In a Bad Way

by Karin Tabke

  “Most men don’t like a smart woman. It makes them feel insecure. Being the smart girl that I am, I dumb down when the occasion warrants.”

  “I am among the minority, then. I have high regard for an intelligent woman. Equal regard for a beautiful one.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Bushnik. I like a smart man in a nice wrapper myself.”

  “Are you in a relationship?”

  “I will be, with my professors.”

  “A college girl?”

  “Law school in the fall.”

  “I am impressed, Wild Style.”

  “You can call me Izzy.”

  “You may call me Miro.”

  Flynn clenched his jaw so hard, he swore it was going to crack.

  “Ah, here we are,” Bushnik, said.

  “Interesting that Mr. Sorlov would live next to the Russian consulate.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Um, Mr. Bushni—Miro, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Boris is a crook.”

  The Russian laughed. “You are quite charming, Izzy. Nicolai, wait here. Now come, Izzy, let’s go see this Boris the crook.”

  “Did you get that, Justin? She’s next to the consulate on Green. Black town car out front.”

  “We’re rolling, Ryker, fifteen minutes out.”

  “Wow, this is really nice,” Pink said. “Are all Russian doormen as big as him? He makes Andre look like a boy.”

  Good girl, keep giving me the lay of the land.

  “Not all of them, but the people who ensure my safety are.”

  Izzy felt suddenly alone as the heavy door closed behind her. Trepidation scraped an icy finger down her spine. The fine hair on the back of her neck rose. This place gave her the creeps.

  The mansion was large, and dark, the lingering scent of women’s perfume and cigar smoke hung oppressively in the air. Instinctively, she knew Alex had walked through the same doors. How had she left? “Presumed alive” was one thing; on her own two feet was another.

  Praying with every fiber of her being, Izzy hoped that her belly button ring transmitter was still in range and that Flynn knew where she was and was close by. She had tried to keep the conversation with Mr. Bushnik light and as truthful as she could while at the same time pulling information from the Russian.

  He was a slick one. His congenial act didn’t fool her, though. He was as deadly as a Siberian tiger.

  “Your jacket, Izzy?” he asked, though it wasn’t a question.

  Izzy slid it off her shoulders and handed it to him. Her skin crawled as the Russian’s icy eyes slowly swept down her body, then back to her eyes. Izzy cocked a brow, challenging his ungentlemanly perusal.

  “As a rule, Izzy, I don’t care for American women. I abhor vulgarity in a woman. I also despise women who would prostitute themselves for a dollar.” He placed his hand beneath her chin and lifted it up so that he held her gaze. “But you, you are the exception.”

  Izzy jerked her chin from his grasp. “Thanks, I think.”

  Hiking her bag over her shoulder, she looked past him and said, “Where is Boris? We have some business to attend to.”

  “You’ll find him up the stairs, second set of double doors on the left.”

  Izzy swallowed and started carefully up the stairway in her heels. Flynn had insisted she wear stilettos in case she needed a quick weapon. They were hell on her feet, though.

  As she topped the wide staircase and looked down toward the dim entryway, she found Mr. Bushnik and two of his giants staring up at her. She smiled and forged onward.

  “I hope you can still hear me,” she whispered. “Including Miro, there are three men downstairs. One at the door, the other midway down the front hall.” She came to the double doors and, taking a deep breath, she knocked.

  “Come in,” a deeply accented voice commanded. Boris.

  Izzy exhaled. “Show time,” she whispered. When she opened the door, she caught her breath. Red velvet covered the fifteen-foot walls. At least half a dozen large flat-screen televisions were mounted on them. Circularly arranged around an eight-foot-wide red velvet pedestal was black leather studded furniture. Anchored in the middle of the pedestal was a shining chrome pole that ran up into the elaborate tin ceiling.

  A private strip club.

  So this was where Boris had his notorious parties. Swallowing hard, Izzy looked past the small stage to Boris, who stood behind a large ornate black leather and wood desk to the right of a long black leather mahogany top bar that ran along the back wall of the room. He wasn’t alone.

  His nephew Maks and Andre flanked him. Andre’s eyes narrowed, while Maks gave her a long appreciative look. She was dressed in black skinny jeans that hung low on her hips, a soft curve-hugging pink shirt that offered a hint of cleavage as well as a peak at her belly and belly button ring, and black suede stiletto heels. She looked sexy as hell in the simple rags. But then she had dressed deliberately to thrill.

  “Mr. Sorlov, how are you?” she nervously asked. “Maks, Andre.”

  “Vilde Style, I understand you have something I may be interested in viewing?” Boris said, not wasting time on perfunctory greetings.

  Fine, she had no problem getting to the point. Easy in, easy out. “I absolutely do, but before I show you, I need you to understand that it comes with a price.”

  Boris scoffed. “A price? Really?” He looked to Maks, then to Andre. “Look around you, you little bitch. You’re in no position to be making demands.”

  Izzy gasped at his threat.

  He held out his hand. “The drive.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Anger snaked through Izzy as she tried to maintain her composure. “First of all, I’m not a bitch. Secondly, you should be thanking me for coming to you instead of hawking this video to the Italians in South Beach. Thirdly, I undertook the job with the condition that we meet and in exchange for the video you give me information. With your reputation preceding you, I had a feeling you might pull something like this, so I didn’t bring it.”

  Boris growled and with a nod of his head toward her, indicated that Andre and Maks were to find out.

  “Don’t come near me!” she shrieked, momentarily losing her composure. “I swear, you’ll never see what’s on the drive.” Her instinct was to shrink back and protect herself, but Boris didn’t respect fear, he respected strength. Izzy pulled herself together and stepped boldly toward Boris, ignoring the two other men. “I’m good at what I do. I guarantee you, you will be happy to give me what I want in exchange for what’s on the drive.”

  “What do you want?” he bit out.

  “Information on a dancer named Jasmyn. She disappeared almost four months ago. I know she was here. What happened to her?”

  Boris’s eyes flickered with recognition the minute she said Alex’s stage name. His eyes narrowed. He knew where she was! “Tell me where she is and I’ll give you the key to the FBI.”

  “Remove your clothes,” he commanded.

  “What?” she asked nervously, backing away.

  “Remove your clothing.”

  Oh God. He was going to rape her. “No.”

  “Andre, take her bag and go through it. Maks, help her undress and go through her clothing.”

  Izzy stood completely still, trying hard to get a grip on her rising panic. It was just a naked strip search. Put up against being raped, it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. She supposed she should feel grateful, but she didn’t. It was still a violation. Izzy threw her bag at Andre and turned to a smirking Maks. “Keep your damn hands to yourself.”

  She undressed quickly, making sure she kept the drive wrapped in her bra, then set it down on the carpet so it wouldn’t be exposed. While Andre dumped the contents of her bag onto the desk and rifled through it, Maks began to paw through her shoes and clothing. Izzy stood naked and proud as Boris walked around her. He ran his fingers between her butt cheeks, then through her hair. He pointed to her belly button ring. “What is that?”
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  “What does it look like?”

  “Is same ring she wears,” Andre said, looking up from the desk.

  When Maks bent down to pick up her bra, Izzy raised her hands high and said, “See, nothing under my arms. Or my tits.” The drive tumbled to the floor as Maks stood, and in a smooth move, she stepped on it, the thick carpeting acting as a cushion. They were so focused on her boobs they didn’t bother to look down. Dumbass men.

  When it was determined her clothes were clean and she wasn’t wearing a wire, Izzy snatched her clothes back. She dropped the jeans to cover the drive while she put her bra and panties on. Carefully she picked up her jeans feeling for the drive. Pulling them on, she maneuvered the drive into her back pocket then quickly put her shirt on as she slid her feet back into her shoes.

  “Now tell me about Jasmyn,” she demanded.

  As the words left her mouth, Miro strode into the room flanked by his two giant bodyguards. “Wow,” Izzy tsked, shaking her head. “Six big Russians to make sure the one-hundred-and-ten-pound dancer doesn’t hurt them.”

  Miro looked past her to Boris, who said, “She’s clean, but no drive.”

  “My dear Izzy,” Miro crooned. “I am so disappointed.”

  “The drive comes with conditions, conditions Boris refuses to accept.”

  “What conditions?” Miro asked.

  “Boris tells me what happened to Jasmyn, I give him the drive.”

  Boris chuckled, the sound dark and demonic. “We do not negotiate with strippers. You will give me the drive because I asked for it.”

  Izzy shook her head, standing her ground. “In America, when you give someone your word it means something.” She turned to Miro. “Mr. Sorlov said he would give me the information in exchange for the drive.”

  Miro leaned against the edge of the desk and contemplated her statement. “We are not American.”

  “But I am. And we’re in America.”

  “Show us the video. If it is golden as you claim, I will give the information you ask for,” Boris said.

  Miro shot him a look and Izzy wasn’t sure what it meant. Not taking any chances, she said, “Deal!” Then she dug into her back pocket, retrieved the drive, and handed it over to Boris.

  Boris looked at Maks with contempt. Deliberately, he walked around his desk and slapped Maks hard across the face.

  “How did you miss this when you checked her clothing?”

  Maks rubbed his flaming cheek. “It wasn’t there, when I checked.”

  Boris slapped him again, this one more violent than the first. “If you had stopped looking at her tits you would have found it.” Grasping Maks by the face, he shoved him away in disgust.

  “You are useless to me.”

  Dismissing his hapless nephew, Boris inserted the drive into the laptop on his desk, but the images sprang up on the flat screens surrounding the room. There in living color was Flynn snorting coke off her boobs.

  Izzy’s skin warmed when she watched him smiling at her, and his fingers linger on her body. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest and she prayed that they would be given the chance to build something together.

  Miro did the slow clap. Boris was beaming.

  “Bravo, Izzy, Bravo,” Miro said. “Most ingenious.”

  She didn’t like the way he said it, as if he knew it was a setup. “Tell me about Jasmyn,” she said to Boris, who looked to Miro for the okay. The icy Russian nodded.

  “She was sold,” Boris said.

  Oh, please God, no. Her worst fears were realized. Nausea roiled through her, the urge to retch so strong, Izzy covered her mouth forcing the bile down. “Sold? Sold how, to whom?”

  “I don’t know the name of client, he was quite adamant about remaining anonymous,” he said, shrugging off her questions.

  Disbelieving him, Izzy pushed. “Surely you vet your ‘clients.’ ”

  Boris speared her with a glare. “We vet cold hard cash. Who it comes from is irrelevant.”

  “You’re lying to me.” Frantically, she looked to Andre, who refused to make eye contact, and then to Miro. “Please, she’s my sister. She needs me.”

  “Get me another video,” Boris said, “I’ll give you the name of the client that referred him.”

  “That wasn’t the deal!” Izzy cried. She had lost her leverage the moment she handed over the drive. Turning to Miro, she pleaded. “Please, Mr. Bushnik, make him to tell me where she is. I just want my sister back. I won’t tell anyone what happened to her.”

  Ignoring her plea, Miro walked over to the laptop, pulled the drive, and pocketed it.

  “That belongs to me,” Boris said.

  “All that is yours is because of my efforts,” Miro replied coolly.

  Miro turned slowly and looked at Izzy. His arctic eyes shone with a glacial chill. “Jasmyn was special. Just like you, Izzy. A rare jewel in a pile of rocks.” He moved to the bar and poured himself a drink. “We had a full house here that night. Bidders from all over the country. A dark, scarred, tattooed man outbid them all for her.”

  Miro smiled and tossed down his drink. “That was that.”

  “Bidders? An auction? For what? Like a prostitute?”

  “For as long as the buyer wishes to own his newly purchased property.”

  Izzy’s jaw dropped at his casual demeanor. “You sold my sister to another human being? Like a slave?” She hoped the guys were getting all of this because she wanted to kill these guys. Who did they think were taking someone against their will and selling them?

  Miro nodded. “I was tempted to keep her for myself, but . . .” He shrugged. “There was a man who wanted her more.” He raised his empty glass to her. “As I said, Jasmyn was spectacular. I have never seen men so determined to outbid one another for a woman.”

  “Why did you tell me this?” she asked, fearing the answer.

  “Even if Boris is not a man of his word, I am. It is your part of the bargain. So now you know. Not that it matters, because Jasmyn is gone to parts unknown.” He checked his shiny gold wristwatch. “In two hours we depart for mother Russia.” He smiled, the gesture frosting his eyes. “It is your choice whether you voluntarily accompany me as my guest or are dragged from here like a slave as your sister was, four months ago.”

  Every hair on Izzy’s body spiked. The nausea roiled higher. She’d kill herself before she’d leave with Bushnik.

  “Miro, think of the bigger picture,” Boris said, stepping toward him. “She’s worth three times her weight in gold if she stays here and makes more videos.”

  With no pause to consider Boris’s plea, Miro said, “Boris, sit down and shut up. This is my decision and mine alone.”

  “You’re only thinking of yourself, not the organization. What do you always tell me: Look ahead five years!” Boris spewed. “No woman is worth what you are willing to sacrifice!”

  Miro graced Boris with a chilling smile. “It’s done.”

  “Nyet!”

  The tension level in the room shot through the roof. One small step at a time, Izzy began to back away. She prayed they would start fighting and she could slip unseen out of the room. “I need that vodka now,” she said, hoping the guys heard her code word for get me the hell out of here!

  Miro shook his head, slid his hand into his suit jacket, withdrew a gun with a long silencer, and shot Boris twice in the chest.

  Izzy screamed. Maks pulled a gun and before he could level it at Miro, he was shot where he stood. Shocked, Maks grabbed his chest, stumbled backward, and slumped to the floor. Miro looked at Andre, who had not moved.

  “You are smarter than you look, Andre,” he said.

  Andre’s dark eyes looked to where Boris lay. “Boris is fool.”

  “Congratulations, my giant friend, you have just replaced Boris at the club.” Miro poured himself another drink and thoughtfully sipped it. “I take seventy-five percent gross from the house, the rest is yours.”

  Izzy’s stomach tightened as she stared at Boris’s bloody body an
d lifeless face. Maks had fallen to the side of the desk and all she could see was the scuffed bottoms of his shoes.

  Bushnik’s two men stoically flanked him. When she turned horrified eyes to Andre, his narrowed as if telling her to keep cool. Slight as it was, it was his only tell.

  “I’m not going to Russia with you,” Izzy whispered, afraid that if she said it too loudly, he’d shoot her, too.

  Bushnik laughed, finished his drink, set the glass on the desk, and smiled at her. “Izzy does not befit a woman of your beauty. What is your given name?”

  “Isadora,” she choked.

  “Ah, meaning ‘a gift’. A most befitting name.” He extended his arm to her. “Come, Isadora, we have a long flight ahead of us, and I’d like some dinner first.”

  “I can’t just leave!” she said, trying to stall him. “I have family. A job. School and bills to pay and a crazy FBI Agent stalker who will hunt you down!”

  Bushnik’s eyes narrowed. “Take my hand now.”

  Wanting to live a few minutes more, Izzy took it. When she did, he smiled and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “I have a lovely villa overlooking the river in St. Petersburg I think you will find most comfortable, Isadora.”

  “I don’t like water or villas.”

  As the two thugs preceded them, opening the double doors, Bushnik purred. “I think you will come to love all things Russian, my precious gift.”

  As they entered the hallway, Izzy fought down the bile rising in her throat and the urge to scream at the top of her lungs. Please, Flynn, I hope you’re listening.

  As they approached the landing, Izzy realized it was tomb quiet. Had Flynn lost her? Had her team as well?

  “Which airport are we going to?” she asked nervously.

  “A private one,” Bushnik answered, pulling her close. “My aircraft is large with a sumptuous bedroom suite. I expect we shall spend most of the flight there as I teach you Russian.” He chuckled at his joke.

  Izzy’s knees buckled.