Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
We finally reached the stairs and began climbing, spiraling our way up around the edge of the club. The stairs were slippery with spilled drinks and cluttered with people sitting on them: security would pass by and make everyone get up and as soon as they were gone, everyone would sit back down again. The club was just too full, there was nowhere else to sit. And some of the people on the stairs weren’t capable of standing anyway, either drunk or drugged. It was slow going and the stairs seemed to go on forever: by the time we got to the final flight, my joints felt like they’d been packed with salt. Then I tripped over someone’s handbag strap and went down face-first. Spartak caught my handcuff chain just in time, and I snapped to a stop with my face an inch from the stairs. “Say thank you,” he told me as he hauled me upright.
I stood there panting and shaken, looking up at him. He was intimidatingly big and with my hands trapped behind me, I felt completely defenseless. “Thank you,” I managed.
He leered at my breasts, and we moved on, the panic notching higher and higher in my chest.
At last, we reached the glass-walled room at the top. A blond-haired guy in a blue suit who I assumed ran the club lounged in a chair, using a gold credit card to chop a line of coke. He scrambled to stand up when Spartak walked in. I recognized Liliya, Spartak’s wife, effortlessly graceful in a white dress that looked like it was made of leather. When she saw me, being pushed along in front of Spartak, her face softened for a second. Then she quickly looked away. Her lower lip was swollen and puffy on one side, as if she’d been punched, and I felt the anger flare in my chest.
Spartak strolled in behind me, then gave me a push that sent me stumbling into a corner. “Radimir will be here soon,” he announced. He pointed to the guy in the blue suit. “Make sure he’s searched. Twice. Then have your men bring him up here.”
Spartak’s bodyguards took out their guns and checked them. I stared at them, my heart slamming harder and harder against my chest. They’re going to execute him right here. He’d walk in and Spartak would give the order and he’d be dead—
Unless I did something. I looked across at Spartak, who’d pulled Liliya to him and was kissing her hard, which must have been agony with her bruised mouth. She was standing there passively, letting him maul her, but behind her back I could see her digging her fingernails into her palms.
I swallowed. I could feel the instinctual dread I always got around Spartak twisting in my stomach, telling me to stay right where I was. He could hurt me. Or worse. But I had to do this.
I summoned up every bit of Bratva Queen energy I could muster...and marched over there, head high. “Mr. Nazarov, listen to me, please,” I said desperately. I figured he’d like being called Mr. Nazarov.
Spartak broke the kiss and looked at me. I tried to ignore the way his eyes roamed over my breasts.
“There’s something you don’t know,” I told him. “When...Radimir killed your brother, it was because he’d been ordered to. Someone fooled us, they pretended to be one of The Eight and told us to kill Borislav.” I looked up at him imploringly. “They did it so that exactly this would happen, we’d wind up in a war with you. We are not your enemy! Whoever fooled us, they’re the ones you should be mad at.” Spartak was glaring down at me, furious, and all I wanted to do was slink away, but I kept my eyes on his. “You should join us, not fight us! Help us figure out who did this! Look...I know you’re hurting because of your brother.” I shook my head gently. “I can’t even imagine what that must be like. But please…help us find out who’s really responsible. And you can have your revenge against the right person.”
I stared up at him breathlessly, tears in my eyes. I searched his face for any sign it had worked…
And then he burst out laughing. A great big belly laugh that smelled of vodka and cigars. I stood there staring, completely thrown.
“Look at you!” he spluttered. He fisted my hair and yanked my head back painfully. “The brave little bookseller. Gets some fancy clothes and thinks she’s Bratva. Giving speeches! I heard it was even you who talked Konstantin around: on your knees, I assume.”
I stared up at him. My face had gone scalding hot. All the insecurities I’d fought my way through were suddenly back. Of course you’re not a fucking Bratva Queen. Spartak’s bodyguards were laughing at me, too. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. Only Liliya was looking on in sympathy.