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“Don’t even look at her,” I bite out. “Ever.”
I might not even need this resignation letter if I manage to get fired before the graduation ceremony ends.
I’m not a man who takes kindly to others looking at his wife, and although she might not officially be my wife yet, she might as well be. I’ve got plans for that too.
Apparently the other men up here close to the microphone heard my instructions because they now all have their heads down and nobody’s saying a thing or looking in my direction. And more importantly no one’s looking in her direction. Mission accomplished.
The ceremony begins and before long it’s Alexa’s turn to step up and receive her diploma as the valedictorian of her class. I was able to convince the principal that she’d shown enough improvement to justify me giving her a final grade of an A+, despite earlier low scores. It’s all about what the student learns and more importantly retains, right? And she’s going to be the only one in her class who retains an actual Russian and practices with him the rest of her life.
It also didn’t hurt that I rolled up my sleeves and exposed some of my homemade ink to the limp-wristed ‘school boss.’ He quickly learned he’s the boss of nothing when I’m around.
When they call her name I stand and present her with her diploma, and then a kiss on the cheek. “You did it, baby girl. You graduated top of your class.” I pause. “Daddy is very proud of you and has a surprise for you later.”
She moves in closer to me, her robe pressing against mine as she slyly cups my balls and then fists my rock hard shaft. “I wonder what that surprise might be…Daddy.”
I can’t resist anymore. I lean forward and give her a big kiss right on the lips to the gasps of the audience. Then I pull my resignation letter out of my pocket, hand it to the principal, take Alexa’s hand and we exit stage right.
Not wasting any time we move toward the area underneath the bleachers. “This is how they do it in American high schools, right?”
“We’re about to find out,” Alexa says.
“No, you’ve been found out…Alexander Smith,” A raspy voice cuts through the air. “Or is it Alexander Smirnoff.”
I pivot on a heel and see a man with a gun pointed right at my chest.
“You did good,” he continues. “Took me an entire year to track down the man who’s an expert at tracking others down. Now let’s go,” he motions with his pistol. “Your friends back in Russia can’t wait to see you again.”
“Just let me say goodbye to my woman.”
“She’s not a woman, she’s a child,” he sneers. I sneer back. “Hurry up. We don’t have all day. And don’t try something foolish.”
“Alexander! What’s going on?” Alexa cries.
“Don’t you worry, baby girl. You know Daddy loves you and will always be here for you.
“But?” I take her face in one hand and give her that knowing look. “Okay,” she nods her head, but I’m not sure if she believes me or not.
“Now give Daddy a hug.”
I pull her in tight and bear hug her with one hand, my other hand gripping the front of my robe and slowly lifting it up until I find what I need, twisting my wrist and holding it tight and out of view as I continue to comfort my baby.
“Did you refer to yourself as Daddy, you sick fuck,” my adversary who I finally recognize as Maxim Zakharov, the assassin that was always claiming he’d be the best one day. My gut tightens at the thought that this prick thinks he’s about to get his day in the sun and will be a hero in the Russian Underworld back in Moscow if he’s able to bring me in, especially single-handedly like this.
“When I say the name of Nabokov’s most famous, you duck. Understand?” I whisper into her ear.
Alexa’s eyes open wide and she nods. “See you soon, angel.”
“Let’s go you pervert,” Zakharov says.
“I’m not a pervert,” I say calmly, turning toward him. “It was a Russian who made the whole idea of being someone’s Daddy so acceptable in social culture wasn’t it?”
“Shut your mouth and let’s go,” he motions with the gun, keeping his eyes glued on me, but unable to see what’s in my hand.
“You never read the famous book?”
“What book?” he says as we step out and I hear a sniffle from my woman behind me, and it damn near tears my heart out.
“Lolita!” I say, twisting my wrist to free my Kindle Oasis, the smallest one they make, in the matte black case I’d kept pressed against my robe so it wasn’t conspicuous, hitting a fake power button and the switchblade springs to life and I stab it right into Zakharov’s side, twisting his arm and taking his weapon before he can even get a shot off.
