Page 91 of Barinov

Beep. Beep.

“All good,” he says to the giant behind him.

We stride through the scanner, it flashes green. No beeps. No warnings. The guard on the other side hands Kenji and I each a golden paddle with a red number glowing in the center of a white lotus flower.

“Welcome to The Lotus Market, gentlemen,” he says with a smile.

We take our paddles and keep walking.

“Damn, I’m good,” I laugh into the comms.

“We’re good,” Nate corrects. “You forget I had to send the signal from out here, asshole.”

“A signal that I coded. But yeah, gold stars for you,” I mock. “Way to press that button, man. I really don’t know how you handled that.”

I can practically hear the eye rolls through the comms.

“Just keep moving,” he orders.

The Lotus bar is bathed in a deep, sleek and seductive red. A true devil in designer skin if you ask me.

“Why does this place remind me of The Pit?” Kenji mutters as we drift toward the bar. “Only with a sick little twist of home,” he adds, eyes scanning the room.

“It’s that glowing Barinov red,” I smirk. “Apparently Lex and Satan have the same interior decorator.”

There’s a quick, low chuckle in my ear.

“What are you boys having?” a sultry British accent rings out from across the bar.

I turn around and fuck me. An auburn haired bombshell leans over the bar, staring at me with eyes so blue they make Ellie’s look dull as shit. My eyes roam over her. Hard not to when her tits are nearly spilling out of her skin-tight black dress.

“Eyes up here, baby,” she coos.

Busted.

“I’ll have whatever you’re mixing,” I say, peering back down at her name tag. “Callie.”

She rolls her eyes, already reaching for the shaker. “Careful what you ask for, handsome.”

As she mixes our drinks, I feel a subtle tug at my jacket.

Khoza and Mac walk by, their ghost-like touch and timing is surgical as ever. By the time my drink hits the bar, I’m one gun lighter. Kenji is too. Transferred clean from our backs to theirs without a single person in the room the wiser.

“Khoza. O’Malley,” Nate says. “Nicely done.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Khoza’s deep voice vibrates in my ear.

The lights drop. Golden beams slice through the red haze, landing in a single, brutal spotlight on the stage.

A low and polished voice booms over the sound system. “First up, Lot 17. A blonde beauty with deep blue eyes. Five-nine in heels. Lotus stamp of purity.”

A girl steps into the light, late teens, possibly early twenties if she’s lucky. The poor thing is way too skinny and pale. Fuckers are probably only giving them salads and water back there. She’s wrapped in a glittering blue cocktail dress with a lotus flower inked on her left shoulder blade.

“Branded like bloody cattle,” Mac whispers.

“These fuckers are going to die tonight,” I mutter into my drink.

“Nobody move,” Nate adds.