Page 3 of Emerald

My father had taught me four languages by the time I was five years old. And that was by far the least-strange thing he taught me.

I was a good student. His rules have kept me alive. One of his rules was, “What you know is just as valuable as what other people know. Never let them see what you know.”

Yozhin has let all kinds of useful information pass from him to me, because he doesn’t think I understand a word he’s saying.

While Yozhin and Blondie are talking, Angie is stroking her fingertips lightly up and down my arm. The clients love it when the girls cuddle up together. And honestly, it feels nice. I’d rather have Angie touch me than Yozhin.

Yozhin is getting distracted, glancing over at us. He’s about to reach his pudgy hand over toward Angie’s bare thigh when the man he’s been waiting for comes walking into the club. I can tell it’s him by the way Yozhin snaps to attention, his face looking more nervous and strained than ever. It’s weird to see him so jumpy.

I don’t know who this guy is—he’s never been in Raketa before. He doesn’t look smug enough to be a politician, nor wealthy enough to be a businessman. He certainly looks mean enough to be a criminal, but he doesn’t have quite the usual style of a Bratva—no tattoos or jewelry.

I just see a man in a black suit, with an extremely pale face—almost sickly-looking. There’s a stiffness to his expressions, as if he’s forming them intentionally, without actually experiencing the emotions he’s pretending to portray.

He shakes hands with Yozhin, and his smile is the worst expression of all. It’s just a straight line on his thin lips. It doesn’t put Yozhin at ease any more than it does me.

Whoever this guy is, I don’t want to tangle with him. I should make my exit and take care of Yozhin another night.

“Do you want to do it now?” Yozhin mutters to the man, obviously eager to get their meeting over with.

“Let’s go to a private room,” the man in the black suit replies.

“You can go, girls,” Yozhin says in English to Angie and me.

I’m about to take him up on that. But Black Suit holds up one slim white hand to stop us, saying, “Bring them. No need to draw attention.”

So, we have to follow the men into one of the private rooms, usually used for lap dances.

Once we’re inside, the man in the black suit instructs us to dance with each other while he and Yozhin sit side by side on the small sofa.

Yozhin’s men are stationed at the door. Black Suit’s men are standing on the opposite side of the room. With Angie and me in the middle, grinding up against each other, it’s difficult to watch the two men on the sofa without being noticed. Even more difficult to hear what they’re saying over the pounding beat of some Nyusha song. I have to read their lips, stealing glances over Angie’s shoulder.

“You know where to take it?” Black Suit is saying.

“Yes,” Yozhin says hesitantly, “but this isn’t what I usually—“

Black Suit cuts him off.

“Just do it. I don’t want to hear any more whining.”

“I don’t—“

I can’t see the next part because Angie has inadvertently moved in front of me, sliding her slim body up and down against mine in her bright red thong and matching bra.

I turn her around and unclasp the bra, slipping the straps down her shoulders to reveal a pair of heart-shaped pasties over her nipples. This position is convenient because I can see the men on the couch again, and it distracts the bodyguards on the opposite side of the room. They’re looking at Angie’s tits instead of at me.

Black Suit is passing Yozhin something small, black, flat—probably a flash drive. Yozhin takes it gingerly between his fingers before slipping it into the breast pocket of his suit.

Black Suit mutters something else, but his mouth moves so stiffly and he’s bent so close to Yozhin that I can’t make it out. I only see Yozhin replying, miserably, “I know. I’ll be there.”

But he won’t make his meeting, whatever it might be. Because I’m sick of coming into this club, and I’m not dragging it out another week. Besides, I’m worried what might happen if Yozhin’s deal with this guy goes south. If someone else kills Yozhin before I do, I won’t get the rest of my money.

Their business concluded, Black Suit quickly finishes his drink and nods to his bodyguards. They exit the private room, leaving Yozhin alone with Angie and me, as well as the two remaining guards.

Yozhin lets out a sigh, visibly relieved to see the man in the black suit gone.

He eagerly gestures for Angie and me to join him.

“Who was that guy?” I ask, keeping my voice light. “He gives me the creeps.”

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