The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One

by Latrivia Nelson

  Dmitry clenched his jaw. “Can I be honest with you?” he said in a quiet voice.

  “Yes,” she whispered as she leaned in. “Please do.” The diamonds from her ears sparkled like stars from her delicate lobes. She studied his face, listening carefully to his thick accent.

  He sighed, talking with his large hands as he pleaded. “I’ve only just gotten this lead. I switched suppliers recently. This guy is someone who I have been told I can trust. And men of my organization do not normally work with the military. However, this guy is in the military and is also in with my organization. I guess you could say that he’s an anomaly.” He pulled up his sleeves revealing his tattoos. “And if you promise us something, whether we are in the Mother country or ten thousand miles away in another hell hole, you better make good on it. He knows that. So, as I was saying, you’ll get your shipment.”

  Lady Hutton looked at the tattoos. Reaching out, she placed her fingers on his hot skin. “A Vor? You become more interesting by the moment.” She sat back in her seat and crossed her legs. Her perfectly manicured toes peaked out of her delicate, sling-back shoes. “I like you,” she said softly. Her eyes batted at him.

  “I want you to like me,” Dmitry said with a determined look on his face.

  “I think I’ll take you on as my new project. It’s been a while since I was able to turn a man of poverty into a man of privilege. And with your…assets, both physical and otherwise, I’m sure you’re going to be quite the adventure.” She licked her lips.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, dear boy, I’ll make an order with you. We’ll see if you produce all that you promise, and we’ll go from there. Only because we have done business in the past together and you’ve always come through before. In the meantime, I want you to stop by here twice a week. I’m going to help you on your etiquette, your dress, your speech…all the things that will get you into the door with the gentlemen whom I want you to be introduced. You see, I’m still a woman, even though I’m a lady. And there are doors, even in the 20th century, that I can’t get through. However if I have you, then maybe The Free Right can gain more than just guns. We can gain power.” Her eyes were bright with promise.

  “You want me to be your puppet?” Dmitry asked concerned.

  She lifted her finger. “No. I want to make you a global player in this game. But there are a few things that you’ll need to learn first. And I am certain that I can teach you. You see, it’s all about who you know, Dmitry. And I know everyone,” she explained with a smug grin. “Are you interested? It’s quid pro quo. I won’t lie to you boy, but it’s my offer. What do you say?” She waited.

  “Yes,” he said seriously. “I say of course. Thank you.”

  Lady Hutton nodded. “Thank you, dear Dmitry. Now, find Emma and tell her to proceed with The Free Right’s order. And you, I’ll see tomorrow, here at noon, for your first lesson.”

  Dmitry narrowed his eyes on her. “Alright. Noon. Should I come through the front door or the back?”

  Lady Hutton smiled. “What an odd question.”

  “I know how these things go. I want something from you. You want something from me. We understand each other. Like you said, quid pro quo.”

  Lady Hutton ran her finger over the top of her champagne glass. “Come to the back door tomorrow at Noon. I’ll be waiting alone. I’ve given the staff the day off in celebration of the holiday.” She looked up at him. “And keep this confidential.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” With that, he nodded and left her in the silence of the room.

  ***

  Davyd could not sleep. He sat on the dusty couch with the rest of the gang, whom he referred to as the lost boys, eating a late night snack and watching the news in the darkness of the cold, lofty room. He just could not fathom it. The great and powerful USSR. His country had dissolved into nothingness in his lifetime. Baffled and amazed, he waited for Dmitry to return with news of their possible transaction with the general and The Free Right. Hopefully, the day would yield some good fruit.

  Thirsty for milk, he got up from the couch, knees aching and made his way to the dingy kitchen that was painted in a horrid yellow, colored in stains and highlighted by a very unattractive halogen light bulb some ten feet above attached to dusty rafters.

  He caught a reflection of himself in the mirror hanging above the Playboy pin-up calendar and stopped. Since last week, there were more gray hairs in the top of his head. He rubbed through his healthy locks, furrowing his brow in disapproval and sighed. He was thirty-seven, still muscular, still - according to his own standards - attractive but slowly losing his sheen.

  After a horrid mishap in Austria a few years back, he had been sent to London to lay low. Then out of the blue last year, he received a call from Kirill, an old friend and faithful brother of the Vor. Kirill had asked him as a favor to help young Dmitry get his start. There was no money in it except what he could make with the boy, but it did give him a rest from killing and trafficking. Plus, he’d never worked an operation from the ground up before. And something told him that Dmitry was special. He only hoped that his intuition was correct.

  The front door creaked open, bringing in a sweeping, cold wind as Dmitry and Ivan entered. Putting down the gallon of milk, Davyd stepped to the opening. He nodded at the boys, seeing that both were utterly exhausted. Dmitry pulled off his coat and hung it on the rack, then went straight to the kitchen. Ivan retired to the couch with the boys, showing off his new bottle of scotch.

  “Good or bad news,” Davyd asked.

  Dmitry looked in the old, paint-chipped cupboard and pulled out a glass. “Well,” he wiped his top lip. “Very good, actually. We have our first order.” Smiling, he pulled the bottle from under his arm and poured both he and Davyd a glass of scotch.

  “So, Emma came through, did she?” Davyd asked with relief.

  “Da, she came through. So did her mother. She’s the brains behind the operation. They are some sort of women’s pro-life group.”

  Davyd frowned. “And they need this type of fire power?”

  “I know. It doesn’t fit, but you know what – fuck it – it’s not our problem. We are in the business of supplying, and the buck stops there. I pick up the money after we place the order and confirm the total amount of the shipment.”

  The tired pair clicked their cheap glasses together and sipped slowly, savoring the taste of expensive liquor for a change.

  “I hear that. Then Merry Christmas to you, brat,” Davyd said cheerfully. “Good job.”

  “I think we all did well, Davyd. Merry Christmas,” Dmitry answered. He smiled. “Hopefully, Santa will bring me a little sleep.”

  They both laughed.

  Chapter Five

  At noon as promised, Dmitry entered through the back of the Hutton mansion to find Lady Hutton waiting in the kitchen alone. She looked much different in the daylight, even more graceful and unobtainable.

  Dressed in a khaki skirt, a pink button down and matching cardigan, she sat pruning roses at the table and carefully placing them in a crystal vase. She looked up from her project and smiled at him. “Prompt,” she said, gazing down at her Rolex watch.

  “I try to be,” Dmitry said, closing the door behind him.

  “Good. Please have a seat,” she said, motioning towards the chair beside her.

  Dmitry walked over and sat down. Watching her carefully tend to the roses, he waited in silence, wondering what she had in store for today.

  When she was done with her flower arrangement, she sat back and feasted her eyes on her labor. It was beautiful. With an accomplished grin, she pushed the vase to the center of the table and brushed the excess leaves and prickles into the trash can beside her.

  “The first thing that I plan to teach you about is your dress.” She looked down at his clothes in disgust. “Don’t you have anything presentable? This is the second time that I’ve laid eyes on you and the second time that you have looked absolutely …homeles
s.”

  Dmitry smirked. The long dimples in his cheeks emerged. “Are you one of those who believe that the clothes make the man?” His voice was deep and silky smooth.

  “Are you one of those who believe it does not?” She tilted her head and looked at him, noticing for the first time that he had perfectly symmetrical features.

  “Obviously, I am,” he said, looking down at his own clothes. Did he really look that bad? he wondered.

  She stood from the table and straightened her clothes. Her posture erect, her eyes focused, she turned her gloved palm and wiggled a finger. “Come with me,” she directed as she headed into the main halls of the house. With care, she took her gloves off as she walked and placed them on a table near the cleaning quarters.

  Their feet echoed throughout the mansion. With not a soul in the house except for them, the large place seemed even bigger to Dmitry. The night before the house had seemed gigantic with hundreds of people lurking about, but today, it seemed obscenely so. He could not believe that only one family lived there or that one family had so many expensive things. Everywhere he looked there was a priceless, precious, rare thing perfectly placed. It reminded him of a museum.

  Dmitry felt like he was in school again and had been assigned to a beautiful head mistress. Lady Hutton played the part well. Not a hair was out of place. Every move was graceful. He found her unfamiliar to all notions about women he had ever had.

  Nevertheless, she did give him the same curious gaze that all women, regardless of station, gave. He lit a fire in her, and no amount of grace or etiquette would hide its rearing head. If he had money, he would bet that she was wet right now, nearly soaking through her expensive lace panties, but he’d get to that later, when the time suited him.

  For the time being, he wanted to get to know as much about her as possible. He and Davyd had spent the night before doing some light research and found that Lady Hutton was a widow. She was the mother of Moses and Emma Hutton and rightful owner of Hutton Enterprises. She was also royalty and from a long lineage of political figures that went as far back as the 18th century. As far as Dmitry was concerned, she was an alien, foreign to his world in every way.

  When they arrived on the third floor of her lavish home, she led him to her private quarters. Opening the white, double doors, she invited him into the finest bedroom he had ever seen. Draped in expensive curtains, decorated with historic family portraits, sprinkled with gold accents and heavy woods, he felt like he had walked into a Dickens novel.

  “This is where my husband and I used to retire,” she explained. “It was before his death about ten years ago. He was murdered in Bosnia on business.”

  Dmitry put the pieces together. The Free Right obviously still had a bone to pick in that country. That was why she needed so many guns, and why her son was involved.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said with a sorrowful grimace.

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

  On the bed were boxes covered with red bows, bags with fine paper popping out of their tops and suits laid out with shirts, shoes, cuffs, socks and belts. He walked over looked at the presents. “Is all this for me?” he asked in a whisper.

  “It is,” she said, standing by the fireplace watching him. “I just had it brought over this morning.”

  He ran his hand over the clothes and smirked. “I’ve never been given something so nice.”

  “Get used to it.” She folded her arms. “Go on. Try it on.”

  Dmitry looked at the open door hesitantly. She followed his gaze and walked over to it. Closing and locking the door behind her, she leaned against it and sighed. “You have your privacy now. You may continue.” Her breaths nearly skipped at the prospect of what he must look like naked.

  Dmitry pulled his coat off and laid it on the bed. He was instantly embarrassed by his dirty clothes giving great contrast to the fine linen on the bed. My things belong in the trash, he thought to himself.

  With her booted foot propped up against the door, she tilted her head. “There are underpants for you as well.” She licked her lips. “You can’t expect to put on fine linen on top of dingy underpants.”

  Dmitry turned towards her and realized that she was enjoying herself. Giving her a full view, he pulled off his clothes one by one. His shirt. His tank top. His jeans. His socks. Then his briefs. Now naked, he turned to the bed and grabbed the underwear. He could hear her panting from behind him. She had walked over and placed her hands on his muscular back.

  “Such magnificent artwork,” she said of his tattoos. “You have to admit that your people have always been extremely creative.”

  Dmitry clenched his jaw. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman. If your intentions are not to be touched, I suggest that you move your hand.” He stood up, still naked with the underwear in his hand.

  Her voice was low. “And if it is my desire to be touched?”

  “Then speak before I put on these nice clothes. A woman, even the best ones, still carries a scent after sex.” He could feel her nails claw into his back.

  “Then don’t put them on just yet.”

  Turning slowly around, he looked below him at the small, petite woman. Her blonde hair smelled of the same cherry scent that her daughter’s did. He found it regretful that he could not be with Emma, but her mother had decided that for the three of them with her advances.

  Running his meaty fingers over her lips, he wiped her rose-colored lipstick off. Her mouth was open, awaiting a kiss, but he slipped his finger inside her orifice, feeling the fleshy velvet of her eager tongue. She sucked it hungrily. He knew what Lady Hutton desired. She wanted a pet. But he was a man, and she’d be forced to pay the price of dealing with one.

  Grabbing her gently by the back of her head, he pushed her down to his steely erection. Removing his finger from her mouth, he slowly replaced it with his throbbing penis standing erect and curved upwards at her throat. His hot skin rubbed against her face. She hummed towards it, closing her eyes and smiling.

  Instinctively, she grabbed his vein-covered member and impatiently kissed it, sucking his head with her warm lips. Liquid pearls beaded up to the top of his pink, bulky tip, indicating his desire for her. The thought relaxed her more. She knew then that at least a part of him was willing on a sexual level. Obediently, she licked the salty sex with the point of her tongue, then lapped him. Quietly, he guided himself in and out of her mouth, pulling her hair from its perfect bun so that he’d have something to hold on to. He ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her head as he stroked her throat.

  Leaning back, he sat on the edge of her bed. She got down on her knees in front of him, placing herself firmly on the small stair below. Then she went back to her task, savoring the taste of man with every lick.

  He watched in humor of how completely comfortable she was, closing his eyes occasionally as waves of pleasure swept over him. In his mind, it was Emma. And when she turned just right, he could no longer see Lady Hutton but a younger version of what she must have looked liked twenty years ago.

  The enormous three-carat diamond on her ring finger sparkled as she grasped him with both hands. She tasted his sex again and then released him. Looking in his eyes, she tore off her black, lace panties, slick with cream and discarded them on the floor. Dmitry looked down and smirked. Her skirt was raised up on her supple thighs and her skin was fiery red. Reaching out, he pulled her towards him.

  “Come here,” he ordered in a guttural growl. He trailed his hand over her button down, tracing her nipples that hardened through the cotton. Then grabbing hold of her shirt, he ripped it off. The sound of tearing fabric colored the room.

  “You don’t want gentleman, do you, Lady Hutton?” he asked expressionless.

  “No,” she said panting. “I want a lover.” She looked up into his eyes. “I haven’t had a man since my husband died. I want to be dominated.”

  He forcefully pulled her clothes off, leaving her naked and vulnerable then laid he
r across his lap. He massaged her round buttocks, admiring how well she had kept herself then reached back and with a swift swing slapped her bare bottom. It turned red as she wiggled and moaned below him. Before she had time to recover, he slapped her again, this time quickly rubbing the pain away before he slipped his finger into her hot, tight spot, wet from desire and throbbing to be entered.

  “Yes,” she said, closing her eyes.

  Feverishly burning, she laid across his lap as he played with her. In and out his firm fingers went through her body. The sound of wetness echoed through the silence. He used his other hand to brace her, massaging her back as he held her. His erect penis prodded below, nearly poking through her navel. Suddenly, she felt like a girl again. She laughed aloud. He laughed as well, turned on by her womanly prowess. He liked a woman who knew how to make love.