Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I refuse to even consider whether he’s right.
Natasha and I are not going to happen.
Ever.
I made a promise to Alyona, and I don’t break my promises.
“I’m not letting her in,” Nikolai repeats stubbornly.
I stand from my workstation. Oleg shifts forward in his chair like he’s ready to break up a fight if we throw down over a woman who’s not even my girlfriend. “She’s already in. I invited her. End of fucking story.”
Nikolai frowns at me, nostrils flaring. “Fine,” he says after a moment. “But when I give you the signal, you get her the fuck out of here. Understood?”
I hesitate. Of course, I know Nikolai’s right. Natasha is the opposite of the kind of player we want. She will turn our serious high-stakes poker game into something low-stakes and frivolous. We won’t make any money. Worse, the regulars will be pissed at the interruption of the usual vibe.
I nod. “Da.”
Oleg sits back in his chair again.
“You think this is weird, right?” Nikolai asks Oleg. We’re doing a better job including him in conversations these days, now that his girlfriend, Story, has forced him to interact more.
Oleg shrugs, but nods, shooting me an apologetic look.
“Yeah, I know,” I concede.
Nikolai switches on the background music. A tap sounds at the door, and Oleg opens it, letting Adrian, one of our soldiers in. He’s been serving as bartender since Pavel decided to move to L.A. to be with his girl.
Adrian gets to work, unpacking and arranging bottles of liquor on the table provided by the hotel. When Cari, the woman Nikolai hires to deal the cards shows up, I’m reminded of why Natasha shouldn’t be welcome here.
Cari is great. Smart, keeps her mouth shut and is a great dealer. But she’s in a slinky leopard-print dress with cut-outs on both sides.
Natasha will probably show up in her jeans and a fitted t-shirt. She has the quintessential American teen look, even though she’s not American or a teen.
I settle into my work station—the place I’m most comfortable. If I had it my way—I’d never have to interact with the outside world. I’d just stay in the Kremlin, operating from a keyboard and a screen to manipulate my environment.
Within a half an hour, the knocks start coming on the door.
Zane shows up first. He’s a douchy twenty-one-year-old college student. Smart kid, goes to Northwestern. He has a lot of talent. Last year he paid his entire year’s tuition with his gambling winnings. But now he’s lost his edge. One of our mudak players introduced him to the wonders of strip clubs and blow, and now the guy has lost focus.
Nikolai shakes his head at him. “You’re not welcome here tonight, Zane, except to make payment on your note. You’re down fifty grand.” He tips his head toward Oleg, who does the slow rise from his chair. “You’re about two days shy of getting a visit from Oleg.”
Oleg clenches and unclenches his hand, showing off his meaty fist. The guy is huge, so his size and silence alone are usually deterrent enough for any would-be trouble-makers.
The guy frantically pats the pockets of his black suit jacket. “I brought payment. I did. I have ten grand here.” He produces an envelope of cash and thrusts it toward Nikolai who doesn’t move. He changes his angle to thrust it toward Oleg, who also doesn’t move.
He opens the envelope and starts counting the cash outloud to show Nikolai. When he’s done, Nikolai nods and writes it down in his ledger. “You’re still not playing tonight.”
“Aw, come on, guys.” Zane spreads his hands, drops his head to the side, and turns on the charm. He’s privileged and smart and generally good-looking. I’m sure he’s used to getting most anything he wants. But it’s obvious he’s hurtling quickly toward all that potential crashing and burning in a horrible way. “You know I’m good for it. I’ll probably make it all back tonight. You know how much I made last year.”
“You can’t borrow against last year’s earnings, my friend. You’ve lost focus.” Nikolai drops a brotherly hand on his shoulder. “Clean your shit up. Keep your nose out of the blow. You’re a fucking mess.”
Some of the charm frays. Desperation starts to show around the edges as he speaks too fast. “Nikolai, I’m your most loyal client. You know me. You know I can win back what I owe you and more.”
“Get out. I need at least another fifteen grand before you sit down at my table again. Now move, or Oleg will throw you off the fucking balcony.”
Zane pales and stumbles back toward the door. “All right, all right,” he whines. “I’m leaving.”
“That one is heading for trouble,” I remark when the door closes.
“I predict a spectacular mess,” Nikolai agrees.
Over the next twenty-five minutes, the players show up and Nikolai greets them, working the room, making them comfortable, so they’ll spend a lot of money.