Fuck, this job is aggravating. There have been so many times where I’ve had to bash skulls in, too many times then there should’ve been . . . but when these arrogant motherfuckers tell me the women haven’t been what they wanted, demand a refund, said they’ve beat them or some other sort of abuse. That’s when I lose all control. I don’t give a fuck what the women have or haven’t done at that point.
“Boss, we have a problem,” Michail, my second-in-command, speaks from behind my office door.
“Then come in,” I call over to him as I pick my glass back up and finish off the strong liquor. While it stings the back of my throat he speaks, filling me in on whatever today’s problem is going to be.
“Remember Khristina, who was being sent to Germany with the investor?”
I nod at his question, remembering the woman very well. She was a quiet one yet was simply beautiful. Not the overdone beauty like many of the women I see on a weekly basis. She had the natural beauty, and if she had fillers or Botox like the rest, I was never able to tell. “What about her, is her new husband not happy?”
Michail scoffs and shakes his head. “He’ll be downstairs within the hour. Khristina came back here today.”
“What for?” I ask about Khristina but I’m curious for the reasoning Michail has ordered Katya’s soldiers to go after the man and bring him here. It only happens on the most serious of circumstances.
“Gregor, the scum, beat her within an inch of her life. She lost their child because of what he did. She’s upstairs in her old room. I’ve told her we’ll take care of her for as long as she needs and we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
I nod, understanding what he’s said while thoughts run through my mind. How did this happen? We vet many of the men these ladies go to, ensuring they’re ending up in good hands. Katya was a trafficking victim, which is how she ended up with her dead husband, Sergei Kolosov. She’s now married to a member of the Skulls Renegade MC and they share a few children together. I believe their eldest daughter is around seventeen now, and the others range from fifteen to one.
In the last five years since being Katya’s head man in charge here in Moscow, this hasn’t once happened. I’m the man reviewing the applicants’ profiles, matching them with women who will not only satisfy them, but women who fit what they’re looking for. I developed a dating system so before the tenth date both parties can decide if they want to proceed or not. Khristina and Gregor seemed very happy with one another. She only left Moscow around a year ago.
“I’ll go speak with her, make sure she’s alright and all of that,” I tell Michail, who takes a step back and allows me to pass him. We both leave my office and I lock it behind me. Michail stands outside of the doorway which is where he’s usually posted unless I have him doing something for me.
I go down the hallway and head up the stairwell. Once I’m on the landing, I press my thumb up against the scanner and the door opens with a loud clicking sound. Our building was an old clothing factory back in the early 1900s. Sadly the brand didn’t stay alive and the building was vacant for many years until Katya bought it about fifteen years ago. There are five floors in total, including the basement. The first floor is where the tattoo parlor is, however, the back section of it is where there’s access to the basement and upper levels, so those working in the tattoo shop know not to go there. It’s off limits, and for good reason.
The floor I’m on now and the two above it, are where the brides stay. It’s where we train them, tell them how to act, what to be doing, how to present themselves, and much more. Given Katya’s always been a fan of architecture she ensured to make the women’s area more than appeasing to the eye. On each level of their domain there’s about fifteen bedrooms with personal bathrooms attached, multiple living areas, and kitchens. She treats these girls better than they’ve been treated their entire lives if you ask me, and given some of the things they’ve said on their intake forms . . . I don’t blame them for wanting to get out of Russia.
I step onto the black hardwood floors and see many of the girls sitting around, cackling while they watch TV. I don’t even have to say a word before Lia, one of our longest hopeful brides, points back toward Khristina’s room. “She’s in there, poor thing.”
I’ll check in with Khristina and then I’ll head downstairs, anxiously awaiting the moment Gregor’s disgusting ass gets brought here. We keep the downstairs area for the dirtier side of our business. It’s not only where Katya keeps some of her guns and whatnot, but where we have a couple rooms to use as we see fit.
Funny how just a bit ago I was beating a bloody pulp into some wise guy on the street who thought he could grope Lia in public. He figured she was a common whore, but a whore she isn’t. It’s my job to act as the general manager for Pins and Needles, but it’s also my job to protect these women. A job I don’t take lightly.
Walking up to Khristina’s door, I rap my knuckles against it. “Khristina, it’s me.” Most of us here speak English because the future husbands prefer it if they don’t only speak one language.
“Come in.” I can barely hear her voice, but I accept her invitation and push open her door.
The sight before me is enough to make my blood boil until it’s coming out of every orifice I have.
Her medium-brown hair is stained with dried blood while her face is a combination of the same blue that adorns her eyes and a custard like yellow. Her upper lip is busted and it appears she was able to get a couple stitches.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, tearing my eyes away from her. If I keep looking, I’m going to fuckin’ kill him tonight. Fuck!
“Am I that horrid to look at?” Khristina asks and my eyes find hers. Her bottom lip trembles as she looks at me. My relationship with the women here is much like an older brother, which is ironic considering I don’t speak to my own sister often.
“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world,” I tell her, sliding my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
She cackles lightly and squints, grabbing her side. “Oh, fuck. I forgot it hurts to laugh.”
I draw my brows together and take a few steps toward her. “He did more to you?”
“I have broken ribs, on top of it all.”
“I’m so sorry this happened to you, Khristina.”
She lowers her head and stares at the ground. I notice the way her hands linger down to her stomach, probably remembering what was once there. “I could handle it all you know, but what I can’t handle is this . . . this loss.”
“I’ll handle him like I handle everything else,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Will you kill him, Kronid?” she questions, looking into my eyes once again.
“If you want me to I will,” I answer her honestly.
“I do. I want him to suffer the same way he made me.” She shuts her eyes and tears come streaming down her cheeks.
I kneel down in front of her and speak truthfully, “I’m going to make sure he never does this to anyone else.”
After a few minutes of consoling Khristina and making sure she’s okay, I ask Lia to check in on her. She’s the mother hen of sorts when it comes to the women here, the one I can always entrust to make sure things are going okay upstairs. I go back down to the main level where my office is and decide to head to the front and see if the mail has come for the day, just as I get a text from Michail telling me it’ll be two hours before Gregor arrives. The receptionist in the front hands me my mail and my eyes linger on the one woman who’s only ever been able to gather my attention—Dema.