense of relief was puzzling.
“I’ll call you later,” Abram bids.
Nodding back, I return, “I’ll be here.”
Picking up the phone, I dial and wait. The smiling face of Klara lures my mind to furious thought. If someone is looking for her, looking to take what’s mine, what’s been mine since my family informally claimed her as a child, they’ll be stopped—to the likes of never taking another free breath again.
“If you’re calling on this line, I presume you’re someone I should talk to,” Killian lightheartedly greets. “And if you’re calling at this hour, I assume it’s important.”
Checking my watch, I note it’s nearly nine at night. I’ve disturbed him.
To sway his agitation, I offer a complimentary greeting. “So, the great Killian Dawson is in fact real, not just the legend I’ve heard about all these years.”
Laughing quietly, the man waits a second before returning, “And the rumors of ruthlessness in the Russians are apparently folklore. I hadn’t expected to find humor in your tone.”
Immediately at ease, I sit back in my chair and waste no time in getting down to business. “I’m guessing Abram brought you up to speed for why I’m calling?”
“He spoke to my advisor, yes. I’ll admit I was surprised to hear Ciro is up to no good,” he states. “I witnessed what you did to him all those years ago.”
“Fifteen years,” I put in for fact. “And he had that coming.”
“He did,” he affirms. “If all I heard was true, conspiring to turn your own man against you, he had that coming—but much more. You went easy on him.”
Looking back, I probably did. I’d been young. Less experienced. More tolerant.
“And in case you weren’t aware, now the vile fool has lowered himself to working solely within the undergrounds of the city,” Killian informs.
Meaning Ciro’s run himself down to the low of loan sharks, the scum of undignified and uneducated pimps, and inexperienced ‘assassins.’ Ciro should do well there, providing he could survive them as weak as he’s been rumored of being.
“If it’s not too much to ask, Killian, can I arrange a visit with you face-to-face?”
“Surely, you’re not coming here?” He tsks.
“I’m coming there.” I nod, even knowing he can’t see. “Easier for you, closer to home. As for me, I’d like to see for myself how much neutral territory Ciro has taken advantage to.”
“You’re bolder than I’d given you c
redit for,” he jests. “I don’t know if that makes you foolish, stubborn, or brilliant.”
“Maybe some of each,” I reply, taking no offense to his blatant opinion. “I’ll have Abram get word to you when I can get the time away from here. Unfortunately, considering what’s happening, that time may be sooner than later.”
“You’re having trouble,” he presumes.
“We’ll see. If Ciro is playing me, he’s doing a good job of it.”
“Yes. Eli mentioned a man had been taking pictures. I wouldn’t have expected Ciro to act out so passively, but nothing he does has ever surprised me.”
“If Ciro is stupid enough to flaunt himself directly outside my gates, I plan to flaunt back near his.”
Killian states, “Then we’ll talk soon. Just us.”
“Just us,” I strongly concur. “Take care.”
Just as I sit up to place the phone on its cradle, Klara’s young face vies for my attention. Picking up the photograph, I hold it in my hand, framing it there while narrowing my eyes.
Before I’m able to take a few minutes for myself, Faina opens the door to my study.
“Well, good to see you, Vlad.”
“Faina,” I greet with a relieved smile. “You’re back from New York.”
Stretching her arms wide, she turns in a circle and smarts, “In all my brilliance.”
“It’s good to see you safely where you should be.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “Something’s up. I felt it when I got here. What’s happened?”
“Not your worry,” I tell her.
Tilting my head to the side in thought, I note Faina looks different. Happy, even. My sister has always lived her life as close to the edge as I allow. The idea that she’s walking even closer to it unsteadies my nerves.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she accuses.
“Where have you been?”
Puzzled, she asks, “Where have I been? You know where I’ve been.”
“I don’t,” I remark. “I know you were in New York, but not once did you return my calls until I made more calls and tracked you down. So, tell me, where have you been?”
Laughing, she drops a bag on my desk, yet carefully avoids extending an answer. “These are for you. Uncle said it was time you had one of the finest.”