Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Galina

T he cab pulled to a stop in front of the bar where Laura had told me to meet her. She'd said to be here at ten, which might have seemed late as hell to start a shift, but when you were in the city, it was when the darkness really settled in that life started to come alive.

"We're here," the cab driver said in a thick Eastern European accent. I handed him the amount it cost for the trip, an expense I normally wouldn't have spent, given the fact that I was trying to save up, but I wasn't about to hike it across town at this hour. Going a few blocks from Sal's to my apartment was one thing. Walking to this bar would have been suicide.

I climbed out, and as soon as the cab door was shut, it drove away. No changing my mind now.

I tipped my head back and took in the three stories of the building in front of me. The entire structure was black brick, with twin black vinyl doors situated front and center and a small light illuminating it. Compared to all the other buildings on this block, it looked totally out of place.

The sign above the door was red neon and spelled out Sdat'sya .

I pulled out my cell phone and sent a quick text to Laura to let her know I was here. Aside from meeting at this place at ten, she hadn't given me any other instructions.

I wasn't brave enough to go through those front doors, which by the way were unguarded. Part of me felt a little bit of trepidation about what lay on the other side, as if I'd be walking into hell itself.

I wasn't stupid in not assuming a lot of Desolation was controlled and owned by the crime syndicate. I knew in Vegas the Italian mafia had a large hand in things. In fact, many cities around the US probably ran the same way. It was just how the world worked, how things were done. And so I tried to keep my head down and my business to myself.

Of course, sometimes that shit hits you right in the face anyway, and there was no trying to come out without being scarred.

Because the powerful controlled the powerless.

So the fact that this particular building, which screamed money and had a illicit air to it, not to mention was obviously Russian owned, told me it was probably controlled by the Russian mafia. The Bratva.

I looked down the street to my left, then to my right. A police car slowly drove toward me, and I stepped farther back, the cold stone wall of the building stopping my retreat. I knew enough about law enforcement in cities like this, ones that were corrupt and twisted, where criminals had the final say and money could buy anyone and anything.

So the men, the law—who would be the likely prospect when you needed something or when running or hiding or begging for sanctuary—they weren't the ones you'd ask for help. They were the type of men who took cash in back alleys and looked the other way. They were the type of men you ran from. Fast and without looking over your shoulder, because they'd be right behind you.

And as the police cruiser slowed to a crawl as it passed me, the driver glancing in my direction, his grin was big, with all white teeth in a shadowy interior.

A shiver worked through me despite the still air. I wrapped my jacket tighter around me and watched the cruiser disappear down the street.

A second later my phone vibrated with an incoming text, and I looked down to see Laura's message.

Give me a sec. I'll bring you in.

I tucked my phone back into my jacket pocket, and a moment later I heard footsteps coming from the side. Laura stepped out from the corner of the building and searched around before her gaze settled on me. She smiled and gestured for me to follow her.

Once I was beside her, we headed down a barely lit alley. "Are you sure about this?" I couldn't help asking as I looked around the dumpster- and trash-filled alley.

"It's safe. Don't worry. The crime around here is nonexistent." She snorted as if she knew why. I certainly knew the answer to why no one fucked with this place. The mafia.

Even criminals knew when they shouldn't fuck with the big boys.

We only walked a handful of seconds before she stopped in front of a rust-colored metal door. She pounded on it a couple of times before stepping back. It swung open, the metal hinges creaking loudly and echoing off the buildings.

A big, burly guy with not much of a neck and a jagged scar slashed down the side of his face held the door open. I looked at him hesitantly, his expression closed off and slightly dangerous.

I quickly glanced forward and followed Laura inside. When we entered the anteroom, the door closed behind us with a loud bang , loud enough that I jumped slightly. I blamed my frazzled nerves on the foreign terrain I was currently embarking in, but the truth was closer to the fact that this entire situation just didn't sit well with me.

And that was probably because I knew the person or people who owned this place weren't good men. And those are the ones I'm trying to stay away from.

"Don't worry about Boris," Laura said and looked over her shoulder. "The doorman." She tipped her chin to the burly, scar-faced guy. "He's harmless. At least I assume he is. He rarely speaks and just kind of hangs around in the background. Or he does whenever I've worked."

I looked over my shoulder at Boris, a big, hulking shadow behind us. I faced forward quickly, no doubt in my mind that this man was the furthest thing from "not dangerous" as you got.

The anteroom and hallway opened into a larger room, where a handful of girls looked through racks of clothing.

Laura stopped and turned to face me so suddenly that I stumbled back. "What?" I looked around, thinking I'd made some faux pas and hadn't realized. She didn't speak right away and started biting her lip. "Laura, just say it."

"So you have the waitressing job, but the owner of the bar wants to meet you to decide which room to put you in for the night."

I furrowed my brow. "Which room to put me in for the night?"

"Yeah." She kept biting her lip. "It's how it works. The way this bar is set up, there are several rooms, kind of like tiers on where the clientele lands. The higher the tier, the more important the patrons."

I nodded slowly. "Okay. So if you're not up to the owner's physical standard, you're shit out of luck and get a bottom level?"

At least she had the decency to flush as she nodded. "I know how it seems, but no matter what, the waitresses still bring home good money, even at the lowest level."

"So we might not even be working in the same room?"

She shook her head and looked apologetic. Not that it mattered if we were in the same room, but I would have preferred a familiar face. Not to mention she'd acted like we would be together because she didn't want to do it alone.

It seemed a little bit strange to me, but I wasn't going to complain about how a business was. This made me feel like, if I was given a lower-end room, clearly the owner didn't like the way I looked. I told myself it really didn't matter in the long run.

Money was money, and I desperately needed it.

Laura gave me a reassuring smile, then eyed me up and down. "Let's get you changed first and do your hair and makeup."

Hair and makeup?

Before I could complain about needing to be dolled up to sling drinks, I told myself getting prettied up would help with tips. Rich old men, especially ones who were drinking copious amounts of booze, tended to throw money at women who caught their eye. Not that I liked it, but it was a fact in the world, and I'd use it to my advantage.

I was just going through the motions as I stood there and let Laura pick out a dress for me. It was white and slinky, covering up the important parts but showing enough that it didn't leave much to the imagination.

"Seriously?" I asked as she handed it to me. "And white?"

She shrugged but smiled. "Trust me, the whole white-young-and-innocent thing will help with tips. This is old rich men we are talking about."

I was already regretting this.

Ten minutes later I was dressed, my hair styled in a soft updo, little wisps framing my face, and a light layer of makeup put on. I stared at myself in the mirror, and although I recognized the woman looking back at me, she also seemed like a stranger. This wasn't who I was. This is for the endgame. Save money and get the hell out of here.

I exhaled and was handed a pair of stilettos, which I grudgingly took and slipped on. I looked down at my feet, praying I could not only walk but carry drinks at the same time.

"Gorgeous," Laura said, and I glanced at her reflection in the mirror. "Ready?"

I turned to look at her. She was beautiful as well, with a bloodred dress that ended midthigh and had a slit up the side. She was well-endowed in the chest department—unlike me—and the dress accentuated her breasts.

We left the dressing room and walked down a short hallway before she stopped in front of a closed door. I didn't miss how Boris followed us, an uncomfortable shadow right behind me. After three heavy knocks, a deep voice called out in another language from the other side of the door.

Boris moved in front of Laura and opened the door before stepping aside and letting us in. Laura went in first, me following behind and feeling awfully bare all of a sudden, which had nothing to do with what I wore. The room wasn't overly large, but it was exquisitely decorated. Black leather, sleek dark woods, and very obvious Russian-themed decor.

There was a massive, intimidating desk that sat across from the door, and the man perched behind and the look on his face instantly had warning bells going crazy in my head. My throat tightened at the dark power that clearly surrounded him.

To his right there was a large fireplace, the flames flickering over the faux logs. A black leather couch was situated in front of it and taken up by two men who looked about my age. They were similar in appearance and build, so I was safe to assume they were related to not only each other, but the man behind the desk as well. One of the men, the older of the two, brought a square-cut glass to his mouth, his eyes locked on me as he took a slow sip. A shiver moved up my spine, and I tried to suppress it before turning my attention to the man behind the desk.

Boris said nothing and stepped aside so the man behind the desk could get a good look at Laura and me. She seemed relaxed enough, but I felt this uncomfortable pressure surrounding me all of a sudden. The man didn't hide how he blatantly checked us out.

His eyes seemed very dark—and not in the aspect of color. They just appeared closed off from the world, maybe even his humanity. He leaned back slowly, his leather chair making a soft sound from the shift of weight. For a long second no one spoke as he looked between Laura and me. And then he started speaking in Russian, his voice a smooth, deep timbre.

When the man behind the desk stood, I took an involuntary step back at his size. I immediately regretted showing this weakness and fear, because it didn't go unseen by him, not in the way this glint of amusement filled his eyes.

I heard a little chuckle from one of the men sitting on the couch, but I didn't look over. A survival instinct told me I needed to keep my gaze locked on the man currently advancing on Laura and me.

He stopped in front of Laura first, but I didn't miss how his focus kept flicking toward me. He didn't touch her, but then again, he didn't need to by how strong his gaze was as it moved up and down her body. Laura faced forward, her eyes locked on something straight ahead. It was very clear she had gone through this process before. Was this just something he did for every woman who worked here? It seemed so… wrong.

"Svetlana," he said as he stopped in front of Laura. He nodded to Boris, and Laura stepped back, her face a mask of indifference. Or maybe it was fear.

She put on a completely different persona at this place compared to Sal's. Then again, Sal's was like the juices at the bottom of a dumpster in comparison to this place.

He stepped close to me, and my body tensed involuntarily. The corner of his lips tipped up as if he found it funny… or it pleased him.

"What's your name, dorogoy ?"

I felt light-headed, my heart racing so hard and fast I worried there was a possibility I'd pass out. I licked my lips and whispered, "Lina." He didn't show any facial expressions, just watched me with cold indifference.

"Do you know who I am?" His voice was thickly accented, yet the words were smooth and clear, his English flawless. I slowly shook my head, and that had a smile spreading across his mouth, but it wasn't the type of smile that put someone at ease. If a predator in the wild could grin, I knew this was what it would look like.

"It's always so thrilling when someone doesn't know who I am." The arrogance laced in his words terrified me. "It's Leonid, darling."

He didn't circle me like he had Laura, not at first. He stood just a foot away from me and stared, not speaking anymore, as if he'd made his quota for the day. The weight of his gaze was unsettling. I didn't know what he was looking for, or if he saw the answer to his own question, but after a second he started walking around me in the same process he had for Laura.

I could feel his gaze rake over each part of my body, as if his eyes were fingers and he was touching my calves, the backs of my thighs, my ass, and moving up the length of my spine. He was in front of me again, his focus on my chest, then lower. I stopped myself from covering my breasts and the junction between my legs, because even though I was fully dressed, I felt like this man could see right through the material.

"Svetlana?" one of the men on the couch asked.

He slowly shook his head. " Net ."

A string of Russian was spoken, the man before me holding my focus as if he knew who I truly was, as if he could see my deepest secrets.

He was like Arlo in that regard.

Dangerous.

" Nevinovnyy ." Leonid's voice was low and deep. But sharp… so sharp. " Da ," he said as if answering his own question. "Anastasia."

I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, but Laura took my hand and led me out of the room and back to where the other women and racks of clothing were.

"What's going on?" I finally asked when we stopped, and she faced me. "That was the weirdest damn interview, or whatever the hell that was, I've ever experienced. Who was that man?"

"Leonid Petrov," she said, but I didn't miss the slight tension in her voice. "He owns the bar." Her shoulders relaxed. "And I'm sure a shitload of other places, and big connections, no doubt." She didn't emphasize what she meant, but I got the gist. Connections in the crime world. I glanced around, and I felt like the pressure that had surrounded us when we were in front of Leonid slowly dissipated the longer we were away from him. "Damn, I wish we had gotten the same room together, but we snagged the top two tiers, so good money regardless."

I just shook my head. "This is the weirdest night I've had in a long time."

She snorted, and we both grinned genuinely.

"It's confusing the first time," she finally said. "Each room is named after a woman."

I stifled my eye roll. Of course they are.

"I got Svetlana. You got Anastasia… which is the highest-level tier. It's the one where the most important clients stay. So, in all regards, you hit the motherload for the tip jackpot."

For a moment I thought about just saying never mind and leaving. This was all so weird, and I was definitely an outsider. The women around me speaking Russian and the elite atmosphere solidified that.

I opened my mouth to thank Laura for getting me the job, but I changed my mind when the words froze in my throat as I saw a woman walk in. She held a stack of folded-up bills and proceeded to unroll them and count her very clear tip money.

Holy shit. There are hundred-dollar bills in there. I took a steadying breath and looked at Laura again. I could see by her expression she expected me to bail. Only this one time. If I make enough, this night will be a game changer .

"Okay. Let's do this." Even I could hear how hesitant I sounded.