Page 3 of Mistaken
He leaned down to murmur in my ear. “It is the Russian word for Hell.”
I put the cocktail down, and it made a loud, obnoxious clinking sound and some of the drink splashed over the side. I was going to make an embarrassed little chuckle but my tongue suddenly seemed to feel too big to fit in my mouth. The room was bulging oddly and whatever ubiquitous trance tune this was from Armin van Buuren was slowing down and speeding up.
Oh, no, nononono…I moaned silently.
Clumsily stepping back from the bar, I pointed angrily at the expressionless Maksim. “W- wait. I saw the buh…uh, the bartender make this?”
He leaned in close again with a whisper. “My bar. My bartender.”
I should have screamed for help. I should have punched his pretty face. What I definitely should not have done was open my big mouth and sneer, “Your drinks are boring and overpriced.”
Enormous hands fastened over my arms like shackles, squeezing cruelly. “Oh, darling, you have much worse things to worry about.” Before I could come up with a snappy retort, my body slumped bonelessly and everything faded away.
Chapter 2 - Run, Rachel, Run!
In which Ella just cannot catch a break.
Maksim…
An hour before…
“Boss, I’m sorry to bother you but I knew you would want to be made aware of this.”
Patrick was one of the few non-Russians in my Bratva’s leadership, just one step under myObshchak.He spoke Russian fluently but enjoyed pretending he didn’t know the language since a surprising number of other rival Brigadiers would speak openly in front of him.
“Come in, Patrick. What’s on your mind?” The grand opening of my new nightclubGehennawas doing just fine without me, and I preferred the silence of my office overlooking the numerous dance floors.
He couldn’t wait to sit down, blurting, “Remember Rachel Marx, the bodega owner in Queens who disappeared with all the merchandise from our weapons storage under her store?”
My lip curled. We’d paid that traitor a generous sum for her basement storage and for the simple matter of looking the other way. With all the surveillance in place, we still couldn’t figure out how she pulled it off.
“Oh, yes. I remember. I’m looking forward to killing her myself.”
“You just got your chance, Boss. She’s been sighted.”
Patrick jumped a little as I shouted, “Where?”
“Right here,” he pointed down at the club. “She’s on the third level, the trance floor. Short black dress.”
Pushing past him, I searched briefly before spotting her. Waist-length black hair, pale skin, tall.
There she was, walking into hell all by herself. “She’s never met me,” I said thoughtfully, “I’m going to buy her a drink. Make sure there are two men on the periphery in case she recognizes me or tries to make a run for it.”
Striding down the private stairway, I cracked my knuckles. It had been a long and infuriating day, fighting a power grab from other Bratva families. I was going to enjoy this.
Ella…
Currently…
Regaining consciousness as my head was knocked painfully against the spare tire in the trunk of a speeding car will not make my list of top ten ways to wake up. I moaned and clutched my skull, trying to keep from leaking out. What the hell just happened to me? Okay, I was freaking out. My memory was mush and I started shaking. Who did this? What happened to me? The trunk may have been cold, but I was sweating. Swiping my hand over my wet face, I tried to concentrate.
We were at a new club…
Tania was dirty dancing with a Wall Street rich boy…
The hot Russian guy bought me a Mojito…
“Are you kidding me?” I rasped painfully, “That slime roofied me!”
