“I won’t have Katya thinking I’m insulting to her business. We are mutually beneficial to the other, are we not?” Rytas speaks up from behind Michail, his Lithuanian accent coming through very thick. Many of the men we deal with speak English but choose not to on most occasions. It only makes things difficult.
Rytas is one of our bigger clients, brokering the guns, ammunitions, and other machinery we’re able to maintain. We only keep guns here, but our bigger merchandise is located in warehouses throughout Russia. He’s come here to collect a shipment of guns, ten thousand AK47s if my memory serves correctly. Regardless of my personal feelings, he brings in almost a billion dollars a year to Katya, making him our highest paying client.
I step out of the room I have Gregor in and into the hallway, though I suppose I shouldn’t call it a hall. It’s essentially the main area of the basement. There are four rooms like Gregor’s in, most of them holding whatever guns we need to store here. Meanwhile, pallets and crates are sprawled throughout this larger area with other inventory we’ve yet to go through. To my left there’s the doorway that leads out to another part of the basement, which houses the storing area for Pins and Needles inventory. All the ink, machinery, and whatever else they could use is up there. To my right there’s a garage bay, making it easy for us to unload product or load it onto our client’s trucks.
“Katya will be so very pleased when I tell her you arrived early.” I plaster on a fake smile, knowing she’ll be annoyed, but how she’ll tell me to just bite the bullet for the inconvenience. She did tell him to not be late again, after all, and she’ll get a kick out of his actions. This is the kind of shit Pippa does to her. I only know because of the stories she’s told me. Pippa’s the most-smartassed of all her kids, then again, she’s one of three girls and the other two are too young to be so sassy. The boys aren’t nearly as sassy as her, even if they are closer to her age.
“I was planning on it. Now show me to the guns, yes?” Rytas speaks up, looking around the room.
I walk him over to the crates closest to the garage bay. I’ll get Michail to load it onto his truck after we conclude the inspection. I had Michail get our men to divvy up the guns to where there’s about five hundred per crate. We don’t operate like many others do in the United States, or even in China. We hide our product in plain sight when necessary. Michail grabs a crowbar from the room and slides it between where the top meets the crate. The squeaking sound of nails being pulled from the wood fills the room as Michail goes on every side of the crate, doing the same as before until the lid is loose. He lifts it up and sets it on the floor a few feet away while I move the packing and reveal dildos, lots of dildos.
“Toys for fucking? You and your boss are getting funny these days. What happened to filling it with bars of soap?” Rytas cackles, seeing the hidden message Katya herself requested. She’s essentially telling him to go fuck himself.
I pick one of the silicone dicks up. “They’re solid, heavy, and their weight is proportionate to what you have on the export paperwork. They won’t bat an eyelash at it, especially if you crack open a crate and show them what’s inside.” I wave Michail over and we both take the individually wrapped dildos from the top layer, then reveal the securely packed guns. Like I said, hidden in plain sight.
“How you’ve evaded the Federation I have no idea, but I do not complain. We make each other very rich, no?”
“You make my boss very rich,” I correct Rytas, and get a chuckle from him in response. Michail and I put the dildos back, then I help him secure the lid of the crate back on, but the distinct sound of the bar being pushed on the door to the tattoo parlor causes me to glance to the left, and what I see makes me feel like a novice. Gregor is pushing with all of his power to get out of here. Blood stains the floor from where he hobbled or crawled over and I run over to him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pull him into the center of the room. He doesn’t have his shoes on, so I look around and see they’re by the door.
Whatever, I’ll get them in a fucking minute. First this guy needs another beating. If he’s strong enough to crawl across the floor, he’s strong enough to take some more intense shit. “He betrayed you, yes?” Rytas asks, cocking a brow.
Since it’s easier to nod, I do. It’s not Rytas’ business what Gregor did, but if he wants to see the man as a betrayer than I won’t stop him.
“Mind if I have a go?” Rytas questions me, and I nod. Rytas stands over him and stomps on his hands until cracking can be heard. Gregor screams out in pain, and before I realize what’s happening Rytas is slamming the back of his ankle against Gregor’s face. His nose breaks with a crack and blood begins streaming from his nose. His screams grow louder and the sound of something plastic hitting the concrete floor causes me to glance to the left.
Dema’s standing there with a horrified look on her face, while a plastic crate’s laying sideways on the ground with various inks.
How the fuck did she see this?
I look to the door and see the shoes, the shoes I said I’d go get in a minute. Fuck. Fuck!
Rytas runs over to Dema, grabs her by the back of the neck, and shoves her on the ground, pointing a gun to her temple. Michail walks by and grabs the shoes, causing the door to our area to shut.
“She saw what I did, she must die,” Rytas states, and though I don’t know much about Dema . . . I know enough. She’s the only caregiver to her elderly grandparents, she walks to work every day because they live a few minutes away. She can’t die and I won’t let her.
“She won’t tell a soul,” I quip, glaring at Rytas.
Rytas blinks at me, flicking his wrist so he presses the gun further against her temple. I take a step toward him as he speaks. “They tell everyone, they always do.”
“Not her. She’s my woman and she won’t tell anyone a fuckin’ thing. What happened here stays between us. Nothing will ever be said.” I stare down Rytas for a few moments and then look to Dema, “Isn’t that right, sirenă?” I call her mermaid in Romanian, wanting to give the impression we’ve been together for a while. On her right arm she has a full sleeve that spans from a palm tree on the beach, to the sand, to the ocean and what lies beneath it. I don’t know Dema well, but I have a feeling she must love the ocean.
Silence fills the air and I wait for my newfound sirenă to give me an answer. If she doesn’t, it could very well mean her death.
Chapter Five
Dema
“Isn’t that right, sirenă?” Kronid asks me, calling me something I’ve never heard come from his lips. The man barely talks to me, and yet he’s telling the man who has a gun held to my head that we’re lovers. Yeah, right. Like this guy’s going to believe it.
Silence fills the air between us and I don’t know how to respond, what to say in a situation like this. My brain is telling me to nod and agree, but my body is so stricken with fear I can’t say anything.
“You lie, Kronid. Tsk, and I thought we were friends. Why lie? This woman does not speak and confirm what you have said. I doubt she’s your woman, I doubt you even know her”,” the man says, shoving the gun even further against my head. There’s a slight clicking sound and Kronid moves closer toward me and the man.