Anatoly's Retribution: Book One (The Medlov Men 5)

by Latrivia Welch

  “Sorry, I’m late,” Anatoly apologized. “Did I miss everything?” He hoped that he had.

  “No, Klenchvenko just got here. He’s over there in the corner with his promoter and some girls.”

  Anatoly glanced over in the corner and saw Klenchvenko, dressed to the nines in a tailored suit and drinking champagne with about six blondes. He turned back to his brother. “I’m sure we can talk later, but I wanted to let you know the test results came back.”

  Anil nodded. “Well, what did it say?”

  Anatoly smirked. “I’m sorry to inform you, but you’re a Medlov.”

  Anil laughed. “That’s great news. I’m glad actually.” He spied his boss looking at him talking to the guest for a longer than normal period of time, but he turned his back to him and ignored him.

  “How’s your mother? Is that place what you wanted?”

  “It’s everything, man. Thank you, again.” Anil offered his hand.

  Anatoly shook it and hit him on his arm. “We’ve got a lot to discuss. My father…our father wants to connect with you and make arrangements to come down next week. That sound good to you?”

  “I’d love it. Yeah. Whenever he gets here, I’m ready, man.” Anil’s heart raced. He had been researching Dmitry Medlov since Anatoly visited him. There were hundreds of articles and blogs. All of them touted him as the Underworld Czar and Anatoly as the Underworld prince. It was all so exciting and intriguing. Now, the idea that the man himself was coming to Miami to see him was almost surreal.

  “Good. Good. We’ll talk later. For now, let me go over here and talk to this guy,” Anatoly said, nodding at Klenchvenko.

  The Klenchvenko entourage was large and in charge. A gaggle of bodyguards, women, trainers and celebrities had made their way over to the VIP of the VIP section to mingle with the defunct heavyweight champion, especially since the announcement had just come out that day that a rematch was in the works.

  But the man himself, however dotted upon he was by spectators, was still a very humble human being. As soon as he spotted Anatoly, nearly 50 feet away in the over-crowded space, he stood up from his perch and made his way across the room.

  “Dobro pozhalovat' na vecherinku!” Klenchvenko greeted with open arms. He grabbed Anatoly up in a bear hug. “What are you doing here, my friend?”

  “Came to see someone,” Anatoly said, noticing the boxer’s face had started to heal up nicely. “This is a good way to announce the new fight.”

  “It was already planned according to my agent,” Klenchvenko said, swiping a bottle of champagne off the passing waitress’s tray. “Bring another. This one is for my friend.”

  Anatoly hated to break it to Igor, but he didn’t drink champagne. “I’m more of a vodka man.”

  “Then this one is all mine.” He winked at the waitress. “Listen, sweetheart, can you bring a bottle of vodka for my friend? Top shelf, none of the cheap shit.”

  She nodded and hurried off while Igor walked Anatoly over to his section. “So how long are you going to be in Miami now that we aren’t going to be pummeled by the mother of all hurricanes?”

  “I’ve got a place here over on Star Island. So, I’m not sure. But there is another hurricane coming right behind this one. They are thinking it will definitely hit us, so I’ll be gone before then.”

  “Dodge the bullet, eh?” They sat down on the sofa, and upon seeing the men who followed Anatoly, the other people moved out of the way to give them some privacy.

  Igor crossed his long legs and pushed back in the comfort of the sectional. “My father is doing amazing these days. This is because of you. For the first time in many years, he’s writing again.” His father had been a journalist and poet before he was thrown in the gulags. He remembered a time when all the man did was sit behind a typewriter. It was good to see him working toward being happy again.

  “No. You saved your father. Not me.” When Anatoly had told Igor the night of the fight not to mention what he had done for his father, he meant it. Talking in a room full of people wasn’t exactly smart.

  “Well, I want to do something for you. This place is much too loud, but I have a yacht docked not too far from here. Before you leave, I want to take you and your friends or family out for a ride and dinner. It’s a show of my appreciation for you.”

  ***

  Ryan was at the bartending station working his magic on the girls. He not only wanted his men to have a good time, he wanted them to have a damn good time. And whores and drugs went together like peas and carrots. However, none of the men wanted to be seen procuring the drugs themselves, so again his services were needed.

  “Just drop it down in there. It will dissolve before she can make it upstairs with the tray,” Ryan urged the young female bartender, Rebecca, who was filling the VIP drink orders. He tried to apply just enough charm as to not seem aggressive.

  The brown-haired girl moved quickly to fix a martini. Filling the shaker with ice, she glanced around the bar to see if anyone was watching. “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “What if it went to the wrong person?” Adding vodka and vermouth to the container, she picked it up and shook it fast. Pouring the contents into a martini glass and adding a garnish, she walked it over to the man waiting a few seats down and took his money. When she came back, Ryan continued his pestering.

  “It won’t go to the wrong person,” Ryan assured, carefully hiding his frustration. They were wasting time. He pushed his arm across the bar and slipped her the pill. “Put it in the vodka. It’s going to one of the private lounges, to Hufstedler. He’s a big fat guy, gray hair, in a suit, owns half the fucking football team here. He already told me what he wants. This little pick-me-up makes the Viagra last longer and gives him a nice psychedelic trip. The guy is expecting it, okay. I wouldn’t want to let him down – no pun intended.”

  The girl took the pills and sighed. A football team owner was a heavy hitter. If Ryan was starting to have those kinds of clients, she might be able to up her fee in the very near future. While she had done it a thousand times for him at the other club she worked for, this was The Tide. It was supposed to be the new holy grail of night clubs. If she got fired here, she couldn’t get work anywhere.

  Her finger pointed at him. “You better make it worth my while, Ryan. I could get fired for this, and I need this job.”

  You could get imprisoned for this, he thought to himself. “Don’t I always take care of you, Rebecca?” he asked. “We’re friends. You can trust me.” All lies, but worth saying at the moment.

  “Okay. I guess.” Dropping the pill in the bottle of vodka, she handed it off to the unsuspecting waitress waiting down at the end of the bar for her order. Rebecca raised her voice so that the waitress could hear her. “This goes to Hufstedler in the private lounge! It’s his! No one else’s!”

  “Yeah, I got it!” The waitress screamed over the crowd as she grabbed another bottle of vodka for her trip. Her feet were aching and her head was pounding, making it very hard to be suspicious.

  “Don’t forget,” Rebecca urged one last time.

  “Geeze, Becca. I won’t,” the waitress said, walking away.

  Rebecca walked back over to Ryan and smirked. “It’s done,” she said, making it clear that he was in her debt.

  Pushing up on the polished bar, Ryan gave Rebecca a kiss on the cheek. He gave a wolfish smile. “You’re the best. Stop by the club tomorrow and pick up your cut.”

  She glanced over at him as she polished a glass with her cloth. “Oh, you know I will.”

  ***

  While the VIP section on the second floor was much quieter than downstairs where the common people were partying the night away, it still was incredibly loud and extremely crowded upstairs. The base from the house music vibrated in Anatoly’s chest like a tribal drum as he sat quietly in the back of the room with Klenchvenko, watching all the people as they moved about, proud in their importance, laughing and taking selfies, dancing and drinking.

  One would have
easily thought that Klenchvenko had won the recent fighting match instead of lost it. It was consoling to Anatoly on many levels, knowing what a kind man Igor appeared to be in person.

  But just as the crowd watched every move Klenchvenko made, they too watched Anatoly. His mysterious allure caught the eye over every available and unavailable woman. Who was the handsome, blonde man who seemed so close to the former champ? Was he true to the wedding ring he wore on his hand? They raised their brows and drinks to him, tried to wave him over so that they speak with him, but Anatoly stayed put.

  While beautiful, the women did not impress Anatoly in the least. He had only one desire tonight – to go home to his wife and child after speaking with Anil a little longer when his shift ended. Still, he tried not to be a stick in the mud. He smiled occasionally, shook hands with people as they presented themselves to Klenchvenko and held idle conversation.

  “You know what I mean, right?” Klenchvenko asked, hitting Anatoly’s arm as he chuckled.

  “Right,” Anatoly answered, completely clueless as to what Igor was talking about.

  Klenchvenko was like a king holding court. People gathered around him, following on the man’s every jumbled word, striving to be the best kiss-asses they could be. They were nodding and agreeing, sharing their own points of view and overall boring the shit out of Anatoly. He checked his watch again and ran a hand through his hair.

  “You alright?” Klenchvenko asked, noticing Anatoly’s growing agitation.

  “Fine,” Anatoly answered. “Don’t worry about me. This is your party. You’re the man of the hour. I never do well in crowds.” It was simply a part of his lifestyle, to keep his head on a swivel always vigilant.

  Klenchvenko wanted more than anything to make sure that Anatoly had a great time. He owed this man so much, it was the least that he could do. Seeing one of the VIP waitress assigned to his party, slip through the crowd and head toward the private lounges with bottles of vodka on her tray, he called out for her.

  “Eh!” Klenchvenko yelled, raising up off the sofa.

  The waitress stopped and looked toward him as did everyone else. Oh gracious, what now?

  Klenchvenko waved her over, eyeing the spirits on her tray. “Bring a bottle for my friend. We’ve been waiting long enough.”

  She protested immediately. Rebecca had just told her that this bottle was for one of the other guests. “Sorry, Mr. Klenchvenko. This is for the other…”

  Klenchvenko wasn’t hearing it. Like Anatoly said, it was his party. Plus, he didn’t like to be told no by a waitress. Was she really going to show him out in front of all of his friends? “Bring it to me, young lady,” he ordered, his eyes narrowed at her protest.

  Now put on the spot, the waitress obeyed and gave him the bottle. She’d just go back and get another one instead of pissing off the one man in the party who management insisted be catered to all night. “Can I get anything else for you?” she asked, bending down to offer the vodka to the defunct champ.

  “Net,” Klenchvenko said, giving her a hundred-dollar bill for her troubles. He saw her face light up with the tip. “Keep them coming and your tips will be plentiful, pretty girl.”

  “Thank you,” she said, excusing herself as she tucked the money in the pocket of her mini-skirt.

  Klenchvenko turned toward Anatoly with a wide grin. He offered the chilled bottle of vodka as a small token. “This is for you, and only you. Enjoy.”

  Anatoly took the bottle gratefully. Getting through this sober might not have been possible. He took a big swig straight to the head and pushed back into the sofa.

  ***

  Anastaysia heaved a great, exhausted sigh. Raising from between the fat man’s legs, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smoothed her hair. They had been at it for quite a while, but evidently, the old man’s piping didn’t work very well. Every time he got fully engorged, he lost his erection and they had to start back at ground zero. To have him finally finish, wet in his own pleasure, was somehow a relief for her.

  “Were you pleased, my love?” she asked, reaching for the wet wipes in her purse. She hated asking that question, but Ryan insisted.

  “Very,” the man said, standing up from the sofa. He tucked his dress shirt down in his pants after buttoning up.

  The VIP private lounges were small rooms with television, small couches, dim lights and fish tanks cut in the wall to give view to the rafters of the general area downstairs. One of the finer amenities were that the rooms were soundproof, minus the music piped in for the guests’ entertainment. But even with the extra layer of privacy, the fat man could not enjoy Anastaysia the way he wanted.

  “I’m glad that you had a good time,” Anastaysia said, cleaning herself off. She had turned her back to him, hoping he would disappear back out into the crowd and leave her alone. “Until next time.”

  “Well, I was told through a friend that I could keep you all night.” His eyes narrowed on her well-sculpted backside. “So, I had plans to take you home with me. The wife is gone to Aspen for the month. Daddy is all alone.”

  Anastaysia tried to hold back the need to roll her eyes. She had hoped to pick a man who would be done with her after the lounge. Going back to the man’s home meant if he had certain fetishes, no one would be there to stop him if things got rough. But what could she do?

  “I’ll be happy to go back with you,” she said with a fake smile as she reapplied her make up. Walking to the door, she put her hand on the knob, quietly urging him to go out with her instead of sitting in this little room in such close proximity.

  “Good. Well, sit down. There is no rush, is there? Let’s have a drink first and then we can get out of here. I have a car waiting outside,” he said, uninterested in mingling with the other big wigs out in the common area. The music made his head spin at nearly sixty and the strobe lights made him feel like he was on the verge of epileptic shock.

  Anastaysia sat back down beside him and took the glass of vodka and cranberry he made her. “Cheers,” she toasted.

  ***

  The room was starting to spin out of control, like he was experiencing a severe case of vertigo. Vision blurring, Anatoly pushed up to the end of the sofa and planted his face in his hands. What the hell was happening? His mouth was dry, throat on fire, and the lights…the fucking lights were dancing around him.

  “You have too much to drink, my friend?” Klenchvenko asked Anatoly.

  Anatoly barely heard him. He glanced over, eyes red, and smacked his lips together. “I can handle my vodka.” His speech slurred as he tried to focus on Klenchvenko’s face. It was morphing into a wave of colors.

  Marat was in the far corner, not far from his boss. As soon as he saw Anatoly’s head bob, he pushed past the crowd to get to him.

  “Boss,” he said, dropping to his knee in front of Anatoly. “Are you okay?”

  Anatoly tried to speak. “Drugs,” he said, blinking hard. “I think I’ve been…”

  Marat waved over one of his men. “Go and get boss a bottle of water. Make sure the seal has not been broken.” He turned back to Anatoly and grabbed his face.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Klenchvenko asked, growing concerned. He waved off his friends. “Give him some room. Back up!”

  Marat grabbed the bottle of vodka sitting beside Anatoly’s foot and held it up to his face. It was too dark to really see if anything was in the bottom of it, but there was no other sensible explanation. When another guard ran over to see to Anatoly, Marat shoved the bottle in the man’s chest. “Take this and guard it with your life. I need to know what was in it.”

  Klenchvenko was so drunk until he could barely process what Marat was saying. “I gave him a brand-new bottle,” he said, hoping that they didn’t think he had drugged him. “I promise. It was a brand-new bottle,” he repeated.

  Anatoly tried to stand. “Help me to my feet,” he ordered, holding himself up on Marat’s shoulder.

  “Maybe you should sit,” Marat pleaded, “until
we get some water in you. It will dilute whatever you ingested.”

  Anatoly sat back down reluctantly. His fingers were tingling now and his heartbeat was racing, making it hard to draw a breath.

  Anil saw his brother from across the room and left his post. Running to him, he looked toward Marat. “What happened? Is he okay?”

  “He’s been drugged,” Marat said, moving out of the way.

  Anil took his brother’s arm and put two fingers on his wrist to check his pulse. “Jesus,” he gasped. “Lay him down.”

  Klenchvenko stood up and helped them rest Anatoly back on the sofa. The guard brought a bottle of water as he had been ordered as the crowds began to notice the commotion and turn their attention to them.

  “Drink this,” Anil ordered Anatoly. He turned back to his brother’s guards. “Bring more bottles. We need to cool him down. His core is burning up.”

  “Get some more fucking water over here!” Klenchvenko yelled. He snatched off his suit jacket and bent by Anatoly. “Stay with us. Shit. I’m so sorry, man.”

  Anatoly faced the crowd, hating to have become a spectacle. As he glanced toward the stairs, one of the lounge doors opened. A blonde woman in a silver, sparkly dress emerged. Her head was toward the exit. A fat, white man in a suit, followed behind her. Anatoly rubbed a hand across his chest and was about to turn away when the woman turned toward him and looked him dead in his eyes.

  “Anastaysia?” Anatoly gasped, trying to sit up.

  “Don’t move,” Anil said, trying to hold him down.

  Anastaysia’s blue eyes widened. Her mouth flew open. Could it be? “Anatoly,” she said, stepping toward him.

  Ryan saw the exchange from where he was sitting. All night, he had seen the young man with his bodyguards chummed up with Klenchvenko, and a few times even thought to offer his wares for entertainment. But what did the man know of Anastaysia? He had never set up a date for them. Then it hit him. The blonde hair, the blue eyes, the sudden recognition. Fear ripped through him. He jumped up, Clover right behind him, and ran to Anastaysia.