Gold Digger

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Anya.

  He scoffed. She had to be joking. He reached for the phone and dialed her number.

  “Hi, Nikolai.”

  “Hi. Got your email.” He stood and thought, damn, he should have gotten dressed for this. Talking on the phone semi-naked was a shit idea. “Apart from the awful pettiness of it, you’re joking, right?”

  “No. I just wanted to tell you where you stand. You’ve never really felt like part of the family, and that’s because you’re not really part of it. Genetically speaking.”

  “What, so Mother found me abandoned on a church step?”

  “No, you’re hers all right, though God knows you don’t have her strength to fight things out. Or mine.” Anya sounded cold, totally unaffected, and Nikolai wondered if that was her “nothing I could do” voice when she informed a family of a death. It had to be. This felt rehearsed, artificial, and yet it was completely her.

  “Okay,” he said, reeling, his stomach sinking slowly toward his knees. “So tell me where I stand?”

  “Your father was a pilot who crashed in Afghanistan and died. A special friend of my father, and our mother nearly left Vadim for him, but he died before it happened. You were some kind of memento, but that’s it.”

  Wow. Talk about something coming in from left field. The problem was, it made terrible sense. He had often felt like he wasn’t part of that family, which seemed to consist mostly of Katya and Anya, with Vadim a third, now lost, member. Jean had even called him the one sane, nice Krasnorada. All of the others were cold-bloodedly efficient, people who thought nothing of seeking their own advantage. People who all acted from a position of strength, all the time. People who never admitted a weakness. And that had to be the reason why Anya was telling him this now—she had lost it during the last call and was seeking a way to even the scores by making him weak. Kicking him out of a family he’d always been ill at ease in, though he’d always thought that was his failing.

  Yet it was the only family he’d ever had.

  Some kind of memento.

  Nikolai rubbed his face. “What do you expect me to say now? ‘Gee, thanks, I really needed to know that after more than thirty years’?”

  “I don’t care, Nikolai. For all I care, you’re no longer my brother. You never really were, and it’s no wonder I always beat you in fencing. Or anywhere else.”

  Yeah, life for her, Katya, and Vadim was always a competition. Who made more money, who was more successful, who was a more cold-hearted monster.

  “Okay.” Emotionally flattened, he couldn’t find any other words. In her world, all of this made sense—the pettiness, the cruelty, the coldness.

  It was still the only family he’d ever known.

  “Okay, thanks for letting me know, I guess. Don’t call me again. Or send me an email. I’m adding you to the spam filter.”

  “Fair enough.” She ended the call.

  Just like that.

  He didn’t see the other emails because the screen blurred, but he blinked his vision clear. That hollow, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach turned into real nausea, and he leaned back, thinking he could have been asleep now in Henri’s bed and have not read this until tomorrow.

  At night, such messages seemed to have extra power, as if the darkness isolated him and didn’t allow him to escape. He couldn’t just launch himself into work or go running or meet a friend or do any of the many things he normally did when he needed to contemplate stuff.

  The worst part was, she’d always been cool and superior to him (or anybody), and this wasn’t out of character. He hadn’t dreamed it; the email was still there. She actually had sat on that knowledge for God knew how many years, and slapped him with it now to have her revenge. How long had she known? And why had everybody kept that from him?

  He should call his mother and ask her, but he couldn’t deal with her now, and she might be out or asleep. So he forwarded Anya’s email to her and added Any comments? before he sent it. By now, the shock was beginning to morph into anger. His mother would likely side with Anya, but at least he’d get confirmation from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

  Screw this. He drank half the coffee that was no longer quite so hot, and got dressed in his jeans and a tee. Socks and shoes, his keys, and he was off again, restless, too awake and too shaken to even think of sleep.

  It took him a good hour to find his way to Henri’s condo, and another ten minutes to press the button.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s me, Nikolai.”

  The door opened without a question; the night porter glanced at him, but didn’t say anything. Nikolai stepped into the elevator, waited for it to arrive.

  Henri stood in the door, leaning against the frame as though he was too tired to be properly upright. His tousled hair and sleepy squint said he’d much rather be in bed. “Forgot something?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I . . .” I need somebody to talk to. Or somebody to be there. My life’s falling apart. “I need a drink.”

  Henri lifted an eyebrow and looked at his wrist, but he wasn’t wearing his watch. “You should be able to find a bar, but come in.”

  “Thanks.” Nikolai stepped inside and Henri closed the door, looking adorable in his pajama trousers and nothing else.

  “Any preferences for a drink?” Henri padded off to the kitchen, and Nikolai couldn’t help but see the pajama bottoms were riding low and baring the top of his ass.

  “Whiskey or something will do me, thanks.”

  Henri returned with a tumbler and ice. “There. What happened?” He yawned.

  Nikolai glanced back at the door. “I just had a run-in with my sister. Bad news, and she’s being a bitch about it, too. I . . . I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t want to be alone?”

  “That’s it.” Nikolai shrugged and sipped the whiskey. “Sorry for waking you up.”

  “It’s okay. Come, sit down.”

  Nikolai sat on the couch, ill at ease, because just two hours or so ago, he’d bailed. Henri had to think he was the flakiest asshole ever.

  “Listen, I should have stayed. I wanted to. I just needed some time to think, and I wasn’t sure I could do that if we fucked each other’s brains out.”

  Henri nodded and sat down on the same couch, but not within range. “What happened with your sister?”

  And he had to be a gentleman and put Nikolai’s concerns first. Damn him. “My sister is a pretty harsh woman. Something happened and basically her girlfriend split and took their child. My sister is very angry, and when she gets angry, she gets vindictive.”

  “So you’re worried about her girlfriend?”

  “Oh, Liz has her head screwed on right. If she’s smart at all, she’ll run as fast and as far as she can and take the boy. It’s her child and they aren’t married legally in any way, so my sister has no claims over him. Which might just be for the best, you know.”

  “So your sister lashed out at you, why?”

  “I’m the sperm donor.”

  Henri’s eyes widened and he looked a fair bit more awake now. “You’re a father?”

  “Not really. I signed an agreement that I won’t interfere. As far as the kid’s concerned, I’m just Uncle Nikolai.” And wasn’t that ironic? Like Vadim was now likely Uncle Vadim to him. “Tell me that’s not as freaky as it feels right now.”

  “Uh. I bet you considered that carefully when you did it. I mean, you did them a favor, and now she’s gunning for you? Why? Jealousy?”

  “No, she wants to use me to get control of the child. It’s pointless, and I don’t think she stands a chance either way, but I’m not going to get involved in a custody battle.”

  “Would it be different if you actually wanted to raise a child?”

  “I don’t. I don’t have the time or the space or the talent for it. The kid is fine where he is. It’s just my fucked-up family playing power games.”

  Nikolai finished the alcohol, welcomed its lingering burn. Henri nodded toward the ba
r. “Want more?”

  “No. No, I’m good.” He put the glass down. “You know, it shouldn’t hurt. But it does.”

  Henri stood and moved in front of him. Nikolai glanced up from his hands, and there was a whole lot of impressively flat, naked midriff in front of him. He leaned forward, pressed his face into it, and was oddly relieved when Henri ran his fingers through his hair. He did like those touches, and this embrace was no different than what he might have done if Henri were a woman.

  “Want to sleep here?”

  “Yeah. Can I?”

  “Sure. Upstairs?”

  Maybe he shouldn’t. More sex would just brush over what was going on, and it wasn’t fair to use Henri as a distraction to deal with his damned sister. But he still found himself saying, “Yes.” He broke the touch and stood, and they walked upstairs, where he stripped to his boxers and lay down when Henri invited him again.

  The bed, the mirror, the way this condo was feeling more comfortable than the hotel room . . . though that was mostly because it had Henri in it, but he didn’t want to dwell on that too much. He pulled the blanket up when Henri joined him. The bed was large enough that neither of them had to touch the other. And yet he was completely awake again.

  “Want a blowjob to sleep?”

  Nikolai turned his head. “Sorry. I’m keeping you awake.”

  Henri smiled and reached over to touch his shoulder. “I’ll fall asleep in a few moments.” He turned onto his side, his back to Nikolai, rearranged the pillow under his head and switched off the light. Darkness surrounded them, and it was good to not be alone.

  He woke to sounds of sex, the panting and hectic motions of it, though it took him a few moments to understand what was going on. He lay completely still, facing Henri’s back, and saw Henri’s hand moving furiously in front of him. Beating off early in the morning, clearly in a rush to finish before Nikolai woke up.

  Nikolai realized he was pretty hard himself, which might have been what’d woken him—more than the subtle shifting of the mattress. He lay there and listened for a while to every little gasp, every slide of fist over cock, until he was too turned on to ignore it. He moved closer and reached over to pushed two fingers between Henri’s lips, then whispered, “Need help with that?”

  Henri groaned and pressed back against him, sucked hard on his fingers, swiped his tongue around them in a clear invitation. Nikolai pulled his boxers down, then pushed closer, pressing his hard dick against Henri’s ass. “Leave your dick alone and get me a condom.”

  Henri reached over to the nightstand, fumbled one-handed for a condom, then tore the wrapper open and offered it.

  “No, you put it on. I have my fingers in your mouth.”

  Henri reached behind himself, and after some wriggling and groaning, he positioned the condom right and rolled it down. Nikolai made sure he was sheathed properly.

  “Lube.”

  Henri was already digging for the tube and handed it over to him. To reward him, Nikolai finger-fucked his mouth, accidentally making Henri gag a few times, but the way Henri groaned told him he loved it.

  He managed to get lube on his dick, rubbed it all over, then rolled Henri onto his stomach, spreading his legs wide because he wanted to see again how his dick pushed into him. He pulled the boxers completely off, positioned himself, then forced his way in, too horny to think much, and Henri clearly loved it, the way he rocked back immediately.

  He pressed on Henri’s back to flatten it, adjusted the angle, then thrust all the way in, making Henri almost cry out. Shit, this was good. It was way too good, that need and tightness, how much Henri craved his dick up his ass. Nikolai opened Henri’s legs wider, watched himself spear him, the tight ring spread around him, moving when he thrust or withdrew.

  The fuck turned harsh then, and just when he was about to lose it, he pulled out, grabbed Henri, turned him around, pushed his legs up and then pounded him from the front. Henri worked his own dick furiously, eyes tightly closed, face blank with lust, and when he came, Nikolai pulled out again, pulled the condom off, and thrust against his belly, enjoying the sweat-slicked friction and wet heat of Henri’s cum until he came too, panting into Henri’s face, and suddenly, Henri claimed him in an open-mouthed, ravenous, filthy kiss.

  He was shuddering from the orgasm, but part of him froze, and then Henri’s eyes snapped open and he pulled away, looking suddenly guilty and mortified.

  He didn’t remember it was me, Nikolai thought. He thought it was somebody else. Anybody else. He knows he shouldn’t have kissed me.

  Henri swallowed audibly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t . . .”

  Nikolai rolled off him and lay down on his back, too confused to say or do anything but feel vaguely like a line had been crossed that he hadn’t been aware existed before, or that he’d set it, or that, indeed, Henri had respected it so far. The kiss had been hot and wild and he should have kissed Henri back, told him it was okay. Shit, they were fucking, that was already extremely intimate, so a kiss wouldn’t really change anything. “Damn, that was good.” Lame. A lie. No, not a lie, but cowardice in action.

  Henri glanced down at his belly and ran a finger through the white splotches there, a tired, sensuous grin on his lips, though Nikolai wasn’t sure it was genuine. Face-saving? Pretending to not have noticed that faux-pas? “I’d say I’m sorry I woke you up, but I’m so not sorry.”

  Nikolai huffed and smiled back. He should ask, shouldn’t pretend it had been nothing, but the truth was, he was grateful that Henri had downplayed it. If they both ignored it, it would go away, right? “So not sorry I came back.”

  Henri held his gaze, but he gave nothing away. As if he wasn’t feeling it. “I’ll make it worth your while whenever you come back. Whenever you’re in the area, just call me.”

  He really wanted to get out of this bed and do something else. Something harmless and just move on. “Get your ass in the shower. I’m not taking you for breakfast covered in my cum.”

  “And mine,” Henri said, and climbed out of bed. “Join me?”

  “Too distracting.” Nikolai gathered the condom up and went to the bathroom to throw it in the bin, while Henri started the water. The glass door didn’t do anything to hide his body, and Nikolai watched how he casually washed his dick and balls and ass, how the water plastered his dark hair to his head.

  He grabbed a large towel for Henri and handed it to him when he emerged from the shower, then stepped under the spray himself. When he stopped the water, Henri was no longer in the bathroom.

  Downstairs, Henri was looking at the newspaper, his hair damp and curly. He put the paper down and smiled. “I should tell your sister thanks for rattling you so much you came back.”

  Nikolai chuckled. “She’d probably think that’s perfectly reasonable.” He rolled his shoulders. “Let’s go for breakfast. Tamás found a great place yesterday. They do maple-smoked bacon there, and the coffee’s good.”

  “How is it going over there in Canada?” Ruslan’s gentle Russian accent always put Nikolai in mind of his father. The softening of some of the consonants was something his ear really liked, even though he himself spoke and thought mostly English these days. Much like his father, ironically, who was increasingly losing the width and breadth of expression in Russian. Nikolai wondered if that was due to the Scottish husband or just another way to shut out his past.

  Ruslan was a polyglot who spoke half a dozen languages fluently. By Nikolai’s standards, the man was a fucking genius, a drilling pioneer who could have made an absolute fortune at Schlumberger or Halliburton or any of the other big oil services companies. Instead, he’d struck out on his own, saddled a completely new horse, and now knew a great deal about gold. Just in time before gold prices went bananas from something like three hundred dollars an ounce to fifteen hundred and more.

  “I’m just getting ready for dinner at LeBeau’s. The silverback wants to talk to me in a more private setting.”

  “Silverback? You mean he’s the four hundred
pound gorilla in the room?”

  “He is. He’s really quite impressive, though I think we should have hired a pile of bankers to deal with him. I’m severely outclassed here.”

  “I don’t like bankers,” Ruslan said gruffly. “We know what Cybele’s worth, and we have good lawyers on retainer to make sure we’re going to be all right when we get into bed with them.”

  Already been there with the junior, haven’t you, Nikolai?

  Nikolai ignored the pang of guilt. “I’d have taken one along as an adviser. Look, Ruslan, these guys can easily play hardball. I know our value proposition is solid. Cybele’s a good company, we’re sitting on a pile of gold, gold is still hot. But compared to LeBeau Mining, we’re so small they won’t even notice squashing us.”

  “Then we won’t sign.” Ruslan remained placid—Nikolai had never seen him worked up or irrational. He was a man who calmly left a burning building and closed all doors and windows behind him to slow the fire down. “I trust you, Nikolai. You have a good eye for people—people like you.”

  “And I can be away from the company.”

  “Yes, at the moment. But my Georgia talks went well. Now I’m waiting for some more data, but it’s looking good. And I just got new results from the Hydra prospect. We should be able to upgrade our forecast by at least another hundred thousand ounces, likely more, but I’m leaning toward a conservative estimate. Ironically, Hydra might hold more than Cerberus.”

  “That’s great.” There was absolutely no use trying to stop Ruslan when he wanted to share news, so Nikolai listened to the latest drill report analysis. More than understandably, Ruslan was excited about Hydra, which looked feasible for open-pit mining, the cheapest way to get at the gold. Between Cerberus, Hades, Persephone, and now Hydra, they were sitting on more than three million confirmed ounces, and maybe two million inferred.

  And that was just the gold deposit. There was also plenty of silver—which, Ruslan kept saying, would see big leaps in price since world demand was growing at ten percent, whereas mining was only growing at three percent. As an industrial metal, it was absolutely vital for all kinds of goods and electronics, and recycling didn’t fill the gap.