Fractured Souls (Perfectly Imperfect #6)

I motion for Vladimir to hand me the small plastic bag he’s holding and look it over. There are a dozen white pills inside. “Have you tried this?”

“No . . . I . . . I’m not into drugs,” the man says, then whimpers when I apply more pressure to his hand.

“So you brought them here to sell. Very wise.” I throw the plastic bag back to Vladimir. “Take this to Doc. We need to check what’s in that crap.”

“What should we do with the dealer?” Vladimir nods toward the man on the floor.

Based on the panicked look in the man’s eyes and the shaking of his hand, it wouldn’t take long to break him. I could take him to the storeroom and question him. But we have rules in the Chicago Bratva, and my scope of work doesn’t include information extraction.

“I think he would enjoy a little chat with Mikhail. Get him out of my sight,” I say and turn around to walk back to the glass wall overlooking the dance floor.

I can hear yelling and a lot of kerfuffle behind me as Vladimir drags the man out. The racket ceases when the door closes behind them. My eyes scan the people milling around and dancing, stopping at the booth in the far-left corner. Yuri, the man in charge of the Bratva’s soldiers, is sitting in the middle with a blonde-haired woman by his side. On his other side, laughing about something, are the brothers Kostya and Ivan, who manage the finances in our organization. Seems like some of the guys got a free night.

The phone in my pocket rings. I take it out and see Yuri’s name on the screen.

“Is something wrong?” I ask when I take the call.

“No,” he says, looking up at me from the booth. “Come down and have a drink with us.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re always working, Pasha.” He shakes his head.

He’s right. Unless I’m sleeping or working out, I’m at one of the Bratva’s clubs. Spending time in my empty apartment since I moved out of the Petrov mansion when the pakhan’s wife had a child has always been hard. But in the last few years, it’s gotten even harder. The fact that I’ve been running two nightclubs for the last seven years, spending most of my time surrounded by people, should be enough to make me want to seek solitude. It’s not. It just reminds me that I have no one to go home to.

“Come on, just one drink,” Yuri urges again.

Kostya’s deep laugh comes through the line. Looks like he’s fooling around again. Always a trickster, that one. “Some other time, Yuri,” I say.

I end the call but don’t move away from the glass wall, watching my comrades having a great time. Maybe I should join them. It would be nice to relax and talk about nonsense sometimes, but I never can. The problem is, on the few occasions I have gone out with them, I ended up feeling even more alone.

The Bratva is the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had. I know for sure that each one of them would take a bullet for me. As I would for them. And still, even after ten years in the Bratva, I can’t let myself get too close to my friends. With my past, I guess, this may be expected. When you’re discarded by the people who should have been your safe harbor, it’s hard to allow yourself to get close to anyone because, at some point, they will leave, too.

Sooner or later, everyone leaves.

I stand there for a long time, watching the guys laugh, then turn away and go back to work.

I walk inside the office and come to a stop in the center of the room. Dolly, the woman in charge of the girls, is sitting behind her desk, her attention focused on the small leather-bound notebook in front of her.

“You’ll be entertaining Mr. Miller tonight,” she says as she scribes something in her ledger. “He prefers it slow. Start with a massage and go from there.”

I nod. “Yes, Dolly.”

“Oh, and no blow jobs. Mr. Miller doesn’t like those.” She closes the notebook and walks around the desk, her heels clicking against the linoleum. I bow my head and focus my gaze on the floor so she won’t be able to see my eyes. Her pink shiny heels enter my field of vision as she comes to a stop right in front of me.

“He’s a very important client, so make sure you fulfill his every need. If he likes you, he may request you again. He’s very mild-mannered. He doesn’t hit girls often, which is rare as you already know. And don’t forget the condom. You know the rules.”

I nod again and raise my hand, palm up. Dolly places a single white pill on my palm.

“What about the rest?” I ask. “I need more. Please.”

“Always the same tune with you girls,” she barks. “You get the rest when you’re finished with the client. You know that already.”

“Just one more,” I beg.

“I said after you are done!” she yells and slaps me across the cheek. “Get back to your room and be ready in an hour. You’ve been out of commission for almost a week. We’re losing money.”

“Yes, Dolly,” I say in a small voice and turn toward the door.