Page 6 of Sinful Games

The old man reached into his pocket and retrieved a small plastic bag filled with fine white powder. He presented it with aknowing grin.

"The best of the best. One shot, and you're addicted for life," he chuckled.

I shifted to face him, my back pressed against the cold window.

The room's dimly lit ambiance seemed to grow more ominous with every word spoken.

I scoffed. "How d’you know?"

A somber shadow passed across his wrinkled face as he leaned in closer, as if about to share a dark secret. "The last man I sold it to, well, he sold me his daughter for a second shot. Tragic, really. He died just two days later. Overdose."

Igor, never one to pass up an opportunity, interjected with a glint of interest in his eyes. "And his daughter? What became of her?"

He probably asked that to add another woman to his realm of prostitutes.

“Dead.” Mankiev’s smile grew sinister, and a chill seemed to settle in the room, colder even than the winter outside. “Suicide.”

That fucking bastard probably forced himself on her.

Anger rose in my throat.

"I'll send you twenty kilos tomorrow night," he continued. “Caia is bringing the contract. I forgot it at home.”

Caia?

Who the fuck was Caia?

I met Volk’s confused eyes just as three small, shy knocks met the door.

The door creaked open, and the same girl I had been watching on the street earlier entered the room. Her long chestnut hair framed her face like a curtain, and she was still dressed in her black furry coat and ushanka.

Fuck, she’s hot.

Kristian rose from his seat, his movements surprisingly aggressive, and took the contract from Caia’s hands with force.

“This is Caia, my only daughter,” he said curtly.

Daughter?

It seemed fucking inconceivable that a man like that old bastard would have such a beautiful daughter. It was a bizarre twist of fate, a twisted blessing that felt almost like a mockery.

I couldn’t help but observe the delicate features of her hands, painted with red nails, her slightly pursed lips, and her shy, evasive green eyes.

I sauntered over to her, my eyes locked onto hers, and confidently took her hand in mine, planting a soft, teasing kiss on it.

Our eyes remained locked as I whispered, "Zdravstvuyte, Caia. I’m Alexsei Romaniev."

She quickly withdrew her hand, taking a step back as she shyly greeted everyone in the room. Her gaze shifted around the space, avoiding mine and preferring the floor.

"Kristian, how dare you disturb your poor daughter in the middle of the night? Don’t you have men for that?" Igor asked with disdain, taking a sip from his glass. "Where’s your gentlemanly conduct?"

We all knew why that miserable bastard brought his daughter into this godforsaken mess, flaunting her like some circus sideshow. He aimed to manipulate us, exploiting her charms to wiggle his way out of the muck he'd buried himself in.

In this world, countless men, or bitches as I like to call them, would peddle the women in their lives to secure their desires or save themselves from death, cementing their places as spineless cunts. And that damned old bastard had just enrolled in the school of bitches, adding another wretched chapter to his miserable legacy.

I watched her closely, feeling a pang of pity. She was nothing but a pawn in her father's evil game.

I guess that was her fucking fate for having Mankiev as her fucking father.

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