Page 9 of Bratva Wolf

Mrs. Abashin frowns. “Where did you meet Thane?”

Shit. I can’t tell them about the strip club. “The diner by campus.”

The women nod. Hey, they bought it and didn’t ask more questions. My grandmother cocks her head. “He’s not for you.”

I shrug, remaining cool. Truer words have never been spoken. “I don’t want him. We chatted briefly at the diner. He called me ‘Red,’ because of my red hair.”

The women seem to buy my explanation. My grandmother continues. “You need to find a nice boy. A non-Russian boy.”

My eyes squint, staring at the two women. “But you’re both Russian. My parents were both Russian.”

Mrs. Abashin shakes her head. “True. We’ve known people in the Russian bratvas.” She stares at me with a knowing glare. “I know you know Thane is one of them. Should anyone ask about me or your grandmother, that wouldn’t be something you would mention.”

A ringing telephone stops my chance to inquire. “Hello?” I casually step out of the kitchen and head to my bedroom. Idon’t want her to know how much I’ve learned about Thane, this family business and the bratva.

“Hey, Scarlet? We’re shorthanded tonight.” Boris whines on the other end of the call.

“I’m sorry. I’m not available.”

The club manager growls. “I’ll pay you double for three sets.”

“And I get to keep all my tips.”

He mutters something in Russian about difficult women, but agrees. “How soon can you get here?”

“A half hour.” I end the call and stare at my bedroom door. I need a good excuse to leave. I grab my backpack and wrap my hair into a fast bun. I walk back into the living room to find the women cackling like hens. “Mrs. Abashin? How’s your wound?”

She waves her hand. “Fine, dear.”

My grandmother’s brow raises. “You’re going out?”

“Yeah. That was my study partner. She isn’t available tomorrow to study, so we’re getting together tonight.”

“Please be careful.”

“I will.” I step to my grandmother and kiss her cheek. “You two, try not to get into too much trouble.”

The first chorus of “Little Red Riding Hood,” reverberates around the club as men holler. My floor-length hooded crushed velvet cape is a deep scarlet. A play on my name if they actually knew it. My long red hair styled in ringlets cascades down my chest offering just a glimpse of my nipples. It took me a month to get used to parading in a G-string in front of horny heckling men. I saw the ad on a bulletin board at the laundromat when our dryer was broken. I wouldn’t have been able to pay to have it fixed, if I hadn’t gotten this job. It’s made paying for school better, too.

That first night, one of the long-time gals gave me the suggestion of Little Red Riding Hood for a theme. She said it would be easier if I created a persona to escape into while I was in the club. My mind flicks to Thane even though his table is empty. My persona spreads to his penthouse as well.

I strut to the edge of the stage as a hand touches my foot. There’s no money in his hand, so I move to the side. A man leans onto the stage to shove a twenty-dollar bill in my G-string. At least I’ll get to keep all the money I collect tonight. The song is close to over and by my count, I’ve got two hundred dollars between what’s in my string and loose on the stage.

“Let’s give it up for Red. She’ll be back in an hour for her final performance of the night.”

I grab my cloak off the ground and scoop up the money, not caring that my bare ass is prominently displayed for men to see.

Boris, the club manager, leers at me as I step behind the curtain. “I’m so glad I called.”

I smile, knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’m glad I could make it work.”

He nods at my money. “You’re going to make good money tonight.”

“I need it for school.”

He raises his hand to the top of my shoulder and drops his fingers down my arm. “You know…”

A growl resonates around the hallway. “Take your hand off her.”

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