Deadly Games (2 page)

Thirteen Years Later

Czech Republic; October 28; 10:00 p.m.

The Prague club roared with the sounds of vices better left unknown, but too tempting for most. This Czech city was Janus-faced. Two faces of the same coin, its beauty and old world for the discerning tourists, but flipped, the red light districts rivaled those in Amsterdam or the worst hells on earth. Evil, black and thick rolled through the Prague underground, plumping its greedy fist from those who sought pleasure in unconventional ways.

So much for a quiet evening at home. Though quiet might not be found for a couple more days. Most residents were out celebrating--this was, after all, Czech Independence day. The pop of fireworks burst through the air, laughter rang out and motorists zoomed by. Tonight was full of revelry. Fireworks still shot from Prazsky hrad, the Prague Castle and people still gathered in Stare Mesto.

Dimitri Petrolov, also referred to as The Reaper, strode to the front of Nero’s Nightclub. Ivan, the bouncer only nodded to him and let him pass. But then Dimitri really hadn’t expected anyone to try and stop him. There was, after all, a good reason for his nickname. He was Viktor Hellinski’s enforcer. And everyone who was anyone knew that Hellinski was not a man to cross.

The club pulsed. Rammstein beat against the smoked tinged air from hidden speakers. Strobe lights flashed through the darkness, and dancers, revelers, drug users alike took on a macabre glow. The club was painted black, with burning murals on the walls that seemed to glow and flicker in the black lights as the only relief.

“Hey, Dimitri, baby,” a sultry voice called.

He looked to his right where one of the night waitresses weaved between bodies with an empty platter. Debromil Or was it her twin, Elsa? They were both blonde and stacked like Viking goddesses. Hopefully, they would simply remain waitresses and not wind up in Hellinski’s other jobs. He merely smiled at her. Her silicone breasts, all but bursting from the corset she wore, didn’t move as she gyrated to the music, her platter of drinks never wavering

Dimitri wove his way to the staircase at the back of the club. Women, men, college kids moved out of his way. He ignored the drugs, probably ecstasy, being passed between two girls. Another couple kissed open mouthed. He heard the sounds of an argument between a man and a woman, but ignored them on his way up the stairs. At the top landing he looked below at the spandex and leather clad figures, dark in the shadows of flickering bright lights. The smell of cigarette smoke, the tinge of stronger chemicals mixed and melded with too many perfumes on too many bodies and glossing it all was the permanent smell of alcohol. It was the fragrance of greed and vice. Well, one he associated with it anyway. Most here tonight were simply out for a good time. At least this was Nero’s and not one of the other clubs.

9

He closed his eyes for a moment before turning to the hallway, guarded by two men he personally thought of as Pit and Bull. Their jackets did little to cover the holsters or the semi automatic weapons harnessed there. But who the hell was he to raise a brow at weapons. His SIG Sauer P226 was in his own shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket.

His skin itched with the knowledge that something was up. He didn’t even look at them as he walked down the hallway. The black door at the end was marked “private”.

Dimitri ignored this and shoved the door open, walking into the dark office. A low light spilled from a lamp on the desk. The tall leather chair was turned away from him, facing the large picture window which overlooked the floor of the club below.

“What took so long?” Viktor asked, not turning.

“I was otherwise….” Dimitri paused, “engaged.”

Viktor scoffed. “Were you? Hope she gave you a good time, my friend.”

Dimitri chose not to answer Instead, he walked to stand at the edge of the window looking at the melee below. They reminded him of chaotic ants. Too much confusion.

“Nice profit tonight.”

“Yes,” Dimitri answered without turning his head The man was reflected in the glass. No one could see them For a viewer below the window looked like a giant wall of mirrors that only reflected the dancing, blinking scene back to the revelers. He glanced at the man sitting in the chair, his hands, one holding a glass of vodka, resting on the arms.

They both stared out at the scene below them. Dimitri waited. He never pressed for details, never asked. Questioning, in his opinion, led to others questioning him.

Questions often gave more away than silence. And silence, he had learned, was more rewarding.

He watched as one man and woman screwed in the shadows against the wall. The bouncers and guards didn’t notice. Even if they had, nothing would happen.

Peopled gyrated on the dance floor, to him, they all looked the same. A sea of black ants. Drugs, sex, booze--just a good time, they’d say.

If they only knew.

“I have a job for you,” Hellinski said.

Music from below barely pulsed through the floor There was a soft vibration from the base, but that was it. Dimitri knew these rooms were sound proof.

As was the rest of the building.

People came to play downstairs and some went upstairs and to the adjoining building for a different taste in entertainment that had little to do with dancing. It was only one of the many businesses that Dimitri helped his boss oversee.

These days he was usually absent, only called in for specific jobs.

Dimitri waited in silence again.

“Tis annoying habit you have, Dimitri. Silence. I don’t like silence. I’ve killed others for their arrogance, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” And he had been the ones to put the bullet in many of them.

“And I’m aware I’m not the only one who gives you orders.”

He kept looking at the dancers and party goers below. He saw a group of young men slip something--probably roofies--into the drinks of their dates.

“No, sir. You told me when I was brought in that I would answer to Elianya as well as to you.”

10

The older man grunted and Dimitri turned to study him. Viktor did his Slavic ancestors proud. Wide slanted eyes, like those of a lion watched him from their amber depths. Viktor’s nose was slightly crooked, broken God only knows how many times.

Scars slashed across the right side of his elongated face. The ash blond hair was pulled back in a queue. The man was one of the most feared in the Prague underground and in time, Dimitri knew, he himself would be on Viktor’s hitlist. It was simply the way the game was played.

Those amber eyes narrowed on him, even as Viktor straightened in his chair and pulled at the maroon silk shirt he wore. “Tell me what you would do if I ordered you to kill someone you might not want to.”

Dimitri merely arched a brow. What game was the man setting into motion now?

He walked to the sideboard, reached into the small refrigerator and pulled out a frozen glass. The vodka poured in smoothly He set the decanter aside and turned back to his boss, sipping the clear liquid.

“When do I learn the name of this … problem?” Someone he wouldn’t want to kill? His pulse sped. No way the man could know. Dimitri glanced at him as he sat in the chair to the side of the desk, his back against the wall, facing the rest of the room.

Viktor frowned and propped his left ankle on his right knee, his foot bouncing.

“Perhaps,” Dimitri ventured, “the person is not one that I might have a problem eliminating?”

Those eyes snapped back to him. Silence settled between them. “Perhaps.”

Dimitri nodded. And waited.

With a curse, muttering of whores, Viktor stood, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared again out the window.

Apparently someone had angered Mr. Hellinski. Not wise, but then who was he to complain?

On a deep breath, the other man shook his head. “Come back tomorrow night. I will give you a name then. And I want it done as soon as possible.”

It was Dimitri’s turn to frown. Why the hesitancy?

“Hellinski.” When the man faced him, he said, “You’re a hard man, with a business to oversee and protect, and as far as friends go, I consider you one.”

Viktor smiled, his scared face more distorted. “And I you, Dimitri. And I you.”

“You don’t like people to cross you.” Dimitri stared at him. “And you have no mercy for those who betray you.”

Viktor inclined his head.

“I’m of the same mind.” Dimitri stood, set the glass down.

Viktor’s eyes widened in shock. “You think I would betray you?”

Dimitri smiled. “For enough money, yes.”

Viktor laughed, but they both knew the words to be true.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Viktor nodded. “You’re right on what you said of betrayal. I’ll give you the name night after tomorrow, as I just recalled I have a prior engagement. I do want the job finished within the next week.”

Dimitri strode out of the office, seemingly not paying any more attention to anyone than when he walked in.

11

He slapped Ivan on the arm as he walked out of the club and put his head down against the cold autumn wind. He waited for a cab, noting that Ivan took out a cell phone and made a call.

* * * *

She set the phone aside and bit on her thumb nail. Now what? Damn it all to hell. She had not worked this hard to see it all go up in flames. Not now.

One stupid mistake.

But she held the cards. She knew she held the winning hand.

Kill someone that Dimitri might object to?

She chuckled. For all the hard won reputation, for all the crimes the man had committed, all the lives he had taken, she knew Mr. Petrolov for what he really was.

A savior of the weak, a champion of the downtrodden.

The Reaper? More like The Saint.

Oh, he killed all right. And Elianya Hellinski had no doubt that when her brother ordered her hit, Dimitri Petrolov--or so he was called--would not hesitate in carrying out that order. And probably enjoy doing it.

Things had not ended well with them. Damn the man, they could have ruled and created their own dynasty if he’d only listened to her.

But no. Elianya was a good fuck, but nothing more. Fine. She’d had others turn her down. Of course they were all dead. And he would be as well.

Pity though, the man was the best lover she’d ever had. But a woman had to do what a woman had to do And if the bastard didn’t want her, that would be his loss. No man, no matter how much he amused her, would reject her. Period. She simply didn’t allow that.

Besides, if he lived, he might be a problem. Might? She sighed. If Dimitri Petrolov was anything--it was a threat. And she knew without a doubt that Mr. Petrolov would kill her in a split second if he found out what she was really doing. For all his darkness and fear, the man was one of the most honorable she’d ever met. It was very sad.

Honor was well and good in certain aspects--but in business, business where millions could be made, no. She had no use for the likes of him. Besides, she’d given the man his chance and he’d turned her down.

Ball-less wonders. Women were, without a doubt the stronger, more driven sex.

Men waited on orders, let too many things tie their damn hands.

No one tied her hands. No one. Not Dimitri, not Vicktor, not any man.

Her heels clicked as she paced her office, the hardwood floors gleaming.

Stopping, she looked out the window, over the inky black waters of the Vltava River. She loved the nights. The night was the only time the truth shone in this world.

People hid behind daylight.

She grinned. And in daylight she would make certain it happened.

Walking back to her mahogany desk, she sat down, and clicked on the address she’d paid dearly for. And if this failed, there was always a back up. One should always be prepared.

Time to hire her own enforcer and make certain that at the end of the night, she was the one left standing.

* * * *

12

New York

The Raven clicked her way through wasting time as she waited for her flight, reading headlines via the internet.

Her heart still slammed against her chest, but she knew enough to go slowly, to stay calm.

The last job had gone smooth as butter, and all the better for it.

Her eyes skimmed down the page, reading the weather reports. Good thing she was leaving New York and flying back home to Dublin. A storm was blowing in and she had no wish to stay here longer than necessary. Already her flight was delayed. It would be early tomorrow morning when she arrived. She sighed.

An icon popped on screen for Raven. Three messages.

She wanted to open them, but it was hardly safe. Not here. There were high powered cameras all over airports these days. Though perhaps many would call her paranoid, she preferred the term cautious. Caution had saved her life more times than she cared to count and she wouldn’t toss it aside now.

Once on the plane, however, she pulled the computer back out and clicked on her mailbox. The return address was probably as bogus as the one she herself created, but it served its purpose.

B-Widow only had one thing to say.

I’ve a job for you.

Raven closed her eyes and leaned back against the soft, plush, first class seats.

The black Atlantic thousands of feet below didn’t sooth her.

Nothing soothed her these days.

Nothing.

She took a drink of her ginger ale.

Perhaps it was time to call it quits.

God knew she had enough bloody money she never had to do another thing in her life again.

And yet….

She was good at what she did. Never one to mince words, she knew she was damn good.

But she rarely took jobs back to back. Not wise.

And yet….

Something called to her.

Since the fiasco two years ago, she demanded names and information, gathering her own before she ever agreed to take on a mark.

A little unorthodox to some, especially to her trainer, Nikko.

But it was what she did and the way she preferred doing things.

After all, she didn’t want some innocent man to die just because an ex-wife was pissed at him. She might kill for a living, but she had her own code of ethics, though most would never see them.

What the hell.

She set the glass aside and typed a reply back to B-Widow, wondering who, wondering what, how much and wondering what excitement this next job would bring her.

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