“What? Why are you making us leave?” the brunette who’d been all over Yuri asks.
He doesn’t even spare her a look when he says, “Because your bitch friend just insulted my cousin. Get the fuck out and don’t come back.”
When she hesitates, Dima says, “We’re not asking. We’re telling you to get your asses out of here, and I mean right fucking now.”
“God,” the blonde who started all this shit says. “I wasn’t trying to be offensive or anything.”
“Fuck off,” Misha says.
None of us are interested in her excuses, and after a few more seconds of her huffing and puffing and not getting anywhere, she finally turns on her stilettos and storms off with her friends.
Sorry, Bran, Yuri signs.I didn’t know they’d be such assholes.
You have terrible taste in women,Bran signs back.And very low standards.
Yuri shrugs.True, but technically that girl was into Misha.
Yeah, I wasn’t about to touch that,Misha signs in his own defense.I knew that before she opened her mouth and said that shit. Way too needy for my liking.
The others finish their drinks while I look out over the dance floor, watching the lower level fill up with a steady stream of newcomers. It reminds me of The Red Room, our club in the city, and if they’re selling drugs out of here like we do at our club, then they’re making a killing. The music is way too upbeat for me, but the crowd on the dance floor are clearly enjoying it. The lit-up bar that stretches along one wall is packed with a line of customers that never seems to grow smaller. As soon as one customer leaves, another is there to take the empty spot. Even with the bar full, the waitresses are still keeping busy with the tables that fill every available space.
“It’s all profit,” Misha says, watching me watch the club.
“It’s a great set up,” I tell him. “You get a lot of college students?”
He takes another drink before saying, “They’re what keep us in business.”
“Yeah,” Yuri says. “They love to drink and buy pills.” He watches a group of women dancing near the edge of the floor before adding, “Among other things.”
“Careful,” Dima warns from across the table.
Yuri gives him an easygoing grin. “I’m not telling him anything he hasn’t already guessed.”
“Plus, we’re taking them tomorrow,” Misha says. “They’re gonna find out soon enough anyway.”
“Other things?” Ev asks.
Dima raises a brow, looking a bit surprised and not all that happy that Ev is asking questions. He doesn’t know my cousin well enough to know he’s always the one calculating risks and deciding whether or not it could hurt a Melnikov.
It’s Bran who breaks the staring contest by signing,Gambling. We hold races and bet on who will win.
“Dirt bike races?” Ev asks.
“It’s good money,” Dima says.
We’re all still signing while we speak, so Bran sits back and follows along while Dima explains the set up they have. When there’s a race, they post a coded message on one of their fake social media accounts. Word spreads, bets are taken, and the Medvedevs always end up with a lot of money.
“We used to always keep our helmets on, but everyone eventually realized it was us,” Misha says. “If we’d shown our faces from the beginning, they would’ve been too scared to race against us, but with our helmets on, they convinced themselves maybe we weren’t who they feared we were.”
Yuri gives one of his unhinged smiles. “For some reason, people are afraid of us.”
“It’s not like we killed them if they managed to beat us,” Aleks says.
Misha grins. “That’s the only reason they kept racing with us after we stopped wearing our helmets.”
Aleks laughs and says, “We just want to have some fun and make some easy money. This isn’t about anything else.”
“And that’s why it’s a secret,” Dima says, looking between Ev and me. “As in no one outside of this table needs to ever hear about it.”
