Page 31 of The Game

“He’s a narcissist,” I say lowly in Russian, knowing my cousins and Fordson can hear. On cue, Nick speaks.

“How can you tell so quickly?” he asks, scoffing at me. If my brother Nikolai can see everything, I can sense it. We’re a deadly combination.

“He’s furious we’re not fawning over his establishment,” I answer as we’re ushered forward. Feliks answers me, spitting bullshit so it sounds like we’re the ones conversing.

“Any sign of her?”

Rolling my eyes, I sweep them around the space again, but only a few women with trays clack by, none of them noteworthy, none of them sporting that shade of hair that had made my heart squeeze and my cock swell.

“No. Now leave me alone.”

They do, knowing better than to disobey even the slightest order from me. Up the wide steps we go, our table halfway up, and right in the middle. The best view. Seating myself, I wave off the owner, a man whose name I did not bother to remember. He’ll be dead soon. Every man here will be dead soon. If all threads between Violet’s disappearance and Ellie’s gang rape continue to point to this fucking shithole, Nick and I will have to fight one another for the chance to end the perpetrators.

And if any of them have touched a hair on little Alice’s head, I know my cousins will do their worst. I hope for their sake she is worth the trouble.

My men order drinks but we do not touch them, distrusting everyone here. The shows begin, and yet the woman I was promised is not here. My distemper grows to the point of explosion as the man in the center swallows a flame and casts us all in darkness.

Sneering at the sight, I stand quickly and button my jacket, my men following suit.

“Stay put.”

They sit back down without hesitation, knowing I am capable of handling myself. They’re just for show, really. The thought makes me smirk as I find my way down to the ground floor. With everyone distracted, I’ll be able to snoop. If that fucker or any other questions me, it will be the last thing they do.

Following the glowing exit signs that paint the women’s skin a reddish glow, my feet lead me to a back hallway, ill-lit, stuffy. Checking once over my shoulder, I collapse the handle as softly as possible and further my explorations.

“Anything?”

“I’ll crush this fucking mic under my heel if you speak again,vy ponimayete?” I hiss. The scuffle on the other end tells me Jameson is likely subduing his twin.

The hallway is empty but filled with the cloying scent of too much hairspray and perfume. I know it well in thanks to Natalia. All the women seem to be on the floor working, until the distinct tenor of a man’s voice booms from a cracked doorway. Muscles tensing in preparation, I follow the noise until words form in the thick, humid air.

“No, no, baby doll, you’re going to tell me who you are, and then you’re going to bend over this couch and let me fuck you raw.”

How original. Using the shiny toe of my shoe, I tap the door open. It squeaks on rusty hinges, and in the soft golden lighting from five or so mirrors, that vibrant orange hair is there, singing to me like a siren in the ocean. My heart rate doubles as my cock swells to the point it presses painfully against the prison of my zipper. Mouth salivating, I do not notice anything save for the petite woman pinned against the wall, a graying man in an ill-tailored suit gripping her flushed neck as tears spill over her pale cheeks.

“Holy fucking shit…Aria…” Nick hisses in my ear, ripping me from fantasizing about making those little pouty lips cry and scream my name as I fuck her into oblivion. “Goddamn it! Get her the fuck out of there.”

I’d planned to anyway, but for selfish purposes not even Nick will be able to save her from. Raising my fist, I press my knuckles into my palm to crack them, alerting the drunk man to my presence. He whirls, tottering and red in face—an alcoholic. Judging by the blue shade of his eyes, this man is the owner’s son. The son of a narcissist, an alcoholic burying his feelings of never being good enough for dear old dad. God, this is too fucking easy.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he slurs as the little woman’s eyes widen in utter fear when they land on my face. Her features are soft, delicate, pink lips and apricot brows set in pastel contrast to her pale face, her chin narrow, the bluish tint of her veins throbbing in her neck. His grimy hand mars her flesh in more ways than most would notice, but I see the redness, the way fingerprint bruises will form, the smudge of cigar ash from his thumb transferring to her perfect, almost translucent skin.

And then there are her eyes, a startling shade I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing before. A shiver runs through me, sending chills erupting over every inch of skin my soul inhabits. Sea foam, an exquisite coupling of blue and green, so light they verge on mint. Her clothing is simple, black long sleeve shirt, a hole patched on her elbow, and an old, tattered pair of black jeans with black rain boots. From little means, tiny, so tiny—malnourished, skittish.

Submissive.

My smile grows.

“Take your hand off my woman.”

He snorts.

“Your woman? She snuck in! Little bitch is poking around—”

“Did you not fucking hear me?” I hiss, dropping my smile as I step forward. He immediately releases her, his own face going slack as he backs away and holds up his palms.

From the corner of my eye, I watch as the woman shrinks, gasping, but otherwise making no sound.

“I didn’t know she was with you!”

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