Chapter 3 - Mikhail
Mikhail hated to get drunk because in his book, drunkenness equaled vulnerability. But tonight, he was making an exception. Tonight he wanted to get as drunk as a wheelbarrow, and what better place to indulge than in his own club?
At least here his men were all over the place and they would protect him from anyone looking to take advantage of his soon-to-be inebriated state.
Or would they? that little voice that had ensured his survival all these years whispered in his head.
Pondering the loyalty of his men made Mikhail’s thoughts swing to Dmitri, and his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand in remembered fury. Dmitri had been one of his oldest men, but he’d killed the bastard with his own hands and enjoyed every minute of it. He had made certain to rip off his cock first, before proceeding to put him out of his misery with a bullet in his heart.
It had been a nasty task, but if he hadn’t punished and killed Dmitri after finding him fucking Alena, his reputation would have been shot all to hell and no one would respect him or his Bratva ever again.
Alena had been another matter. The cheating bitch had been sobbing her heart out over Dmitri and yet he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to murder her in cold blood, despite how much she deserved it.
Three months later, he could still hear her sobs, and it twisted something inside of him whenever he remembered that her tears had been for another man.
He’d had her shipped off to the most remote island he owned in Asia, and kept her under house arrest in a house that was little more than a dungeon, with only female bodyguards to watch over her. This way, he could be sure she wouldn’t try to seduce her guards into letting her go.
For good measure, he’d also planted a chip in her shin that helped him track her every location. If she went so much as two feet outside the front door, he would get an alert on his phone.
Mikhail looked over at the woman on the barstool at his left and watched her cower at whatever it was she saw in his eyes. Smart woman.
She was a vivaciously pretty redhead. Too bad—she was just the sort of woman to get a man so entangled in her web that he didn’t know which end was up anymore. She was even prettier and younger than Alena, which probably meant she would be a hell of a lot more trouble to whatever poor sod was currently shacking up with her.
Was her current lover really a poor sod, or a lucky bastard? Mikhail wondered as he considered her soft, feminine body with its curves in all the right places. Her skin seemed to be begging for a man’s hands to reach out and caress it.
She was so incredibly beautiful that, against his better judgment, he could feel his dick stirring in arousal and interest, until it was fully engorged and pressing against his fly with insistence.
Mikhail had dated a good number of very sexy women in the past, but he didn’t think he’d ever met one as seductive and alluring as the redhead. Something about her made him feel as lustful as a teenager.
The thought made his teeth grind together in anger. The last thing he needed was any woman in his life. After Alena, he’d taken an intense dislike to the fairer gender and he liked it just fine that way. He hadn’t had sex in the three months since Alena’s betrayal and he hadn’t felt the need to have sex either.
Until now, his subconscious whispered.
“Dotty, a large shot of whiskey if you please,” he called to the bartender, extending his glass toward her and turning his back on the redhead.
Dotty bowed, moving with a speed and efficiency that belied her plus-sized frame as she poured a fresh glass of whiskey for him.
A greasy-looking man with shifty eyes sauntered over to the redhead and lifted his glass in a mock toast. “To late nights, and to beautiful women who moan just right.”
Mikhail made a mental note to have a word with the men at the doors about the sort of people they were letting in these days. Greasy had a certain look about him, guaranteed to make anyone with an ounce of self-preservation uncomfortable.
The redhead recoiled visibly, leaning away from the smell of alcohol that clung to the man. Mikhail didn’t blame her; it almost seemed as though Greasy had bathed in the stuff.
The redhead rose to her feet in one fluid motion, carrying her wine glass in one hand and holding her purse in the other. As she turned to walk away, her left hand was extended away from her body in an apparent attempt to keep from jostling the wine glass too much and spilling the liquid.
Deftly, with a move of his hand so fast it was practically a blur, Greasy tossed a pill into the woman’s glass. It sank immediately to the bottom and dissolved in an instant.
Mikhail had seen it happen so many times, but he’d always thought no one was stupid enough to try it in any of his clubs. Apparently, Greasy here had a death wish, or he just hadn’t gotten the memo.
Mikhail moved so fast that no one saw him coming. His fist slammed into Greasy’s meaty jaw, lifting the other man clean off his feet and knocking him back against a table.
People scrambled out of the way shrieking while the redhead gawked at him as though stupefied.
“What the hell?” she demanded.
Mikhail ignored her. He positioned himself above the fallen man as he snapped out a command. “Get up!”
His words cracked like a whiplash.
The other man was already rising to his feet, agitated and ready to do violence. Mikhail spied his men stepping out of the shadows, preparing to charge the man, but he gave a small shake of his head and they withdrew.
He needed this fight. He’d been simmering with a slow-burning rage eating away like acid at his insides ever since he’d found Alena in Dmitri’s arms. His anger needed an outlet and drinking wasn’t it.
His hands were balled into ready fists as he waited for Greasy to get into position.
“You’ll regret that,” Greasy mouthed, raising his ham-sized fists in the classic sign of a man ready to punch the lights out of his opponent. “Gonna wipe this floor with your fuckin’ face.”
Mikhail let his lips curve in a wide grin. “I’d like to see you try. I’m just glad you didn’t pass out at my first punch. I’ve got a sound trashing in store for you and you’re going to take it like a man.”
Greasy charged toward him. Mikhail swung viciously with his fist, putting the entirety of his rage behind that one blow as he let it slam straight into the other man’s nose.
The nose broke with an audible crunch and Greasy howled. But before he could crumple to the ground, Mikhail gave Greasy a good kick to his nether regions and the man’s wail became a high-pitched screech.
As Greasy hit the floor, his eyes rolled back in his head and then the entire bar erupted in applause, led by Mikhail’s men.
Mikhail looked around, belatedly realizing that he and the other man had unwittingly become the center of attention. He always liked to keep a low profile in such crowds as a security measure. It was smarter that way, because then you saw the enemy before they saw you.
There was no help for it now though; he’d attracted attention whether he wanted it or not. He looked over at the redhead. She was standing very still, watching him with owlish eyes that suddenly made him feel very paternal and protective of her.
His eyes narrowed on the glass still clutched absently in her hand, and he walked up to her and took the glass from her. He tossed the contents onto the prone body of the unconscious man on the floor who had attempted to drug her, and then handed off the glass to a hovering Dotty.
Then he looked back at the woman he had just saved. She was watching him very carefully, as though she still expected him to do something else.
Her eyes were sparkling with some sort of banked fire and suddenly he had a vision of all the naughty ways a woman like this could thank him for saving her from Greasy and his plans for her.
Mikhail let his lips quirk to the side in a boyish grin. “You have something to say to me?”
She nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
Before he could guess her intent, she crashed her open palm against his cheek, drawing gasps of surprise and shock from his men and everyone in the bar.
Mikhail carefully placed his emotions under lock and key and remained as still as a statue while he waited for the explanation that was no doubt coming.