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The dancers and waitresses of the Pearl were normally immune to any and all attempts by men to garner their attention. They were used to high-rollers and big players. They didn’t bat an eyelash at a five-figure payout or even a good-looking charmer. These women had their eyes on the prize. They were professionals at the top of their industry.
And yet, when the stony-eyed man entered the club, he became their new interest. He carried himself with such unshakable confidence. His body exuded strength and power. One glance from him, and even the most seasoned stripper felt weak in the knees. He had a way of making a girl feel like the only woman on the planet... even as he flippantly chewed up her heart and spat it back out. The man was clearly bad news, but women still couldn’t help coming back for more every time.
He walked through the crowds, parting them without having to say so much as an ‘Excuse me’ to make his presence known. Men moved out of his way, realizing instantly that they were no match for him. The dancers in between stage shifts sauntered up to him, wearing their scanty silvery lingerie and a seductive smile. He felt the eyes of every woman boring into him, and it only made him feel more powerful. He knew the effect he had on them, and it was intoxicating. They were all vying for his time and attention. He dripped wealth, but they wanted his body as much or more than they coveted his cash. A pair of doe-eyed identical twins with blond hair and perky breasts came traipsing over to him. They were holding hands and biting their lips, gazing up at him with the promise of double trouble.
“Hey there, tall-dark-and-handsome,” the first one said.
“You look like you can handle two girls at once,” said her twin.
“Not like these other schmucks hanging around tonight.”
“What do you say we get a private room—”
“—and see where things go?”
The man raised one thick, dark eyebrow at them in bemusement. It would be so easy to take them up on that offer. He could see himself bending and twisting those girls into submission, ravishing them until they were spent. They were right; he could easily handle two women at once. With pleasure.
But not tonight. He was on a mission.
So he gently sidestepped the twin strippers and replied in a husky baritone voice, “Maybe another night, ladies.”
There was a faint Russian accent to his words. The twins pouted as he pushed past them and stepped up to the bar counter. The bartender immediately detached himself from his current patrons to address the charismatic newcomer.
“Good evening, sir,” he greeted.
“Likewise, Stan,” the mysterious man replied with a glance at his nametag. He slid a large bill across the counter and said, “Double vodka, top shelf.”
“Of course, Mr. Sokolov,” the bartender replied as he got to work pouring the drink.
Mr. Sokolov smiled. He hadn’t expected it, but he also wasn’t surprised that the bartender already knew his name.
Stan hurried to explain in a lowered voice, “I would be a shameful member of the brotherhood if I didn’t know whoyouare. Please allow me to offer my services. Anything you need, I can provide.”
He set down the double vodka and Mr. Sokolov took a sip. He leaned in close and, in a gruff whisper, asked, “I understand you’ve been keeping something ‘on ice’ for me.”
Stan nodded. He knew instantly what the man was asking about. With a knowing glance toward the bouncers at the front of the club, Stan stepped out from behind the bar. He spread one arm out and bowed slightly as he offered, “Right this way, sir.”
He began to lead Mr. Sokolov across the club, past the glittering stages toward a narrow, shadowy corridor in the back. Patrons and dancers alike looked him up and down as he passed, but they were hastily shut down with a single withering look from Mr. Sokolov. The two men continued on and disappeared down the dark hallway.
There were numerous locked doors flanking the corridor, behind which elaborate lap dances and private bookings took place. The walls and doors were designed to be thick and somewhat soundproof, lending more privacy to these back rooms. Only the occasional peal of laughter or sensual moan broke through. But Mr. Sokolov was not interested in the steamy side of the business tonight. In fact, as Stan led him along the winding corridor, the taller man cracked his knuckles and flexed his muscles. He rolled his broad shoulders back and straightened his posture, making him look even more intimidating. He raised his arms and twisted them behind his back, lifting his blazer to reveal a quick flash of something shiny and sharp underneath: a knife. Mr. Sokolov appeared to be stretching, preparing himself for some kind of physical effort, but not the sexy kind.
Stan led him to the end of the long corridor, which concluded with another heavy, soundproof door. He fit a key into the lock and turned it until it clicked. With a slight heave of pressure release, the door cracked open.
The bartender turned back to him and said, “All yours, Mr. Sokolov. And, of course, I will personally ensure that the scene is wiped clean when you’re finished. No trace left behind. Our team is quite efficient,” added Stan pointedly.
“Excellent. Leave me to it. This won’t take long,” the man replied with a sly smile.
Stan bowed out of the way and headed back up the corridor, leaving Mr. Sokolov to his private room. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, assumed a cold, cruel expression, and walked into the room, closing the heavy door behind him. It automatically engaged the lock with a resounding click.
The room was larger than the others but decorated in much the same way. There were two velvety armchairs and a plush leather sofa with a chic marble coffee table in between for drinks. Glowing lights illuminated the dark, cave-like space. Music pumped through the speakers and buzzed under the tile floor. But the centerpiece of the room was not a beautiful, half-naked woman enticing him to enter. Instead, there was a red-faced, bug-eyed man bound with rope to one of the chairs, a gag tightly wound around his head and digging into his mouth. He began to struggle feverishly against his restraints and vocalize incoherently when he laid eyes on the tall, dark man. He was panicking and nearly rocking the chair back and forth.
Meanwhile, Mr. Sokolov appeared to enjoy the man’s fear as he slowly approached him. The captive had absolute terror in his eyes when the powerful man lifted his blazer to pull out a long, gleaming blade and hold it up in front of his face.
“You know who I am,” he growled.
The frightened man nodded.
“So you know why I’m here.”
