Page 13 of Sinful Promise

“Yeah, it’s late. We’ll get a car in the morning and arrive at the church early so we can watch everyone who walks in or out. Maybe we can figure out who’s connected to whom.”

“You read my mind.” I open the hotel door, and we enter. The hum of the window-unit air conditioner greets us, but I’m used to roughing it when I’m tracking someone. I know how to infiltrate neighborhoods and get in and out without being noticed.

Once I make sure the room is secure, I use my burner phone and text Nikolay to inform him of our plan to run surveillance on Ratmim tomorrow. It’s late, but he can read the text in the morning.

Life in the bratva has changed over the years. We know cybercrime is the easiest way to make money, and it can’t be traced. We delve into many seedy practices to make our money, like extorting money from local businesses, running drugs, and selling weapons. Danger lurks around every corner. We have to watch our backs at all times, especially around our business associates and the powers that run our neighborhoods.

The upside to wealth is that it gives us things others don’t have. I’m not going to complain about the nice home we live in or being able to afford the delicacies we eat and the alcohol we consume. In fact, it’s very profitable to smuggle cognac into the country. There’s a rising demand for it among the nouveau riche.

I have the freedom to travel. I can lease airplanes and afford a private jet.

I plug my phone into a charger and sit on the worn bed to pull off my boots, which I place neatly under the clothing rack. I packed a change of shirts and boxers because we’re only going to be here a few days. I open my duffel bag, remove a bag of toiletries, and carry it into the bathroom.

“What do you want to watch?” Alex has the remote and is clicking channels.

“Nothing. Whatever you want.”

I turn the shower on to warm the water. The tub has seen better days and seems to be held together with copious amounts of caulk and paint. I pull the white curtain aside and test the water. Deciding it’s warm enough, I undress and step in. After washing my hair and body, I dry off with a thin, scratchy towel barely big enough to wrap around my waist. I rub the steam off the mirror and stare at my reflection.

I carry no extra weight, so it’s easy to make out the muscles in my arms, chest, and abs. The ladies seem particularly attracted to the deep V muscles that point to my groin. I can thank the trainer who comes to the house a few times a week. I hate the pain of box jumps, but it’s good for core strength training. I moan and groan during the workout, but I like the results.

The towel is still around my waist when I return to the room. I drop it on the floor, not giving a damn, as the carpet is old, threadbare, and stained. A floor is the least of my concerns. I slide into the cool, crisp sheets. The room is a dump, but the bed sheets are clean, even if the mattress is lumpy. We’re off the radar in a hole that no one cares about. And that’s how we do these undercover missions.

I stare absentmindedly at the box TV to pass the time. Everything broadcasted is garbage. It’s ridiculous what passes as entertainment, and I hate the rating labels on shows and all the warnings of smoking and violence. Hell, even if you’re lucky enough to stumble across an iconic show with lots of profanity, there’s no movie left by the time they bleep out the saucy bits and make it “family-friendly.” I don’t have a family, and I say fuck that. Where do I get a say in how I want my movies delivered to me? I’m not a kid, for fuck’s sake.

I can’t stand recycled reality shows or comedies that aren’t funny. The rest of the channels on this TV will have cheesy, predictable stories to warm the heart, and the international news will be depressing. It’s totally written to manipulate voters.

“Ugh. It’s all shit on TV. I can’t wait to be home. This country sucks.” Granted, our TV programs at home are only marginally better; many are censored and from our own country. This is why I had Dmitry set up an entire library of movies on a server that are accessible from anywhere, even the yacht. Our servers are encrypted, as is everything technological that we own. It’s the same with our security camera. And we have staff that does nothing but monitor our houses and properties.

Except for the guns that are tucked away, we never want to give the impression that there is anything of value behind the concrete walls. I’m going to change that when I get home. I’ll see to it that well-hidden infrared cameras are installed, along with weight sensors built into the floor to sound an alarm. If anyone but us moves our contraband, we’ll know. And I’ll make sure the staff doesn’t know so the secret will never get out. Loose lips sink ships, and all that shit.

Alex heads to the bathroom to clean up and returns fifteen minutes later. “Anything new on TV?”

“Hell, no.”

“It’s late, morning will be here in no time.” He makes his way to his bed, wearing only his boxers, and flops down.

“It your mattress shit as well?”

“More like a bag of rocks.” He punches his pillow a few times to fluff it before burying his head in it, then pulls the covers up to his chin.

“God knows when they last washed that thing. I always make sure the sheet is over the comforter. And you still cover every part of your body and pull that nasty thing up to your face,” I tease him.

“And you still sleep naked and alone.”

“Right, well, I’m turning off the light now.” I reach for the lamp between us and flip the switch, hoping it works. It clicks, and the light goes out. I’d hate to have to get up and flip the switch by the wall because the floors are less than desirable without shoes.

I lie in the darkness, listening to Alex snore. He can fall asleep standing up. I’m envious of the fact that he’s not an insomniac like me. My mind is like a wheel, always in motion. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

I think about the model I could be fucking right now and wonder if I’ll ever find a woman who would be content being with me and traveling with me. What’s the point in being together when the women I date are always on a plane, heading for their next modeling job? It’s great that they can have careers; the models make good money and see the world. But if I ever settle down, I’m not going to be her arm candy. I don’t even care if the jet-setters, the millionaires and billionaires, know my name.

Strange that now that both of my brothers are married, the thought of getting married is on my mind. I’ve never had a desire to settle down. I’m the elusive brother. Only Mom can nail me down for the occasional family dinner and the holidays. I loved cognac and cigar time with my brothers, but those days were numbered, and we didn’t even realize it. It all changed overnight. Now, we’re lucky if we see each other a few times a year. We worked together, and I took our male bonding time for granted. Now?

My life has become as stale as three-day-old bread.

7

DASHA

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