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I can see Oleg’s eyes light up with everything we’ve said. He’s envisioning his future as some sort of club-owning badass with more pussy than he’ll know what to do with, and even more than that, respect, because he’s a man who’s never earned a shred of it on his own. He wants it, desperately wants it, and his weakness will be our gain.
“Do we have a deal?” I ask, holding my hand out to him.
“Fuck yeah we do,” he says, quickly shaking it.
“Stupid motherfucker,” Matvey mutters in Russian while Danil opens up his laptop.
“I’ve just sent you the contracts. Sign them, and we’ll get started,” Danil tells him.
“God, you guys don’t mess around,” Oleg says with a laugh.
“No, we do not,” I tell him. Switching to Russian, I say, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Hey, you guys don’t want to hang out and party with us?”
The pathetic, begging tone to his voice makes me want to punch his ugly face, but I resist and instead say, “We don’t have the time tonight.”
I nod to his brothers before we turn and leave. The club has given me a headache from the mix of cheap perfume, too-loud music, and hollering men. I scan the crowd as we make our way to the front door. The place is busier but still not packed. I see two dancers leading a man to a back room and several more giving lap dances at tables.
One woman is kneeling under a table, and when I look back and catch Vitaly’s eye, he laughs and says, “Nothing says this is a classy establishment that CEOs should definitely hang out at like a man getting blown right out in the open.”
“Yeah,” Lev says. “CEOs want to get blown, but they want it done in private. That’s what makes it classy.”
I laugh because he’s right. It’s not that the elite don’t want any of this. They just want a bit more anonymity when they get it, and for that, they’re willing to spend a lot of money.”
We walk past the useless bouncer without a word, and once we’re in the parking lot, I turn to Vitaly. “We need to hire Russian women. Tell them to pretend they speak very little English and to report back to us if they hear anything about sex trafficking or shit like that.”
“Already on it,” Vitaly says, tapping the side of his head. “The plans are already forming.” He turns to look at the ugly building behind us and waves a hand at it. “This place is going to draw every high-ranking pervert in the fucking city. We’re going to have the most beautiful women, the best food and drinks, and we’ll have a reputation for being discreet and open to anything. If there are underground sex rings, we’ll know about them.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder. “If anyone can pull this off, it’s you.”
“I am good with the pussy,” he admits with a grin.
Lev laughs and smacks his back. “If you need me to test out their lap dancing skills, I could probably find some time to do that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
We pile back into the SUV and head to the penthouse. Lev and Vitaly decide to take the Porsche and go out for the night since The Pink Kitty left them more than a little disappointed and frustrated. Matvey disappears downstairs to the rooms that he’s claimed as his, most likely to lift weights, while Danil and I pour a couple of drinks and settle in to work.
“We all set for tomorrow night?”
He takes a drink and opens his laptop. “You’re all set. I’ve put your name on the guest list and made a note that you’re one of Mayor Marston’s biggest donors. They should be kissing your ass all night.”
“Perfect.” I grab some leftover pizza from the fridge and eat a cold slice while I think about tomorrow’s fundraiser. It’s the kind of thing I hate, but there’s no getting around it. I’ve got to play nice before I can get my hands bloody. Sacrifices must be made and all that.
Taking a slice of pizza, Danil turns his computer so I can see it. I look at the three men, memorizing every detail of their pasty, wrinkly faces. Why there isn’t a maximum age limit in American politics, I’ll never understand. These guys look like they should be eating pudding cups and playing bingo in some ritzy retirement home, not making important decisions that will impact people’s lives.
“Who the fuck are these old guys?”
Danil chews and says, “Congressmen Daniels, Johnson, and Strickland. My gut tells me they’re dirty.”
“Haven’t found anything on them yet?”
His jaw tenses in frustration, because if there’s one thing Danil hates, it’s not being able to back up his hunches with concrete evidence.
“No, but I will.” He takes another bite and gets back to work.
I pour us both another drink, and then leave him to it. Walking to the wing of the penthouse I’ve taken over as my own, I step out onto the balcony and finish my drink while watching the city below me. The honking of horns and occasional police siren means it’s not the most peaceful of settings, but what the fuck would I do with peaceful? The feeling is so foreign to me now, I’m not sure I could even enjoy it. I’m not sure I’d know how to.
