Page 47 of Bastard Prince
Now I was the confused one.
“Anton Belikov,” Trick said, tilting his head. “The guy you had dinner with two nights ago.” As realization dawned, Willow’s eyes widened.
“Andrew? He’s a lawyer. And, why have you been following me?”
“He told you his name was Andrew?” She nodded slowly, and Trick laughed. “Sorry, doll. But I was there. The man you had dinner with at that fancy as fuck sushi restaurant? The one who kept ordering Sake while you laughed at his jokes? His name is Anton, and he’s the leader of the Russian mafia here in Las Vegas.”
We watched as the color drained from Willow’s face.
“Oh, god,” she whispered. “I think I’m gonna pass out.”
Willow bent over, her head between her knees as he took some rapid breaths. Trick and I stared at each other, not quite sure what to do. I felt kind of bad for the woman; she obviously had no idea who she had gotten into bed with...literally and figuratively, I’d guess. I thought it best to let her come to grips with her new reality in silence.
The other jackasses in the room didn’t feel quite as generous.
“Hey,” one of them said, staring at Willow, “you wanna come put your head between my knees next, mama?”
“Shut your face,” Trick snapped, but the guy didn’t seem too concerned. What the fuck was wrong with these assholes?
“Hey, yo,” the greaseball I had talked to first kept up. “Once these dudes untie me, I got twenty bucks and a roach in my pocket. We could party all night, right?” Willow sat up quickly, the horrified look on her face making my stomach knot. “That twenty alone should get me a decent blowy.”
Dropping my hands to my buckle, I stepped back over to him and loomed close. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
He stared up at me, his eyes widening, but still he tried to maintain his bravado.
“I know you’re the guy who is killing my buzz right now, man.”
“Fucking pissant,” I snarled, pressing the buttons and releasing my brass knuckles. “I am the guy who runs this town.” I slid the cool stainless steel over my fingers, not taking my eyes off the guy’s face. He watched my every move, licking his lips nervously. “I am the guy who can make sure you never get a buzz again.” Leaning down, I rested my left hand on his shoulder, putting my mouth close to his ear, trying not to gag on the stench of stale sweat and musty bud that wafted off of him. “And I am the guy,” I said quietly, my voice low, “who can make sure that you piss into a bag for the rest of your miserable fuckin’ life.”
With that, I brought my fist down, quick and sharp, landing a solid punch right into the guy’s kidney. The air fled his lungs as he wheezed, not even having enough breath left to yell out in pain. Standing back up, I swung my hand out, whipping him across the face with a back hand, the brass knuckles opening a gash right on the meat of his cheek.
“Now,” I said, flexing my fingers and staring at the crimson stain that now decorated my hand, “I have asked you a goddamn question, and I expect a fuckin’ answer.” I glared at the other two clowns sitting next to him. “What do you know about an explosion that happened earlier tonight?”
“I don’t know shit, man,” the greasy guy said, his words choppy as drool and blood hung from his chin. “I was just out looking for a score when your boy grabbed me. I swear. I just wanted some Frost Bite, bro.”
“Frost Bite?”
“Yeah, man,” the skinny guy next to him said, his eyes wide as he stared at his hunched over neighbor. “They’re hard to find, unless you know someone.”
I looked at Trick and Benny, my eyebrow raised in question. Benny shook his head, but Trick nodded.
“I heard of ‘em. Party poppers. They’ve been showing up for a few weeks now. Not sure of the source, though.”
“The Chemist,” the skinny guy practically screamed. “You want Frost Bite, you gotta know someone who knows someone and they gotta know The Chemist.” He darted he gaze between me and Trick, desperate to say something that pleased us so that he could spare himself.
I’d let him think that. For now.
“The fuckin’ Chemist again,” Trick huffed. “What the fuck is this guy’s problem? Someone needs to teach him the rules.”
The third guy, who had been quiet up until now, started to laugh, drawing all our attention. He was on the short side, but thick, like a heavyweight fighter, with recognizable muscle under a decent layer of fat. He had a neck tattoo and a shaved head.
Likely an ex-con and in some sort of gang, but I didn’t see any tats I associated with any of the known groups in the area.
“You really think that?” he replied, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled at my expense. I walked over to stand in front of him, glaring down as he continued to laugh. “You really think that you are gonna teach The Chemist something? You don’t even know who The Chemist is.”
“And I suppose you do,” Benny said.
More laughter.
