Page 1 of Viktor

Chapter one

Viktor

Staringdownatthetwo women on the white sheets of the bed as they breathe heavily in bliss, I tuck my cock away in my pants. The brunette moans, “Don’t put it away, I don’t want to be done. Those piercings felt incredible.”

I chuckle; my Jacob's ladder always makes the girls scream. In a good way, of course.

“I have business to attend to,” I tell them.

Someone had been stealing from me, and I wanted to sort this myself. This is personal to me, and my men know it.

A treaty of arranged marriage ended the war after my mother was murdered. The only thing I hear about them is how the Koskovich woman is a bitch. At least I didn’t have to marry her, but it had obliged me to hire a new man. I had tried to keep him away from most of the business, leaving him to serve as only a drug courier, with no access to most things, or so I thought.

Now, it’s time to fix it.

The blonde tries sitting up, but her wrists are still tied to the bedpost. She pouts, her lips slowly curving into a smile. “Come back when you’re done? I’ll wait right here.” She pushes her tits out temptingly. As enticing as it is to nibble on her nipple, I’ve got to go.

With a smirk, I unbind her and carefully put my tie back on. I run my hand over the fabric to smooth it out as much as possible, shrugging when it doesn’t yield.

"See you another time," I mumble as I turn away, leaving their little bag of ecstasy on the table.

The door shuts heavily behind me, and I step out into the quiet corridor. I don’t trade sex for the drugs; they still pay. I fuck them because they were sexy as hell and up for a threesome. It had been a while since I’d had an offer like that.

My phone rings as I reach the elevator and press the button, and I let out an annoyed sigh. If only I could do this another night and stay in bed, it would be perfect. Instead of internally complaining too much, I press the screen to answer while I step inside.

Konstantin, my right-hand man, has been giving me updates on the whereabouts of Dmitri Koskovich, the cousin of Svetlana. The family we went to war with over killing my mother.

“We found him. He’ll be at a ballet show tonight,” he tells me as a greeting.

You’d think it would be easy to locate a traitor, but Dmitri has been lying low ever since I found out he had been replacing my drugs with painkillers. I refuse to let it get any further.

Konstantin asks, “Do you think he will tell us anything? Or that we’ll even get the thousands of dollars he took?”

“Doubt it, but I have a bad feeling, and it’s time to clear out my employees. My clients don’t deserve the shit he’s been dolling out.” It’s frustrating; my time is being wasted. Now Dmitri is the most recent man I’m going to have to kill.

“Why did you even bother giving him any extra work?” Konstantin questions. My jaw clenches.

“You know I didn’t want to. It’s a friends close and enemies closer type of deal. Since his family killed my mother, every time I see his face, I want to tear him to pieces. But I haven't yet because of keeping the peace between families.” It’s a shame I won’t be able to drag it all out like I want. I need him to confess and tell us everything.

“Fair enough, boss, the others will be at the venue to collect while everything is set up in the warehouse.”

“It won’t take long.” With that, I hang up. Konstantin is used to my bluntness, after all.I’m sure he won’t mind.

The elevator doors ping at the ground floor, and my leather shoes tap on the ground as I stride through the lobby, nodding to the employees as I leave. They do it back, and I smirk; I love getting the respect I deserve.

People had always seen me as irresponsible, ‘the party boy’ of my family, which is how I got into the drugs side of the business. I had always loved the idea of working in sunny California. When my father gave me the chance to run in this area, I took it. The conditions being that I put my partying days far behind me.

I still have my fun, just not as much. I’m no longer sampling the product or sleeping with every woman possible. I do drink, but I don’t get drunk. I had always hoped to make my father proud. Now is the time I feel I really am doing something.

A warm September breeze brushes over me as I step outside into the busy Beverly Hills street, the valet brings my black Lamborghini around for me as I’m waiting and when he steps out, I slide in after he hands me the keys. Once I’m comfortable, I search inside the glovebox for the ticket to the ballet show Dmitri will be at.

Truthfully, I didn't see him as the type who had an interest in dance, but I shrug to myself anyway, memorizing the address for the theater.

Putting my car in gear, I crawl away from the hotel. Speeding down the long roads, weaving in and out of traffic, until I finally pull into the valet space at the theater and chuck my keys at the guy. He grins as he looks at my car.

“Scratch it and I kill you,” I warn, and his face pales when he takes a better look at me, realizing who I am. He nods and slides in slow and carefully.

My eyes scan all the people outside the old, but still beautiful building with pillars either side of the door where tickets are being collected. Finally I see the tall man with dark-brown hair and a short trimmed beard. It's Dmitri; I notice him walking into the theater with a dark-haired woman hanging off his arm, fawning over him in his black suit and tie. He has too much confidence for a man in his position.

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