Alexei lets out a flurry of Russian, which sounds mostly like swearing. “I have payment for you right here.” His accent is thick with anger. “It’s in my trunk. A woman. Sex slave. Worth more than three thousand on the black market.”
Mr. Big, the fake name of the Wall Street businessman who took most of the winnings looks up, cool and calculating. “Where is she? Let me see her—is she Russian? Blonde?”
Stronzo.
Alexei turns to him and lifts his chin. “Blue-eyed blonde. Big tits. Very pretty. You’ll like her.”
“Bring her in.”
I don’t know when the fuck I lost control of arrangements, but I’m sure as hell not going to let this exchange go down. I trail Alexei to the door and order two of my soldiers to follow him to the car as I watch from the door.
Alexei pops the trunk to the car and pulls out a girl in nothing but a teddy and thong. Her feet are bare. She isn’t tied up, but when he sets her on her feet, she wobbles, as if she’s been drugged. Alexei half-leads, half-drags her back to the warehouse.
She appears naturally fair, but her hair has been bleached platinum blond. She smells like cheap, fruity perfume.
“Here she is.” Alexei presents her to Mr. Big. He lifts the hem of her teddy up to expose her tits, not that much was left to the imagination to begin with. “See? Very sexy. She’s yours to keep. You can do anything you like with her. A lifetime of satisfaction.”
“I’ll take the girl.” I ignore the looks of surprise on Sonny and Vince’s faces. No girl is getting sold into slavery on my watch—I don’t care if it costs me three grand.
“No, I’ll take her.” Mr. Big steps forward and grips her arm possessively.
My lips thin and eyes deaden. I’m sure I look as lethal as the Russian, and I am. “She’s mine. Vince, pay him out.”
Vince has already been packing bundles of cash into a briefcase for the guy, and he resumes his work, asking Sonny to double-check the count before rotating the case for Mr. Big.
Big appears burned up over me claiming the girl, but he can’t do anything about it. It’s my show. The players’ weapons have been confiscated. Only my men and I are armed.
He counts his cash and walks out, still looking back at the girl as if he can’t stand letting her go.
Alexei turns to the girl and says something to her in Russian.
Her eyes are glazed and unfocused, but she still cringes at the sound of his voice. He slaps her on the ass and the girl jumps. That’s when I notice her back and legs are lined with brutal belt-marks. Her forearms are tracked with needle-marks. They’ve beaten her and kept her high on drugs to ensure her cooperation.
I should murder Alexei for sport. But this guy is Russian mafiya. I can’t take action that would start a war between the Russians without the don’s approval.
“Enjoy.” Alexei tries to give her another slap, but I catch his wrist.
“Mine now.”
He must catch the murder in my gaze because he sobers, significantly. There’s a charged breath, during which I’m sure he’s considering challenging me then realizes he’s greatly outnumbered. He shrugs. “Fine.”
I watch him leave with a death glare on his back, then guide the girl to sit in a chair and press a bottle of water from the portable bar in her hand.
She looks at it for a long moment, as if she’s never seen one before, but then brings it to her cracked lips with a shaking hand. The green-yellow hue of an old bruise stands out on her cheekbone.
When the other players depart, Vince turns to me. “What the fuck are you going to do with her? I mean, really kid?”
I stay cool, but murder’s already in my blood. “Call me kid again, and I’ll knock your fucking teeth out and shove them up your ass.” I’m the guy’s boss, whether I’m twenty years younger than he is or not. I deserve a little respect.
Vince’s lip curls, but he shrugs. “Sorry, Carlo. No offense intended.”
“I’m not going to keep the girl, coglione. Do you two think I’m going to sit around and let some girl get sold into a lifetime of slavery at my game? What the hell is wrong with you? Women don’t sign up for this shit. She’s been kidnapped and repeatedly raped and obviously knocked around.”
Vince throws her a doubtful glance. “She looks like a junkie.”
“No shit.” I throw my hands in the air. “That’s how they keep her pliant.”
Vince and Sonny both sober, either pretending to understand or actually getting it now. “So what are you going to do with her?” Sonny asks.
I pick up my phone and scroll through for the cop’s phone number. “I’m going to call that cop who showed up at the game last week. This is what he’s trying to bust up.”