“No, I did not.”
And with a knowing smile tugging at his lips, he turns away, heading back toward his booth, all his secrets still intact. And what I wouldn’t give to know every single one of them.
Chapter 5
Kirill
“You want to know if I like my job?” a stripper named Chantilly—or something equally ridiculous—asks, completely bewildered.
“That was my question, yes,” I confirm, rolling my neck side to side, uneasy with how she practically shakes in front of me.
What really pisses me off, though, is the way she keeps glancing over her shoulder at the girls lined up behind her, like I’m setting a trap and she’s waiting for one of them to swoop in and save her.
“I… um… yes?” she finally says, her voice lifting at the end as if unsure of the correct response.
“Are you asking me, or telling me?”
When she looks even more confused, I pinch the bridge of my nose, hating the red-haired vixen for manipulating me into thinking I’m a bad boss.
I pay their wages every week on the dot. I don’t take a cut of their tips. I don’t hit them or lay a hand on them like some sleaze. What more could they want from a working environment?
“Let me try it this way,” I say, forcing what I hope passes for a non-intimidating smile. “If you could do any other job, what would it be?”
All I get in return is another blank stare, as if I were speaking a foreign language.
Mne pizdets.
“Okay.” I grind my molars. “How about you think on it and come back to me.” I wave her off and signal the next girl, flipping my Zippo open and shut to temper my annoyance. “You… what’s your name?” I ask, since I’ve never bothered memorizing the names.
It’s not a sexist thing. I don’t know the names of most of my soldiers either. And why would I, save for a few? They’re just pawns in my brother’sBratvagames anyway. Knowing their names would be like pretending I’m even remotely interested in their lives. It would mean I care. And I don’t.
‘You’re the kind of man who only ever thinks about himself. Selfishness and arrogance have a way of staining the soul. And that smudge is all over you.’
That’s what Stella said back at the charity ball. It didn’t bother me then. The disdain in her voice when she described me like that barely registered. But yesterday, when she showed up at my club and implied I was bad at my job, yeah, that pissed me off. Especially when she hinted that loyalty isn’t earned through fear.
My brother might rule with an iron fist back in Moscow, but his men would die for him without question. Can I honestly say the same about mine? Hence this bullshit.
“Can you repeat that?” I ask, realizing I didn’t catch a single word the stripper just said, my thoughts still tangled up in Stella’s last visit.
“It’s Amber-Lynn,” she repeats, this one being brave enough to meet my gaze head-on.
“Do you like your job, Amber-Lynn?”
“Not really, no,” she says, glancing toward the two men flanking me, Lev and Pyotr.
Finally, some honesty.
“And why’s that?”
“Well, for one… some of your men like to cop a feel without paying for it. I don’t mind being touched, but only when I say they can and always when they pay me,” she replies, looking straight at Pyotr.
I look at Lev first. He’s supposed to be my go-to guy, so I didn’t think twice when he vouched for his brother-in-law, Pyotr, and asked me to move him up through the ranks. Now I’m starting to think he only wanted the man close so he could keep an eye on him. If Pyotr’s hands can wander over the girls without fear of punishment, they can just as easily wander to my money. And that would be enough to have them both killed on the spot.
“Pyotr, give me your wallet.”
“You want my wallet, boss?” the fucker parrots back, eyes wide.
“Did I fucking stutter?” He has the good sense, at least, not to argue and quickly hands it over. I flick through the stack of hundreds inside, as if browsing a boring menu. “How much does Pyotr owe you?”
