Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
His eyes widened, his feet taking him a step back. “M-Mr. Ivanshov?” he stuttered.
“The one and only,” I growled, taking a menacing step forward.
He shook his head fervently. “I’m sorry, Boss. I…”
With a flick of my wrist, I shut him up. His mouth closed quickly, his jaw almost snapping. His body trembled slightly as he opened the door. I could see trepidation on his forehead when he realized who he was actually talking to.
Did Solonik really hire this boy? What a joke.
As soon as I walked through the door, warmth filled my body. The room wasn’t chilling like the halls. No, it was warmed by the fireplace and a heater.
The large banquet hall was designed for royalty. Couches, chairs, and tables were around the room. The middle was empty, a huge gap. The biggest chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, making the entire room glow.
The men talked and laughed amongst themselves, glass of wine in their hands, expensive suits adorning their bodies.
Without a second glance, someone could tell that these men were the wealthiest ones, made from filthy money. And I was amongst them.
Not just part of them…I was the Boss. The King.
Everyone’s attention was drawn to me as I walked further into the room. Valentin Solonik came forward with a huge smirk.
“Lyov, finally!” he said loudly, clasping me on the back as if we were old friends.
Instead of speaking his mother tongue, he spoke English, so everyone in the room could understand. We were a mix of Mexican, Russian, Japanese, and American. I could also spot a few Middle Eastern men.
“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” he continued in the same thick English accent. He tried hard, but his Russian accent was still present.
“And miss the event of the year? I don’t think so,” I replied drily. Unlike Valentin, my English accent was perfect. While Solonik took care of the business in Russia, my base was in the States. I sat on my throne in New York, where I had ruled for years.
Valentin nodded, handing me a glass of wine. “Enjoy the evening then,” he said with a wink before sauntering back to the guests he was attending.
I took my seat on one of the couches, facing the middle of the room. Isaak sat down beside me, finishing his glass in two large gulps. “I’m going to need more than one glass if we have to get through the night,” he muttered.
I huffed, taking a sip of the expensive wine. I would have chosen vodka or whiskey, but these were the nights we turned classy. Or we tried to.
It was all about appearance. At the end of the night, most of us would walk away with a couple of million in our pockets, while others with the goods in their arms.
My eyes flitted over to the door across from me. It was closed…for now. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was close to midnight.
A few more minutes and those doors would open. That was when the fun began.
Chapter 2
Lyov
“Gentlemen, welcome. The evening is about to start. I am honored to have all of you here. Tonight, surprisingly, is hosted by me,” Solonik said with a small laugh.
Each year this event is hosted by a different group. This year it was Solonik’s turn. I had never hosted it before. And never fucking would.
I was snapped back into the present when the door opened. There was utter silence for a moment, and then the murmurs started.
Men laughed, some snickered, others smirked at the sight in front of them.
The Royalist wasn’t just any type of club. Not just anyone could get in.
Actually, it wasn’t even a club.
More like a ring. The most well-known and successful sex and slave cartel ever established. One that nobody could bring down even if they tried.
Many did, but only their dead bodies made it back home.
Removing my eyes from the men around the room, I glanced at the door. My gaze found the women piling in.
I counted in my head. Twenty-five in total. The girls were between sixteen and twenty years of age.
All of them were naked, their bodies on full display, stripped bare of their dignity. They had nothing left.
Only a black lace mask adorned their faces. They wore their hair down, falling behind their back as they entered the room.
All twenty-five of them stood in the middle of the room, their backs straightened rigidly.
Solonik clapped his hands, and they fell to their knees almost instantly, mere puppets to this game.
They knelt on the floor, their arms stretching out in front of them with their palms on the cold, hard ground. They arched their backs as they pushed their asses up in the air in total surrender.
“The slaves have joined us, so our evening can begin. We have a wide collection—different colors and sizes,” Solonik introduced.