Page 12 of Born into Chaos

Working our way through the crowd, I’m grateful when Timofey makes a quick stop at the bar, holding up two fingers to let the woman know we want a couple of shots. She knows who we are and ignores all the other customers waiting for their drinks so she can quickly pour ours. I laugh when one of the girls at the end points at us and yells, “Excuse me. We were here first.”

I flip her off and take the shot, tossing it back and motioning for thebartender to fill it again. Unfortunately, the young blonde takes it as an invitation to walk over.

“You’ve pissed her off,” Timofey mutters in Russian. “Rich girls don’t like being made to wait, Vitya, and they definitely don’t like being given the middle finger.” He laughs and adds, “Not like that anyway.”

When the woman is standing in front of me, hand on her jutted-out hip and tits on full display, she eyes me from bottom to top and quickly decides she’d rather fuck me than yell at me.

“I think you owe me a drink.” There’s a smile playing at her lips, but I don’t return it. I want fuck all to do with her. She’s in my way, and she’s annoying me.

“I don’t owe you shit. Go back to your friends and get the fuck out of my way.”

Her mouth drops open while Timofey hides his laugh by taking another shot.

“What did you just say to me?”

The woman in front of me is young and attractive, and I’m guessing she rarely gets told no, but I’m not playing games with her. I’m not fucking interested, and I want her to leave, so I point at the other end of the bar where her friends are staring at us and say, “Go sit the fuck back down. I’m not interested.”

“What?” The word comes out as more of a shocked hiss, and I feel sorry for any guy dumb enough to date her. She’s the kind of woman who demands all the attention, all the time, but lacks the personality to back it up or make it interesting. She’d be exhausting in the worst way possible and boring as hell.

“I don’t want to fuck you,” I say again, making sure to keep my words slow so she can follow along. “Go sit back down and leave me alone.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” she screeches at me before turning and storming off.

“I’m guessing that’s not the first time you’ve been called that by a woman,” Timofey says in Russian. Laughing, he hands me a shot. He’s not wrong, but I don’t bother telling him that. I don’t have the besthistory with women. I’ve never wanted anything more than one night with any of them, and now that I’m stuck in celibacy hell because of Svetlana, I’m not quite sure what that means for my future. Not wanting to think about it, I take another shot and ignore the angry glares the blonde woman and her girlfriends are giving me.

“Come on,” Timofey says, nodding toward the back of the club where Pasha is leaning against the wall. “Let’s find Radomir and get the fuck out of here before you piss off anyone else.”

He’s not wrong. I’m in a bad mood, and I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse. Pasha sees us walking over and immediately straightens, glancing between the two of us while trying like hell to hide the fear that’s suddenly radiating off him. I have no doubt he’s racking his brain, trying to figure out if he’s done something wrong, much like I was doing with Sveta earlier.

“Where’s Radomir?” Timofey asks, cutting right to the chase. He keeps speaking Russian, so even if anyone around us happens to overhear our conversation over the music, they won’t know what the hell we’re talking about.

“He texted and told me he was going to check on the shipment coming in. Said he’d be back tomorrow night.” Pasha looks over at me and then quickly decides after seeing my pissed-off face that Timofey is the safer bet and keeps his focus on him when he asks, “Is everything okay?”

Timofey ignores the question. “How’s he been acting?”

Pasha scratches at the blond stubble on his face, clearly wishing he wasn’t the one chosen for tonight’s questioning.

“Don’t fucking cover for him,” I warn. “It’ll just end up being your ass on the line.”

Usually I’d be on teamdon’t ever be a fucking rat,but this is different. This is about someone trying to fuck over the Bratva. This is about loyalty. We all pledged our lives to the Melnikovs, and that oath comes before everything.

Pasha sighs and nods his head. “He’s late all the time. Last week he gave me the wrong number of pills, and when I confronted him, he’dlaughed it off and said he’d make up for it this week. He never travels, and now all of a sudden he’s texting and telling me that he needs to personally be there to check on a shipment.” He waits a second and then adds, “Something feels off with him.”

“You think he’s using?” I ask.

Pasha thinks about it and then shakes his head. “He doesn’t look like it.”

“So stealing,” Timofey says, stating the only obvious explanation for all this and sealing Radomir’s fate with those two words.

“I haven’t seen it with my own eyes,” Pasha clarifies, “but that’s definitely what it looks like.”

Looking across the crowded room, I scan the dance floor and tables. I spot Isaak sitting in a corner booth, deep in conversation with a young brunette. She discreetly passes him some money and then takes the small bag he gives her before scooting her ass away from the table as quickly as she can without drawing attention. She’s young, obviously a student at the university, and I’m guessing Mommy and Daddy would have a heart attack if they could see their precious daughter right now. She hightails it out of the club like her ass is on fire, and when Isaak looks up and notices me staring, he gives me a nod to let me know he’s on his way over.

Isaak and Pasha both look the part. There’s nothing about them that screams drug dealer. They work hard to blend in, and both of them could easily pass for a couple of students. They were assigned this job because neither one of them has visible tattoos, and now they’re not allowed to get any until they’re assigned a different job. When Isaak gets closer, he eyes the dragon tattoo I have on my neck, and I know it irritates him that he can’t ink his skin in the same way. I smile and scratch at the dark stubble on my face, letting him get an eyeful of the hand tats I have, just because I can be an ass sometimes.

I laugh when he arches a brow at me, knowing exactly what I’m doing.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “You won’t be able to pass as a student forever. Once you look too old, you can get all the tattoos you want.”

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