Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
He frowned and had a brief conversation in Russian with someone across the room. Then he reluctantly cracked the door open and let me in. He parted the velvet drapes behind him, and I saw the bar that occupied the first floor. “Leave number with him,” he told me, pointing to the bartender. His voice was tight with stress.
I nodded obediently and strolled across the bar, my mind working overtime. Something was up. Why was there a bodyguard on the door? And why was the bartender there, in the middle of the day? Next to the bar were a set of stairs leading down to the basement, where I needed to be. The drapes had fallen back into place behind me, so the bodyguard at the door wouldn’t see me if I tried to sneak down there. But the bartender would.
The bartender was Russian, too, but he spoke English better than the bodyguard. He handed me a notepad and a pen. “Write your number on there. Auditions are on Saturdays. We’ll call you and tell you what time to come in.”
I scrawled a fake number. “Can I sneak a look at the club?” I gave him my best pleading eyes. “I’m really nervous. It’d be nice to see where I’ll be dancing, before the audition.”
The bartender glanced at the stairs and shook his head. He sounded stressed, too. “Not today.” He snatched the notepad and waved me towards the door. “We’ll call you.”
Fuck. Something was definitely off. He couldn’t get me out of there fast enough. I knew I should abort and go back to the car. But then Calahan wouldn’t get the information he needed. And his case sounded serious…
I made a split-second decision. Glanced at the bar and the bottle of expensive vodka waiting on a tray...
“Okay, thanks! Bye!” I turned to go, swinging my purse up my arm and over my shoulder. I felt it hit something, but I forced myself not to look…
The bottle shattered on the floor. I squealed and spun around. “Oh my God! Was that me?!”
The bartender was cursing in Russian as he stared down at the mess of broken glass and vodka on the floor behind the bar. “Just go!” he snapped.
I took a few steps towards the door...then, as soon as he knelt down behind the bar to start cleaning up, I veered off and crept down the stairs.
I could hear muffled voices, but it was hard to tell where they were coming from. Heart hammering, I passed the main room with its T-shaped stage and stripper poles, then a series of curtained booths…
There. A door at the end marked Private. I snuck over and put my ear to it, but I couldn’t hear anything. I cracked open the door, barely daring to breathe—
A messy desk and an overflowing filing cabinet. Definitely the office. I grabbed the phone charger from my purse and plugged it into an outlet, temptingly close to the desk. I was just about to leave when I saw a name scrawled on a Post-it note, half-hidden beneath a stack of papers. Daniil. Amvrosy’s brother. Wait, was it possible that...had Amvrosy just scribbled down his brother’s phone number?! Could I just—
I moved the stack of papers so I could see the whole thing. Yes! There was a phone number. I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture. Sometimes, in this job, you just catch a break.
And sometimes, you don’t. “Who the fuck are you?” asked a voice from behind me. “What the fuck are you doing in my office?”
I spun around. A tall man in a suit had just come out of a side room, and I recognized the balding head and messy beard instantly. Amvrosy Inkin. And he was pulling a big, chromed handgun from under his jacket.
Fuck. My heart jumped into my throat. Why was he here in the middle of the day? What the hell was going on? I searched for an explanation. Should I admit I was FBI? Normally, that would keep me alive, even if it meant blowing the operation. Even the Bratva think twice before executing FBI agents. But Amvrosy was violent and half drunk: I could smell the vodka from here. And if he realized I was after his beloved brother, he might just kill me to protect him. “I want to be a dancer,” I tried, staring at the gun. “I came down here looking for the bathroom!”
“Bullshit!” roared Amvrosy. “I saw you taking a photo!” And he raised his gun to fire.
“Wait!” The voice came from the side room, low and calm and loaded with authority. Amvrosy and I froze.
Gennadiy stepped out into the hallway, scowling and magnificent. “She’s with me.”
11
ALISON
What the fuck? I just stood there, staring like an idiot, as my brain struggled to process him, here.
“She’s with you?” The barrel of Amvrosy’s gun wavered. “She wasn’t with you when you arrived.”