Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
nyx
Peklo is tucked away in a side street branching off from the city’s main road.
Concealed within the reddish-brown brick exterior that blends in with the rest of the industrial buildings around it.
Up close, that’s where the real motive lies.
Blacked out windows, reinforced with metal bars and pulsing lights and the faint, subtle thump of a beat that grows as we edge closer.
The entrance is a five-minute walk down the narrow side street, hidden from prying eyes.
Above the door, the club’s sign hums with a white and purple neon flow, pulsing in time with the bass now vibrating through the wall.
Outside, clusters of people linger - cigarette smoke curling into the night air as laughter and slurred conversations weave together in a chaotic symphony.
The queue wraps around in a L shape as people wait to gain entry.
Adam and Blitz head up to a bouncer, the guy looking over their ticket before pointing at them to join a queue on one of the farther sides.
It's much smaller - only six people waiting to head in with a purple wristband, instead of the longer wait that the regular clubbers seem to have. Once they’re in, it's mine and Phantom’s turn.
The young guy behind the desk looks bored out of his cranium, lips smacking away as he chews and blows his gum into bubbles, before snapping it back into his mouth.
He wraps my wrist and takes my coat before giving Phantom his band.
Adam turns discreetly, giving us a subtle nod, the silent cue to break off and blend in until we reach the upstairs level.
Blitz and I just need a light press to our earpieces to stay connected, while the guys tap the side of their watches, keeping the movement casual and unnoticeable.
For us girls, it looks like a quick brush of a finger over our ear, the device hidden beneath loose strands of hair.
The club on this floor is already bursting with life.
The layout is a perfect square, booths and tables framing the perimeter, while the dance floor sits slightly sunken at the heart of it all, the DJ booth perched dead center, commanding the beat that drives the night.
It glows, a surreal beacon in the sea of people.
The DJ stands caged behind a mesh barrier, swallowed by swirling smoke and neon lights that pulse and streak through the air.
For a moment, it looks as though the platform is floating.
Four sturdy beams anchor the booth, supporting a raised platform high in the air that functions as a miniature lounge.
People recline against the benches lining the edges, some leaning forward, peering down at the crowd.
Phantom places his hand on my back to lead me through the crowds.
The bar is nestled on the back wall. It glows with the white lighted panels, black marble stretches across it whilst people queue to be served.
We wait about ten minutes until Phantom gets through to order us a drink, I can’t seem to pick out the familiar faces I’m searching for in the blur of swaying people, but then my earpiece crackles to life “Adam and I are heading upstairs, we'll head over to the left and lock down two tables near each other.” Blitz’s voice sounds muffled from here, so I know she’s had to shout slightly over the thumping music.
My ears are going to be ringing in the morning, and not the kind I’m used to that accompanies a spray of bullets.
Phantom leans on the bar, sliding cash over the marble whilst I lean on him, one hand on his shoulder whilst I adjust my heels.
Anyone will think we're just a regular couple on a night out.
When we get to the top of the stairs which are blocked off by purple rope, we show the guy our bands before he nods and lifts the rope to let us through.
The VIP bar mirrors the ground floor in every sense, same placing except the lights pulses with purple.
There's also a vastly more expensive collection of bottles that sprawl the stone wall behind it.
It signals the net worth of the kind of idiots who spent their fortunes for a night spent in this section.
Phantom clocks Adam and Blitz as he leads us past them and heads to the mini booth right behind them.
The middle sections of these balconies have smaller booths fitted for 2-4 people, whilst the outer ones are for larger groups, several of them already filled.
I take my drink and sip at my straw, grimacing when I realize its JD and coke, I fire Phantom a death stare whilst his shoulders shake into himself.
The last time I drank this was when I asked Hawk if he wanted to come back to my room.
All of us thought it was a great idea to polish off two bottles post-deployment.
I swore to every single one of them I'd never drink it again. I kick my foot under the table before shouting “Asshole” at him, pressing my earpiece in for dramatic effect. “Don’t worry, I'll get you a non-alcoholic one next time. Can’t have you going back and trying to sleep with the skipper... again.” I flick my straw at him, because kicking him in the balls would draw too much attention.
We’ve limited ourselves to one, mostly not to raise suspicions.
I press my lips around the plastic straw, my gaze scanning the other side.
The balcony wraps all the way around, on the other side is a mini dance floor which has a TV on the wall, showing the inside of the DJ booth.
My eyes shift to the middle platform - a walkway connects from just behind our seats with an identical one mirrored on the opposite side.
It has gates instead of ropes, and is distinctly, strictly off limits as two men stand guard on either side, occasionally glaring down at the crowd below.
The lighting here is lower, and hazy, making it nearly impossible to render the figures seated there.
But the numbers speak volumes. A large group is gathered, and positioned deliberately.
This must be where Volokov resides. Why else station four guards at each entrance if not to protect someone important.
The moody lighting outlines the shadows of silhouettes of those inside, only able to get a rough outline if I study hard enough.
I turn back to chat to Phantom, ensuring I'm not lingering long enough to get us noticed.
My finger brushes the earpiece as I lean over to Phantom to alert the team, “I’m gonna grab a mixer to dilute this, do you want another?
I’m gonna check out what’s through that door behind the bar.
” He subtly presses his watch like he's readjusting it.
“Sure, I'll keep watch here.” Grabbing my clutch, I head over to the bar, giving the girl my order as she nods, “I just need to head through the back and get a new bottle, is that okay?” I smile at her and take a seat.
She disappears through the back, just as a prickling awareness settles over me.
An old, familiar feeling of eyes scorching over me ignites my skin.
My neck tingles, instincts kicking in, and I drag a hand over my hair - Paranoia.
He's not here. I doubt he’s close enough to run into him like that - but then again, what do I truly know about him.
The feeling creeps back, sharper this time, causing my body to sizzle with electricity.
I bite the bullet, shifting as if merely adjusting the placement of my dress as I stand.
When I turn my head to the side, a male who appears to be in his late thirties, deep tanned skin from what looks like hours in the sun and messy blonde hair has decided to join me.
I give a smile that doesn’t reach the corners before I face forward again.
Not today, Satan, not today. He leans over and puts his hand on my shoulder, I bite the inside of my cheek to stop me twisting his hand in a way that he’d need it amputated.
That would be a sure way of blowing the mission early.
I raise my brow turning to him as he leans over to speak to me in Russian.
Excellent. I look up at him and shake my head and shrug, making his arm slide down my side as I say, “Sorry, I don’t understand.
” Hopeful that gets him out of my kill zone due to an unfortunate language barrier.
“Ah, you speak English. You're American?” Fuck sake.
I strain to give him another small smile, the polite phrase of fuck off, ready to roll off my tongue instead of using my elbow to eject his jaw from the hooks.
“Yes, I am, I'm here with my boyfriend.” My inner demon’s pacing like a caged prize-fighter, itching to get her hands on the idiot that stands before me.
I’m being a reluctant referee - if she breaks loose, she's fighting dirty.
“Your boyfriend leaves a pretty girl at the bar alone?
Doesn't sound like a very good one to me.” A smile slowly creeps over his face, like he thinks he's charming me.
Breathe, Nyx. Breathe. “I can look after myself.” Giving him one last deathly smile, just as the bartender comes back and apologizes profusely, looking flustered as she pours the drinks I ordered.
I go to grab the cash out of my purse, but the stranger holds out his hand to stop me, turning his attention to the bartender. “Put it on Volokov's tab - we'll get it.” Turning to wink at me. Bingo - he's here.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that, really.” I say as I try to hand him the cash.
“No, I insist. You can tell your boyfriend I took care of it for you.” His eyes give me one last once over before he heads over to the right side, the guards opening the gate to let him in without hesitation.