Page 7 of Wrath
“One of these days, Yuri, I will not be around to keep you entertained.” And the little life left in his eyes would turn dull and dead like the rest of Dimitri’s soldiers. She gave him a soulful glance and then sidestepped to go inside.
Sweet stale beer. Old cigarette smoke.She wrinkled her nose and walked down the dark hallway leading to the main club area. Establishments like these never had windows, designed to trap you inside without any idea what time of day it was. All the better to con you out of money.
She traveled through the maze to the small backstage dressing room. Lockers were to the right of the door. Racks overflowing with stripper costumes were in front, and on the side walls were mirrors and dressing tables littered with makeup and supplies. She dumped her yoga bag in her locker.
“Namaste, girls,” Misha said brightly as she slid onto a stool in front of a mirror with bulbs glowing softly around it. Sweet mother of the sky, her curls were energetic today. Blond frizziness abound.
“Angel,” Anastasia greeted Misha using her stage name. Anastasia was a brunette in her early thirties. A skinny smoker with fake breasts and old eyes behind her blue eyeshadow. “How can you be so chirpy this early in the day?”
“Babe,” Chyna said to the right as she tugged on her skimpy Cat Woman leotard. The girl looked to be in her teens and it broke Misha’s heart every day to see her in there. Catsuit on, she stuck an afro comb in her black hair and began teasing. “Angel just saidafternoon. How can you think it’s early?”
Anastasia huffed and went back to putting on her eyeliner.
Two more girls graced the dressing room: Katarina and Dominika, the twins. Both red-headed Russians hardly spoke a word of English. They stuck to themselves and performed a burlesque duet wearing a soviet furry outfit that ended as a tiny fur bikini—and then nothing.
Misha strolled over to the roster by the costume rack. She was on second and last and had to waitress in between. Yuck… also scheduled to the east section where the Nazi sat. Dimitri put her there more often these days. The Nazi came in a few times a week and treated anyone not blond and blue-eyed like the jam between his slimy toes. Of course, as the only blond, blue-eyed girl, Misha got the full force of his brutal attention. She couldn’t tell how many times she’d had to give the man a lap dance, and how many times the bouncer had to stop him touching her with his greasy fingers—he also sucked at tipping—but was never kicked out. Whatever connection he had with Dimitri kept him safe.
Unease bloomed in her stomach. The Nazi’s attention had become insistent over the past few weeks. He’d asked multiple times for a private topless lap dance and even tried to entice her out back for a full service demonstration. Thankfully, the full service wasn’t in her Dimitri-approved catalog of expertize, so when she declined, the bouncers backed her up.
“Now, who will I be today…” she murmured to herself as she scrolled through the clothes rack. Cowgirl, Wonder Woman, French Maid, Fallen Angel… a pang of anxiety wound tight in her chest when she realized it probably wouldn’t matter. Dimitri might send word of the outfit he expected her to wear. Collecting herself, she took a few deep breaths. In—future. Out—past. From the way the girls dragged their feet, she wasn’t the only one in need of a pick me up. It was time for their pre-show ritual. Misha spun to face the room and clapped her hands. “Girls, who am I today?”
They put down their tools and swung on their stools to face her. A zip of excitement ran up Misha’s spine. This was the part she loved. She plonked her hands on her hips, embodied the character she envisioned, and flamboyantly flourished her hand and tossed her hair. Deliberately obtuse with her actions, she wanted the girls to work for the answer. More flourishes, more shimmies.
“You are the circus person,da?” Katarina placed her chin on her knee, a slow red-lipped grin lifting her cheeks.
“Nyet.” Dominika thwacked her sister with a fluffy Russian hat. “Look at the way she moves hand in front of the breasts. Is too much action for circus lady.”
“Ooh. Ooh.” Chyna jumped from her stool and stuck her hand in the air. “You’re one of those old Flapper girls.”
Anastasia stood and waved Chyna down. “Sit down before you hurt yourself, love. She’s obviously a clown.”
A clown? Eyes widened around the room. They paused. Then burst out laughing. Who would have thought of a clown in a strip club? With tears running from the corners of her eyes, Misha scooped up a feathered fan and fluttered it in front of her. “I’m a Brazilian Samba Dancer. See?” She shimmied her shoulders for effect.
Katarina’s deep red eyebrow arched. “You expect us to guess that! Pah. You dreaming, girl.”
A loud knock on the dressing room door had them all jolting with surprise. The door opened to Petyr, one of the bouncers. He stroked his furry mustache, dark eyes roaming the room. “Angel. Boss wants to see you.”
“Like, actually see me?” Shock washed through Misha while the girls looked her way with sympathy. Nobody came back from seeing the boss without big news. The last time Dimitri saw her in person was two months ago when he’d casually apprised her that the terms of their agreement had changed. She was no longer just a waitress at the club. She was a dancer, and if she wanted her family protection to remain, she wouldn’t complain.
That knot of anxiety in her chest came back.
Three
Two minutes later,Misha trailed Petyr into the cold dungeon—the basement level—and shivered. She hated going down there because she had to pass all the private rooms that nobody was supposed to know about: the illegal gambling rooms, the sex rooms, the… she wasn’t even sure what was in some of them from the sounds that came through the doors. She could have sworn she heard a goat bleat one night. Ew. There were money-counting rooms, storage rooms, and perhaps drug-sorting rooms, but she had the suspicion most of that was done off site. Either way, it was none of her business.
She was there to pay her debt and keep her family safe.
Petyr knocked on the door with a gold plaque that saidBoss. When they entered, he left Misha and closed the door behind, locking her inside with the Russian mobster who had once been her high school friend.
She gasped, heart leaping into her throat at the sight of Dimitri pummeling a stranger in the guest chair. Seeing her enter, he held out his finger, then resumed his beating. Trying not to show fear—she should know better by now—she avoided the blood bath in front of her and stood to the side.Stiffen your spine, pretend you’re a proper lady.A Duchess wouldn’t be afraid. She’d cast her aloof gaze over the rest of the room, anywhere but at the grizzly, uncouth sight. The gold caught her attention first. From the set of gold-knuckles on display on his desk, to the trimming on the enormous Anaconda tank filling the wall behind Dimitri’s desk, to the gold-winking gun strapped under his arm holster. It was all designed to intimidate, whether you were a business man, one of his lackeys, or someone like her.
Misha winced as she heard a bone crunch and forced her eyes somewhere else: the snake behind his desk. Wrapped around a massive tree limb, the beastie stared back with hungry eyes. Rumor had it Dimitri fed the snake bodies of his enemies. Seeing the size of the tank, the jaw, and the man slumped and groaning in the chair, Misha believed it.
Dimitri was a full head shorter than Misha and had the body of a jockey, but what he lacked in size, he made up in psychopathy. He plucked a napkin from his vest pocket and wiped his red stained hands. “Apologies you had to see that, Misha, but it is what it is.”
“And what is it, Dimitri?”
He gave her a solid look. Misha knew that look. Often she’d seen it just before a person was turned into a squealing pulp of a mess like the man wriggling on the chair, struggling to hold on. It was a flat look, empty. It was a look that hid a brain firing at a thousand miles per hour, trying to work out if she was still the friend worried about his day, like she was in high school, or if he had successfully moved himself into the feared category. Definitely the second, but she would never tell him that.
