Page 41 of Nightfire

The Club never punished in ways that showed. But perhaps being locked up, given to the male staff to use at will…maybe that would bring her around.

His men whisked Consuelo away and the member who’d been insulted by Consuelo was offered a bottle of Crystal and a free pass for a week.

Keep your customers happy.

This was not the moment for displays of insubordination. The deal with Nikitin and his backers was just beginning, not yet fully established. It was important that the Russians have the sense of a well-oiled machine, bright and smooth and profitable, ready to be taken to the next level. Ready for franchising.

Not to mention the fact that in his deepest heart, Sands was just a tiny bit afraid of his new partners. All that money, yet so far away, and the money’s emissary was frightening, beyond the temptations and weaknesses of the men in Sands’s world. As if he were dealing with an alien species he didn’t fully understand.

Nitikin turned his head and for a moment, Sands felt like he was certain he was looking into the eyes of an alien species. Cold, brilliant blue marbles, unearthly and inhuman.

“Mr. Sands.” Nitikin said, the Russian accent strong in his deep low voice. “I have watched this woman react badly three times now. You have a problem. Either you take care of it or I will.”

The room became chill, the champagne curdled sourly in Sands’s stomach. There was only one possible answer. “Yes, yes. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

The cold blue marbles held his gaze for a long moment, then Nitikin looked away and Sands gasped in a breath.

And admitted for the first time to himself how very much Nitikin terrified him.

Anatoly Nitikin watched the American turn pale at his gaze. He turned his back. A gesture of contempt, not that the American would understand it. He found the Americans almost incapable of understanding the nuances of threat.

Anatoly himself was a master. He’d grown up the son of a colonel in the KGB and he himself had spent ten years in its successor, the FSB. He knew the music of threat and violence inside out. Knew its tones and harmonies, understood them in his soul.

But then, he’d grown up in harsh surroundings. He understood full well the way the world worked. You were either strong or weak. Master or serf. Like here, the place the American pretended was a very posh and expensive ‘club’, but which was a brothel. The American would shy away from the term. He liked to think that the men who came here belonged to some kind of fraternity of the powerful and tasteful, having found a superior way to slake their appetites.

The truth was their money bought them high grade sex. Instead of going out into the street, where it was public and dirty, they came here, where it was private and clean. For those who wanted complete privacy, there was a separate entrance and a suite. They could get a fabulous meal and exactly the kind of sex they wanted for $10,000. Cheap at the price.

The advantages of being an oligarch. America seemed to be full of oligarchs, which was why Nikitin was here.

It was a good business and promised to become better when they could start bringing younger merchandise online, as per numerous requests.

Nikitin had studied the photographs of the goods now crossing the Pacific and was satisfied that they would suit any man’s tastes which ran to young girls.

Nikitin frowned at the foreign sound of a commotion in this smoothest of places.

The beautiful one, Consuelo, raised her voice again, accusing her client of pinching her. The girls here were trained not to respond to pain.

However valuable a commodity she was, Consuelo was becoming a liability. It was exactly as if she had a disease. It needed to be contained before it spread to the other girls. There was no place for insubordination here, where men paid a premium price for instant and abject obedience. They got quite enough insubordination in the outside world.

The American was talking to one of his ‘security guards’.

Nikitin nearly snorted. The only thing those guards knew how to do was look good in a tuxedo. No, his own men knew how to deal with problems. Directly and forcefully.

He opened his cellphone and dialed a number. Nikitin had to keep his men in a separate area because the American thought they spoiled the tone of the club. But when trouble came, his men knew what to do. Nikitin spoke with the head of his men, Ivan. Tough and reliable. Ivan had fought in Chechnya. He knew how the world worked.

The American was still talking to his ‘security’.

Ivan appeared with no fanfare. He was dressed in black combat boots, black jeans, black tee shirt and jacket covering his shoulder rig with the GSH-18.

“Consuelo, the girl in the red dress. Find out why she’s being difficult and take care of it.”

Ivan nodded. Unlike the American’s security guards, his own men didn’t sample the wares, just like he didn’t. They operated under military discipline until the entire business machine was set up and running smoothly. Then they could relax. Nikitin would give his men ten of the girls to do with as they pleased when this was over. The girls would be useless afterwards, but his men knew what to do with bodies.

Ivan liked pain, and if this Consuelo woman was still around and not at the bottom of San Diego harbor, he’d throw her, too, to Ivan and his men for exclusive use as a bonus. No matter what she earned the club, sacrifices had to be made for the sake of discipline.

“I heard she was talking to some outsider,” Ivan said in a low voice in Russian. “Some woman at a center. I think this outsider is stirring up trouble.”

Nikitin nodded. His masters were coming to America to oversee the first shipment and to get a first-hand look at their investment. Everything had to be perfect for the vory. Anything else was unthinkable. “We don’t need this, not now. Find out what’s going on and put a stop to it. Teach her a lesson.”