Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen by Nelson, S. (classic reads .txt) 📕

shot. Two shots. Three shots. Bullets raced from the gun. The power of the small weapon was steadied in his hand.

Planted against the back of the couch, her eyes peered at him, unblinking and desperate. She finally took a breath, finally let go of the pillows, finally let the tears fall down her cheeks.

She was still alive. The bullets had barely missed her, rang into the wall removing chunks of drywall, leaving plugs in a three-point crown around her head.

"Now, do you want to continue to talk to me like that or do you want to live, eh?" he lowered his gun and waited for her give a smart reply. There was none.

"I want to live," she whispered.

Anatoly took a seat across the room from her and laid the gun on the table beside him. He respected that she hadn't screamed, respected that she hadn't begged. He did like her, even though he hated himself for it. He liked her when he first laid eyes on her. Liked her when he saw her around the house. Liked her when he left his fathers today headed to kidnap her. Liked her in her perfect little outfit with her perfect little deep chocolate features.

Needless to say, Royal would be pissed, but there was something about Victoria that he found to be interesting—interesting enough not to kill yet and interesting enough to utilize.

"You should be disoriented enough that you won't remember how to get back here. If you aren't that disoriented, you still don't bring your ass back here. You understand?"

"Yes."

"Alright. This is how it's going to be for you, Victoria. You need job, you need to get out of city safe, and you're trouble with my family, which means you're as good as dead. My father would have nothing to do with you, but I see your purpose, even if they don't."

"My purpose?"

Anatoly ignored her. "You plan to do back to D.C. tomorrow, today?"

"Yes. Tomorrow."

"Cancel. You're going to Memphis with me along with a few other stops. You're in my debt now, because I didn't slice your throat or sell you to dealer the way that you deserve. You're going to do some business for me, and you'll do it until I tell you otherwise." He pointed her as he talked, eyeing her with a menacing glare.

"Like I told your father. I'm not some fucking whore," she said, scared but still unwilling to back down.

"Relax. Like I told you. I'm an animal, but I'm not that kind. Plus, you were willing to be whore less than a day ago. Humping on my fathers leg like a grubby little bitch. Why are so sensitive now?"

"You jealous? Look, okay, I had the hots for your father. Get over it. There were a hundred before him. It wasn't about his looks, although it helped. It was about money. I'm sure you understand that concept though. Mistress Medlov seemed uninterested. I thought it would be easy. I fucked up. Obviously. Look at where I am. So what do you want from me now?"

"I need you to facilitate some things that you will be required to put your name on, some deals to be made. No one will suspect you. You're a nobody."

She ignored his snide remark. "Illegal business?"

"Is there any other kind?" he clinched his jaw. "You could be… should be dead right now, but I'm offering you opportunity to better yourself."

"It doesn't appear that I have much of a choice, do I tough guy? What makes you think that I won't go to the police though? And how do I know that you're not just setting me up to go jail?"

"I hate fucking pigs, so you won't have any dealings with them from me. And if you turn me in, I'll go to DC and visit your nice family and kill them deader than I'd kill you. And there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it, but you already know that, don't you?"

The threat hardly bothered Victoria. What did she give a damn about her family for? It had taken an act of God for them to pay for her ticket home. Screw them all. The immediate concern for her was money, not to mention that she hated cops too.

"I want the same rate of pay… no… I want double what your father was going to pay me. It sounds like you need me as much as I need you. And when I'm out of your debt, I want to walk away free and clear. None of this in-for-life servitude bullshit that you Russians are into. I've watched the movies. I know that those tattoos mean something very fucked up."

"If you were smart, you would have done your homework before you came here." He paused. "What makes you think I want you for life? Did I ask you to marry me? What are you, crazy?" Anatoly huffed. "You don't even know what you'll be doing yet, and you're already talking deal for double? I should put bullet in your head."

"Fine. Triple it."

She sat up on the couch a little straighter and moved her long dark hair from her face. Strands had fallen out of her neat ponytail during the struggle and now were wistfully. She looked like an angel.

It was hard for Anatoly to pay attention. She was beautiful; he would give her that. But she also was heartless and greedy. Those were two things that if used properly could help him once the deal in Sochi came through. He raised his brow.

"You mind if I smoke? My folks don't like it. Plus, it's not good example for little Anya."

"Knock yourself out," she shrugged.

He took out a silver case and pulled out a long slender cigarette. Sliding the tobacco between his full lips, he pulled out a lighter and lit it.

After taking