Page 12 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

Batya warned me not to even go to that club and I had no clue why.

Now I know.

He knew all along it was controlled or owned by the Krasnovs, and I didn't. I should’ve trusted him.

The dress clings to me as I peel it off, and so do the sensations of Rashid's hands on my skin as I step into the flow of hot water.

It's one small luxury I can afford to indulge in—a steamy bath to wash away the filth I allowed into my world.

But God, was it incredible.

Rashid made my body sing like he was my creator and knew just how I function, and I've never had sex that amazing.

Not to mention with a man that powerful or attractive.

And that Surikov on his wall?

Just seeing one is a dream come true, but knowing I slept with the man who owns it—whether or not he stole it—puffs up my ego a few notches.

But I don't have time to sit around berating myself for the mistake of fucking a criminal.

Irina is getting married next weekend and if I'm going to enjoy that wedding the way I should, I need to pass my finals and finish this term.

It means I can't afford to let trivial worries like what Rashid will think when he wakes up and finds me gone distract me.

Besides, it doesn't matter.

I can never tell a soul what happened.

And I can never do something so foolish in my life ever again.

4

RASHID

Nobody in this building wants to be near me tonight, and that's the smartest decision any of them have made in weeks.

I'm on the warpath, and I may very well bite off the head of the first person who speaks to me. Things have gone very wrong, and I am very unhappy.

Igor is the first one I see when I come up the stairwell from the club floor, leaning on the wall near the landing with a cigarette he's not supposed to have inside.

The second he clocks me he straightens and drops his eyes.

I scowl at him as I pass by his cloud of stench, and watch him put his cigarette out in whatever drink he has on the small table next to him.

If I wasn't so out of control already, I'd have a word with him, but I know if I open my mouth one of my best men will take the brunt of my anger for something he didn't do.

Mikhail is posted outside my office. He steps aside before I even get close, and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard.

These men are scared shitless and they well should be.

Three hundred kilos of opium left Kunduz eleven days ago and never showed up where it was supposed to be. That's seventeen million rubles, just vanished.

The warehouse outside Kolpino was empty when my men arrived yesterday, and the driver hasn't surfaced either.

That means someone stole from me. No one steals from me if they want to keep breathing.

I haven't figured out who to be angry at yet, and until I do, that anger has nowhere to go other than at whatever poor unfortunate soul stands in front of me.