Chapter 4 Episode 4

“What is this beautiful young lady drinking?” Mike c***s his head at the empty glass on the counter top. “Well rum and coke.” I click my tongue in mock admonishment. “Oh, no, no, no. We can do better than that.” The gropey man huffs and holds a hand up to interrupt me, but I ignore it. Right now, he doesn’t exist. And when I do decide to turn my attention to him, he’ll long for the days when I didn’t know him from a f*****g hole in the ground. I lean against the counter and focus my attention on the woman. “What’s your poison? Anything under the sun. Name it and it’s yours.” “Listen, buddy—” The man grabs my arm. And then he yelps when he’s immediately ripped away by my security. I stay focused on the woman. She blushes and settles back onto the stool. She is pretty, I’ll give her that. Definitely a tourist,and given the tan line on her ring finger, I’d guess a recent divorcee. “Um, I don’t know…” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The ends are frayed and her roots haven’t been touched in months. It doesn’t take long for me to piece together the story of someone scrimping by just to survive an ordeal. This is probably her one chance at a break before she’s back to cold, hard reality. “Vodka? Maybe?” My smile broadens. “Have you ever tasted Russo-Baltique vodka?” The man stiffens behind me. He instantly stops struggling with my guards when he hears my native accent slip out. She blushes more and shakes her head. “Hell no. That stuff is… No, safe to say I have never, ever tried million-dollar vodka.As you can tell, my luck here hasn’t been that great.” I nod to Mike, who is already pouring a shot glass from the diamond-encrusted bottle we keep in the refrigerated safe under the bar. “Are… are you serious?” she balks. I nod. “On the house.” Mike slides me another shot glass, and I hold it up for her to clink. “To new beginnings.” Again, her eyes widen, but she tosses it back at the same time I do. We both hiss at the after burn. It’s like drinking glacier water. I glance over to Bambi. She’s wearing her amused smile. “Let’s get our beautiful guest set up with some VIP treatment, hm?” “On it.” Bambi taps a few things on her phone, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Want me to include The Celestial?” “Absolutely.” “Done.” It’s not even a full minute before one of our concierges appears at the woman’s elbow. He offers her a warm smile and a slight bow. “If you’ll come with me, madam?” She glances between the three of us, then settles her perplexed stare on me. “What’s going on?” I set my shot glass back on the counter. “I’m guessing your luck hasn’t been great for a while. That’s why you came out here,isn’t it?” Her eyes dart down and away. She nods mutely. “Well, then, time for a change.” I straighten my jacket, give her one final nod, then turn to deal with the other loose end. Behind me, the concierge escorts the woman down a nearby side hall toward the spa. When she’s out of sight, I signal for security to bring the man along. He and I are going in a slightly different direction. The poor bastard tries to drag his feet on the carpet like he’s hoping the earth will swallow him whole before we reach the private security room tucked behind the glass elevator. But my men are stronger than him, and they hoist him up so only his toesskate over the plush fibers. I hear him mutter pleas, stammer promises to leave and never come back, but I ignore him. It’s too late for that. Bambi bids us adieu at the door; she’s never had much taste or patience for what comes next. It’s just as well—she needs to go check in with all our escorts in the pit. The man is firmly seated into one of the metal chairs. Two of my men keep a hand on each of his shoulders to make sure he doesn’t think running is a good idea. The others lean in the corners, every bit the silent, violent sentinels they’re trained to be. Even before I speak, the message is clear. And it’s dripping down the man’s face in rivulets. “Listen, man,” he stutters, “I meant you no disrespect⁠ —” I hold up a hand and he falls silent. “Of course not.” I flash him a charming smile, but my eyes are full of venom. “You came into my house, drank my liquor, and harassed my guests. But you meant no disrespect to me specifically.” His mouth snaps shut. “Here’s the thing…” I check the message from Bambi on my smartwatch. “... Mr. Nichols. Mr. Josh Nichols. From Los Angeles as well—how lovely. We’re practically neighbors.” I meet his terrified gaze, my smile still perfectly in place. His throat bobs with a terrified swallow. “Here’s the thing,” I repeat. “This is a business. This is my business. And what people do under my roof is my business. So when someone like you comes in here and threatens my guests, you threaten my business.” He gulps again. It’s audible in the silent room. “And I simply can’t have you threatening my business, Mr. Nichols.” “I-I s-s-swear, man, I’ll never⁠ —” He grimaces in pain when both men bracing his shoulders squeeze tight. Any more pressure and they’ll snap his collarbone. “I swear, Mr. Zakrevsky! I’m out! I’ll never come back!” I steal a glance to the guard on my right, who immediately hands me the man’s now-unlocked phone. I skim through the texts.Most of them are hookup requests and uncouth responses to various rejections on one dating app after another. The truth is, this guy is hardly worth the time I’m giving him right now. The only reason why I’m even bothering is because reputation precedes performance, and the public currently milling around the Main Floor need to see the House keeps things safe and clean. But there are far greater threats than Mr. Nichols out there. Truth is, this sad excuse for a man doesn’t even register. So I do the next best thing and cut him some slack. Notice I didn’t say that I cut him loose. “Sasha.” The guard to my left steps forward. He’s intimidating with broad shoulders, a deep chest, and bald head tattooed with tribal flames near his ears. The very picture of Do not f**k with me. “Da, pakhan?” he grunts in Russian. I smirk. He knows the game well. “Keep Mr. Nichols company while we decide what to do with him. And see what you can do about these dating profiles;they’re atrocious.” Sasha nods and calmly sits in the chair opposite Nichols, taking the phone once I set it on the table. Nichols slumps in his chair,clearly on the verge of sobbing. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen to him. He doesn’t know how Sasha is going to “keep him company.” All his mind can do is run through the worst possible scenarios, and they’re obviously terrible. If he were anyone who mattered, they probably would be. But I don’t need the blood on my furniture, and besides—the nightmares he can conjure himself are worse than anything Sasha’s brass knuckles could ever do to him. My men will make him s**t his pants for an hour, then rough him up a bit, throw him into the back alley, and let him scurry back to whatever rat hole he calls home. I give a curt nod. The rest of the men file behind each other and we exit the room together, leaving Josh Nichols to the worst hour of his life. The curious gazes that skirt our way as we stride to the pit are exactly why I have this little protocol in place. No one knows what’s going on in that room—only that Demyen Zakrevsky personally manhandled a serial sleaze who dared come into this House. Bambi matches my smirk when she hands me her tablet at the edge of the pit. “Right on schedule.” The screen is lit with selfies and captions posted by the now-elated VIP guest as she tours her luxury suite and tries on the silk complimentary robes. Comments and likes continue to pour in as friends and family push the posts through the social media algorithms. “And the bookings?” I accept a tumbler from a passing server and take a sip. “Up by fifteen percent since it went viral. We’ll have a busy weekend next week.” “Perfect.” Bambi flips the cover shut and tucks the tablet under her arm. “Tolya would be proud of you, you know.” The thought comes as a hard punch to my gut. My mood suddenly sours, and I resist shooting her a glare. I know she means it as a compliment. I hate how it feels more like a reminder that his empire fell into my lap through Fate’s cruelest twist. It doesn’t matter that even Tolya insists I stole nothing from him. It still feels like I did. “He’d have it twice as successful than it is now,” I grumble. “With half as many idiots poisoning the bar.” Bambi rolls her eyes and makes no effort at all to hide it. “When are you going to take credit for your own success?”