Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Kir

“I told you not to get soft over her,” Vadik says, getting in my face.

I knew the moment he saw us in the car, he’d get the wrong idea.

But is it the wrong idea? Maybe I am getting soft.

Which won’t do. Not at all.

I adjust my necktie in preparation for the evening’s events. My brothers and I occasionally invite certain high-roller club members to exclusive gatherings, especially since Uncle Mikey disappeared. We want them to know we’re here for them, and that the club is going nowhere. They like the one-on-one time with us. It makes them feel special.

Normally, I don’t look forward to these nights. But tonight is different.

Charleigh is serving. The thought of watching her work the room in her high heels and short skirt, delivering drinks and making small talk with our members, already has me semi-hard. In fact, I turn away from my brother so he can’t see, not that he makes a habit of looking at my dick.

I don’t want to risk it.

The way she handled her kid sister’s principal today was masterful, composed, and understanding of the woman’s position. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she’s a stunner, with her statuesque figure and chestnut hair. In fact, she turned the heads of every person who walked by the office while we were in there. Charleigh has a lot to offer. An auction might not be the right way to go with her.

But I’ll chance that conversation with my brothers another day. At the moment, it’s showtime.

When we enter the lounge, members flock around us like we’re goddamned rock stars. They really just want access, though—access to our businesses, girls, booze—you name it. I could get hit by a car tomorrow and none of them would give a shit.

But they’d probably show up at my funeral, just like they did my father’s.

Vadik beams, nodding cordially at the men extending their hands for a shake, just like our father used to. As the oldest, he has some sort of compulsion to carry things on just the way Papa did. Niko and I don’t really mind. Our father ran an excellent business and as hard as he tried, our loser uncle couldn’t quite destroy it.

My suspicions about Charleigh’s talents are not going unfounded. While there are a few girls serving the crowd tonight, beauties, all of them, none turn heads quite like our tall, lovely brunette. She bends to place drinks on the tables without showing her ass, smiles and chats with the men who make the effort, and doesn’t spill a thing.

“I know what you’re up to, you know.”

Vadik. Again.

The members have all returned to their seats for the time being and the three of us are settling in at our own table. We’ll start making rounds again, soon.

I sigh. “Get off my back. Seriously,” I say, sucking back a large swig of scotch. “Christ, you’re the one who had her panties down, coming all over your hand. Why don’t you take a look at your own behavior? You should have seen your face.”

He picks a piece of lint off his trousers as a distraction. That means he’s pissed. He’s never liked being called out. Not that anyone likes it. He just takes extra offense to it.

“Don’t worry about me,” he growls. “I’ve got my shit under control. But you’ve got it all over for her. Get ahold of yourself.”

Niko looks between the two of us, then around the room, trying to ignore us.

Now it’s my turn to get in his face. “You know, Vadik,” I say, lowering my voice, “you need to get over this big-brother-in-charge shit. It’s getting old.”

He looks around the room, grasping for patience. It’s funny when you work with family. You know just how to push their buttons and read their every movement.

It’s a blessing and a curse, as they say.

Charleigh

“How much do you think she’ll bring in?” Vadik asks. “And she’d still better be a fucking virgin.”

Are they talking about me? What do they mean by ‘bring in?’ Isn’t serving drinks to their members payment enough for my father’s debts? And why is my virginity, which is none of their damn business, such an obsession for them?

What more do they want from me? They’ve already taken everything.

Actually, it’s obvious. I tremble as the reality of my situation gets increasingly more obvious. And horrific.

I consider inching closer to their table so I can hear more while the bartender loads me up with dry martinis for the drunks in the corner. But the flush washing over me from what I’ve already heard, the kind you feel before you faint or barf, tells me I’ve eavesdropped all I need to.

Get back to work and stop snooping.

You are just making things worse.

These men. They don’t care about me, I have to keep reminding myself. Sure, they’ve given me nice accommodations and invited me to dine with them. And yes, Vadik has magical fingers, and Kir took me to resolve my sister’s problem at school. Niko shared his story of how he is the result of his mother’s affair, and I now know what happened to their parents.

Big fucking deal. Doesn’t make us friends.

None of it means shit because all they really care about is making money off me.

These men are beasts, plain and simple. I hate them and I hate everything about them—their good looks, their arrogant confidence, their assuredness that they will always get what they want, no matter what they have to do for it.

I’ve been on my feet for three hours straight, not that any of the club members would know that. I quickly and pleasantly serve their cocktails, and chat when they want to know more about me or just discuss the weather. Back and forth, from the bar to the tables and back.

I’m not sure I’ve ever done anything more tedious.

And for nearly that whole time, amidst their socializing with members, Vadik, Kir, and Niko have scarcely taken their eyes off me.

If they think so little of me, why do they bother?

For the umpteenth time that shift, I pass their table, catching Niko’s gaze. I don’t want to look at them, but one quick glance and I’m caught.

A lock of blond hair hangs across his forehead like it often does, almost obscuring one of his eyes, like he’s some sort of rakish pirate. In a split second, he smiles at me with an upturn of the corner of his mouth. My heart skips a beat.

Or three.

Dammit. Why does he—really, all the guys—have this effect on me? They’re about to ruin my life, and all I can do is think about how sexy and seductive they are.

Bastards.

On my next trip past them, juggling a heavy tray of empty glasses, I keep my gaze straight ahead.

I will not look at them. I will not give them the satisfaction.

I will not associate or be friendly with anyone assessing my ‘worth.’

He turns back to me, but keeps his gaze locked on the drink in my hand, signifying I’ve really gotten under his skin. “You’re so full of shit,” he hisses. “This has nothing to do with being the oldest, Kir. It’s about Papa’s legacy. And our future. Don’t blow it over some pussy.”

And just when I let my tiny amount of self-righteousness offer me some comfort, two fingers pinch my ass so hard the glasses tumble off my tray, smashing into everyone and everything surrounding me.

* * *

Charleigh

There is an uproar with people jumping to their feet, wiping off the alcohol I spilled on their suit jackets, but I am first and foremost concerned with getting back up. I’m sprawled on the soft carpet, fortunately, but when I push myself up, I scream from the pain in my left hand.

I recoil at what I see—a shard of glass sticking out of my palm, with blood pooling slowly around it, like something from a horror movie—which pretty much reflects the status of my life at the moment. Without thinking, I yank the piece of glass out. Big mistake. Not only have I now exponentially increased my pain but have also left an open hole in my hand, where the glass was temporarily plugging it.

My palm fills with a stream of pulsing blood.

Dominika is there in a second, pulling me up by my good arm and keeping her distance from the blood. “C’mon,” she barks. “Get out of here with that mess. Look what you’re doing, all over the carpet.”

Before my mouth can even drop open, and before the urge to smack her ugly face makes me do something to endanger my life more than it already is, the bartender is there with a couple towels. Niko grabs them from him. He wraps one around my hand, so tight it almost hurts, and lifts my arm above my head.

“Sit here,” he demands.

Dominika scowls at having been overruled.

I sit with my hand up in the air, and before I can even blink, Niko has pulled some man I’ve never seen out of his seat and is shaking him by the lapels.

“You fuck,” he growls. “Get out of here. And never come back.”

The man, balding and pockmarked, holds his hands up in surrender. “Easy there, guy,” he pleads, shocked that his behavior’s considered out of line. “I was just having a little fun with the help.”

He looks back at his buddies, who have also gotten to their feet. But they aren’t paying any attention to him.

They are focused on the Alekseev brothers, waiting to see if they are in line for the same treatment as their imprudent friend.

With no backup, the man takes a few steps, glancing toward the lounge exit. He’s clearly gotten the message he’s never coming back, but he also seems worried about making it out alive.

His concerns are not unfounded. In the next moment, the fury in Niko’s eyes turns into a closed fist in the center of the man’s face.

He stumbles back, blood flowing out of his nostrils like a garden hose, and into his friends who no longer want anything to do with him. One of them grabs him from under the arms, and drags him out, the door slamming behind them.

His other friends respond with a chorus of I’m sorry, That guy’s an asshole, Let us pay for this mess, and Are you okay, Miss?

Niko shakes out the hand he hit the man with, opening and closing his fingers, and turns back to me. “Let me see your hand, Charleigh. You might need stitches.”

Not so fast.

He might have come to my defense, but I’m not giving him the pleasure of ensuring his ‘investment’ remains flawless. I push to my feet with my good hand, ignoring the wooziness that’s making the room spin, and run past all of them, including Dominika. I head to my room, making sure to drip blood all the way down the hallway. I hope it stains. I want them to remember me when I’m gone.