Page 4 of Dark Truths

“I hope so. I heard he likes to pick a random girl from the audience to partake in the show if she wants. And who wouldn’tsay yes? He’s like a God in human form. And those tattoos? Girl, I’d jump his bones in a heartbeat.”

I fight back a snort. If they knew who Dimitri Volkov really is, they’d be discussing something entirely different. Like maybe how he’s the head captain and right-hand man of Sergei Mikailhov, the Pakhan and leader of the Russian Bratva here in Miami. The man is as cold as ice…or so I’ve been told. Our limited interactions consist only of High Table functions where I’ve been polite only in greeting. But I will agree with the pair of girls on one thing. He is hot as fuck. Sinfully hot. Dark hair like midnight with a pale complexion, and a pair of the most ice-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Not to mention, the figure he cuts in a suit isn’t too shabby either, and I’ve often wondered myself how far the tattoos that peek out from his top really go.

I turn toward the girls and lean my hip against the counter. “Hey there.” They turn to me and their glassy expressions tell me they’re either a little drunk or a little drugged. Maybe both. So, with nothing better to do tonight, I ask, “When’s this show?”

2

Dimitri

There’s an old Cherokee tale about how two wolves live within a person. One light and one dark. And the one that wins is the one you feed the most.

I’ve always liked the story, but I call bullshit on that part.

Just as the sun needs the moon, a person is made of both light and dark and cannot be defined by only one. It’s all about balance between the qualities. If you feed only one, you starve the other to the point where animosity and jealousy grows and becomes uncontrollable. But if you feed them both, there’s a peace inside you. One that will guide your decisions and actions.?

It’s a battle I struggle with because every day that passes in this God-forsaken place is another day where the dark wolf in me wins that little bit more. I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I went undercover. What was meant to be a simple mission, get in, gather the intel and get out, has transformed into something else entirely. Some days, I don’t even recognize theman staring back at me in the mirror, while other times, it feels like I’m looking at the most real thing in my life.

“Boss?” I open my eyes and meet the gaze of my driver staring at me in the rear-view mirror. “We’re here.”

I divert my gaze to the blood red neon sign that spells out thePlayground, visible through the tinted car window. My mind was so consumed by my thoughts, I didn’t even realize where we were. I value these precious moments alone in the car. I need them. These brief respites allow me to shed my forced persona, and gives me a moment to fight back the dark wolf that’s always creeping closer, ready to consume the last scrap of goodness in me—if there’s any left by now. Honestly, it’s debatable. Especially considering how there is literal blood on my hands.

“Have Alexei bring me a spare suit,” I order while I examine the fresh bloodstains on my shirt sleeves. I’ll need a shower too. It’s a good thing then that my office is essentially a small apartment.

“Yes, boss.” My driver gets out of the car and hurries around to open my door. A custom that took some getting use to.

As I climb out of the car, I rise to my full height and survey the packed street. I enjoy seeing a crowd outside the doors, not that thePlaygroundever lacks for guests. There’s a primal urge in every person who desires to witness the exotic and the illusive. There’s a deep desire to be embraced by the dark inside them. Where the forbidden pleasures that allure them can be explored and indulged in without fear of judgment. That’s what thePlaygroundrepresents. What it gives people. What it gives me. Inside these walls, I’m just a man trying to distract myself from the reality of who I am outside this place—Dimitri Volkov, the powerful head captain of the Russian Bratva in Miami—and how my former identity as Dimitri Clark, an undercover FBI agent, continues to fade away into obscurity.?

The bouncers open the doors for me, and the sensual atmosphere envelops me the moment I step inside, like a warm hug that strips the weight off my shoulders for another day. As I expect, Alexei waits for me in my office. In my chair. With his feet on my desk. Drinking my vodka. The little shit.

“Ah! There he is. The man of the hour,” Alexei greets me with his signature half-cocked grin before he takes a giant swing from his glass.

I stride over and shove his boot clad feet off my desk. With a laugh, he stands and moves away, only to perch on the corner of the large piece of furniture.

“I brought you your spare suit, Your Highness.” He points toward where a black garment bag hangs off a door hook.

Sarcasm. How unsurprising from the Russian. Alexei is my second, just as I am Sergei’s. It’s a position I never desired or wanted to reach but was forced to when the information I was sent undercover to get wasn’t available to a low foot soldier. I thought that once I uncovered the identities of the High Table leaders, this hell would be over.?But I was wrong. Special Agent Ford…no, sorry, Director Ford now was quick to give me new orders. Since there’s never been an agent so close to the top before, the FBI is taking full advantage of it. They want as much as I can gather until I’m told otherwise. Ford’s words, not mine. So until then, I’m forced to continue portraying this persona of a man I never thought I could be, a man I’m good at being and…a man I secretly like being, too.

“Does the Bratva Prince require anything else?” Alexei continues to poke. “Need someone to scrub your back for you? Give you a quick rub down before the show?”

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest, settling Alexei with an amused look. “Are you offering?” I’m acutely aware that I’m poking a hot fire with a gasoline-soaked stick. Alexei is far from shy when it comes to physical desires; heknows exactly what he likes, and that often extends beyond just women.

“You know you only have to ask, Dimi,” he teases with a wink. I hate that nickname, and he knows it. Just like how he knows full good and well that our relationship has never been, nor will it ever cross the line of friendship. Alexei is the only man I trust completely in the Bratva. As impossible as that seems. As wrong as it should be, but I do. He knows me in all the ways that matter, minus the single most important details. That I’m an undercover federal agent and will one day be responsible for sending him and others to jail. Something tells me that small detail will ruin our friendship. And the very idea of that day pains me because while the things Alexei does for the Bratva are dark…he’s really not a bad guy at all in the grand scheme of things. If I can somehow protect him from the aftermath, I’m going to try. For all the times he has saved my life, he deserves that much.

“Keep wishing,” I say back before grabbing the bottle of vodka and pouring myself a double.

“So, how did the sale go?” Alexei asks, changing the subject back to more serious matters. His eyes snag on the blood staining my clothes. “Not well?”

I down the glass with a hiss between my teeth before responding. “Words were exchanged over price, but the Ukraine mob will be exclusively pushing a new formula of ecstasy by the end of the month.”

“Igor will be pleased,” Alexei remarks under his breath.

I bristle at the name of Sergei’s younger brother and the largest pain in my ass. Recently, he’s been trying to prove himself to his brother by encroaching on my role, doubting my decisions, and causing his brother to question my business choices. “I couldn’t give a fuck what pleases that fat waste of space.”

My timing is perfect. Alexei, who had been in the middle of taking a sip of his drink, snorts at my crude yet honest opinion causing alcohol to come flying out of his nose. “Motherfucker!” he shouts. “Shit, that burns.” Wiping at his face with a napkin, he scowls at me. “Jesus, give a man a heads-up next time, will you?” Standing, he turns his attention to his soiled clothes. “Great. Now, I have to go change.”?

Instead of leaving to do so, though, he sets his glass down and promptly strips out of his button-down shirt, exposing his pale chest. Alexei is tall with a lean boxer build and just like me, he’s covered in tattoos. He keeps his hair short, and the dark brown color matches his eyes. The low light of my office catches on the silver ring piercing his brow. The sight of it tells me he hasn’t been in the fighting pit tonight. It’s the first thing he takes off and the last thing he puts back on…if he even remembers to do it.

“Get out of here, Alexei,” I order. “We have a show to prepare for.”

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