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I become something else.Someoneelse, someone I’ve never been.
I give myself over to the alter ego I’ve created, to Athena, and I dance.
The music fills me, twisting my body, spreading me open, turning me into a thing of lust and desire, created only to please the men surrounding the stage waving bills at me. I forget who I was, who I am, and focus on this.
The thing that might save me, if only because no one who knew me before would ever dream that I would be here, doing this.
That I would have fallen so far.
I spin down the pole, landing in a split on the stage. The crowd approvingly shouts as I push my ass up in the air, legs still spread as I bounce on the hard surface, my back arched deeply as I slide upwards, sinuous and graceful, onto my hands and knees. I grab the pole, throwing one leg out as I spin to my feet, and just as I rise up again, I see him.
A man in the very front row, directly in front of me. I freeze for a split second, startled.
Sandy blond hair falls into a sharp, chiseled masculine face, the faintest of stubble on his strong jaw. He’s wearing a black shirt open at the chest with the sleeves rolled up, showing muscled forearms covered in tattoos–including one of an eagle at his wrist.
He’shandsome. Gorgeously, inordinately so.
So few men who come here are. They’re portly, unkempt, balding, unhygienic, or some combination of all of those, more often than not. But this man is none of those things.
He doesn’t look like the kind of man who would leave a letter like that under someone’s door.
But then again, he doesn’t look like he belongs here, either. He looks too clean, too polished, tooexpensive. Like the kind of man whose credit card doesn’t have a limit. The type of man who drinks better liquor than even the best served at this place.
The kind of man who would never set foot in a club like this without reason.
His eyes are ice-blue–and they’re fixed on me with an intensity that none of the other customers here can claim. It sends another of those cold shivers down my spine, because the way he’s looking at me is more than attraction, more than lust, more than desire.
He’s looking at me as if he knows me.
As if he’s here for me, specifically.
Mikhail
Years ago, Moscow felt like home.
Not anymore.
I glance at the cracked clock on my side table as I run my hand through my hair, looking in the mirror. The bar I’m going to isn’t the dingiest of places, so I don’t want to look like a slob, but I also don’t want to stand out too much. Once upon a time, the stark white-blond of my hair would have made me stand out anywhere, but I’ve long since given up the color it used to be. At least, since I’ve been in Moscow to hide instead of the reason I used to come here–to work for one of the most powerful Russianpakhansto ever lead a Bratva.
TheUssuri, the Bear.
Once my boss, now my enemy. My own personal Baba Yaga, the boogeyman I’ve run from for a year now, is trying to find the key to returning to his good graces.
To the life I used to live.
I reach for my wallet, opening it to check that my cards and cash are still there. As I open the slim pocket, I see the edge of the picture I carry there, and I hesitate.
You could do with a reminder.
Slowly, I tug the picture out from its hiding place, unfolding its deeply creased edges. I open it up, holding it to the weak light, and feel my heart twist inside my chest.
The woman in it is young, beautiful, with a laughing smile and shining blue eyes, sitting cross-legged in the grass with her long platinum blonde hair thrown over one shoulder in a thick braid. In her lap is a child of three or four, with that same white-blonde hair, laughing blue eyes, and a gap-toothed smile. She’s pointing at the camera, urging the child to look.
Just holding the picture in my hand, I can hear the laughter,feelthe joy emanating from it. It’s a joy I haven’t felt in a long time, a sound I’ve nearly forgotten. I can feel the cracks of my heart start to bleed all over again as I look down at the woman and child, my other hand clenching into a fist at my side.
Viktor Andreyev isn’t the only reason you’re here. You’re here for your revenge, too. You’re here to make sure their blood doesn’t cry out for vengeance for all the rest of your days.
You’re here to makehisfamily suffer the way yours has.
