Chapter 85 - Celia #2
I patted the outside of my boot, feeling for the knife I’d hidden inside. I didn’t need a gun for this. I would have to do it from up close. I always knew that I would have to, and in a way, I needed that. Now I just needed to get to the boss man.
I slipped my hand into my bra, feeling for the tiny zip lock bag that contained my secret weapon for tonight.
I took a deep breath and sent a silent prayer to Santisima.
I walked out of the bathroom, turning back into the hallway and headed towards the stage when a cocktail waitress passed by me with a single drink on her tray.
“Is that for the boss?” I stuck my arm out in front of her and she looked at me with an anxious and hesitant expression.
“He said you were taking too long, asked me to come get it for him myself. Probably better you don’t bother him right now unless—”
“No, take it!” She pushed the circular tray towards me, and I nodded, giving a sympathetic smile while she headed back towards the main area with the stage.
I rushed down the hallway, unsure which one of the doors would be Sokolov’s but knowing I had a limited amount of time to find him.
I pulled the baggy from my tit-pocket and opened it up, pouring the powder into the drink and stirring it with my finger until it dissolved into the vodka clear liquid once again.
Alright. Deep breath, he’s just a man. All men can be killed, that’s the one thing they all have in common. I picked the door all the way at the end of the hall, knowing it would be easier to go back the way I came if someone caught me.
But fate was good to me now.
After all, the bitch knew she owed me for a lifetime of pain.
He sat in his leather chair behind a desk, as if he were doing the most important work in this ever elite establishment. He was busy on his phone, not bothering to look up as I set the heavy glass in front of him.
“Your drink,” I said, turning around and reaching for the door handle.
“You’re new,” he said, making me question whether it was a statement or if he was waiting for me to confirm.
Was he so well involved in his business that he would know every bar girl walking around here in his cheap underwear he bought by the masses? Would he recognize my face when I turned around? Would he remember me?
“Y-yes,” I answered nervously, turning around and smiling through pressed lips.
“All the new girls have to give me a dance. You haven’t given me one yet.” He licked his lips, staring me up and down as he put his phone on the desk.
Just drink the fucking vodka pendejo.
“W-well, I’m working,” I blurted out hoping it would be enough to thwart any suspicion.
“You work for me,” he reminded me. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Susan.” I smiled, remembering his younger daughter’s name was similar and watching to see if there was any change in his expression.
Nothing.
“Dance, Susan. Remind me why I keep you well fed and paid.” He sat back into the chair, forcing it to recline a bit.
He turned up the volume of the small speaker that sat on the corner of his desk, the same early 2000s soft metal playing out on the main area crackled from it.
I swayed my hips from side to side, walking towards him one foot at a time between sensual movements that went along with the beat.
I ran my hands through my hair before dropping them down to my chest.
If he were any other man, I’d be riddled with insecurities and shaking from self-consciousness.
But he wasn’t going to survive to tell the tale of the Latina who couldn’t dance well, and the closer I got the more I realized that wasn’t what he was thinking at all.
He licked his lips in a suggestive way and spun his chair to the side, away from his desk to give me room to climb over him.
I turned around and folded in half, touching my ankles and shaking my ass directly in his face while he made low hums of approval. The song switched to Aerosmith’s ‘Walk This Way’ just as he pressed his face to my crack and took a real-time grown man sniff.
I paused, mortified before continuing to move my hips like I wasn’t eighteen kinds of uncomfortable. I flinched at the feel of his hands as they gripped my cheeks and squeezed hard just as I came back up.
“You better get used to men touching you sweetheart,” he said in his sharp accent. “Otherwise you’ll be back on the streets soon,” he threatened, letting me know that even the employees in this hellscape were hardly there by choice.
I turned to face him, knowing I was risking him recognizing me by giving him the time to stare, but not once did his eyes move up from my chest even when I climbed onto his lap to straddle him.
I took the opportunity to grab his glass from the table, grinding onto his erection to keep him focused on me until I poured it into his mouth.
He moaned, swallowing the drink as I licked up droplets from the corner of his lips hoping it wouldn’t be enough to fuck me up on the drug.
His hands ran up my sides and he cupped my breasts over my bra, squeezing too hard without care.
I fought a wince, biding my time until the heroin kicked into his system.
I had no idea how long it would take, but I trusted Dominico when he said he gave me enough to tame a lion.
Sokolov wasn’t a lion but I knew his obsession with using the drug meant he not only peddled it himself, he favored it.
I knew the drug world well, and I wasn’t above it.
I knew as the leader of the cártel I would suffer serious losses if I refused to distribute them.
The thing was… drugs weren’t the problem.
It was society’s response to it. It was the way addiction was handled with either a prison sentence or death.
People like Sokolov depended on addicts falling prey to these drugs so that he could keep them in his vicious cycle of imprisonment.
I saw the look in the cocktail waitress’ eyes when I told her the boss was angry.
Sure there was fear, but the hazy look in her stare told me she wasn’t fully here either.
I remembered the feeling well. The song switched again to something with a hard beat that I didn’t recognize, and the Russian crime lord pulled me closer against him, pushing my hips down into his unimpressively semi-soft erection.
My legs dropped from the sides of the chair, so I arched my back, pressing my tits into his face to distract him from my hands reaching into my boot for my knife.
His eyes drooped and he leaned his head back into the chair, but in the same motion it fell down like it was too heavy for him to control.
I smirked. Gracias Dominico. Maybe it was daddy issues, but in a way, I seemed to find a paternal-type bond through him.
One that didn’t require lessons in a torture chamber.
I wasn’t angry at my papá. He did what he thought was right, and in a way, all his teachings helped me to survive, molded me to become who I am today.
But I also knew it was my duty to make sure a child was never robbed of their innocence in the way that I was.
President Ramírez’s request wasn’t outrageous, and it was something I intended to do myself once I had been fully established as the sole head of the cártel.
I gripped his short blond hair tightly in between my fingers and yanked his head up, his eyes struggling to blink open as I brought my face as close to his as possible.
“Remember me?” I purred into his ear while looking into his eyes and waiting for the acknowledgement to flash through them.
His eyes narrowed as he tried to piece together who I was but either he was too high from the possibly lethal dose of heroin I’d drugged him with, or I’d really just been a blip in his life. I still had nightmares from his cage and the pendejo couldn’t even be bothered to remember my face.
“Where is Carolina Flores?” I gritted out, yanking his head hard with one hand while the other fished inside my boot for the knife.
Finally that spark of recognition lit up in his pupils, and just then gunshots rang out outside the door.