Dirty Passions An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse #5) - Kenya Wright Page 0,122

upholstered bench running around the whole perimeter. It wasn't private. There were about ten guys in there, each of them adorned with a naked woman on his lap.

I looked around but didn’t see Zahkar.

Kaz continued to guide me forward.

I leaned Kaz’s way. “This is VIP?”

“For the regular men. The brotherhood has their own special VIP.”

“How lucky?”

“We work hard. We should play harder.”

One of our men opened a gold door.

We stepped through a red hallway that opened into a black room—black carpet, black walls, and even black tables.

Different music soared through the air. Jazzier and with no lyrics. A beautiful melody of orchestral exuberance.

In the center of the black room, one red headed woman wearing a strap-on fucked an Asian woman with long hair. The live sex performance reminded me of when I first met Kaz in New York and he’d made me meet him on a brothel rooftop. There, a couple had engaged in live sex too.

Just like in that past moment, my body responded a little. The red head pumped the plastic cock into the other, rocking the same way Kaz did with me. The women moaned and groaned against each other.

Oh my.

A wicked smile spread across my face.

Kaz cupped my ass again and then squeezed. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am.”

“Regardless of what happens in this meeting, I’m going to fuck you after this.”

“And I will be a very happy mouse because of it.” I shoved myself away from the show to look around the room. “But, back to business. Do you see him?”

“Not yet.”

Several men surrounded the horny pair.

“There he is.” Within the crowd, I spotted Zahkar.

One of his guys nudged him. He turned our way and stood in shock. Even though he was in a gentlemen’s club, he still had that look of a professor. Same tortoise shell glasses and classic leather watch. No diamonds or gold.

Today, he wore a tweed coat. The single-breasted jacket had a two button closure, three patch pockets, and simple buttons on his cuffs.

It was odd how all the people that Kaz and I had questioned today had very distinct styles. Jean-Pierre dripped in designer-wear and diamonds. Rolan was a mad fashion scientist with the checkerboard jacket. And here Zahkar had this odd wish to appear super academic and smart within a group of psychos and killers.

“Let’s begin, mysh.” Kaz stopped cupping my ass and went back to holding my hand.

I let out a long breath.

We got close to the small stage.

Kaz grabbed the women’s attention with a snap of his fingers and then motioned for them to leave.

Annoyed, the red head looked up. And then her expression changed. She widened her eyes and pulled the strap-on out of the Asian woman. Seconds later, they both rose and scurried away. Next, Kaz’s men prowled around the room, motioning for any men not a part of the brotherhood to get out of VIP.

Kaz continued to lead me forward.

Although he didn’t move, a worried look hit Zahkar’s face.

We stopped a foot in front of him. Kaz towered over Zahkar. I remained at his side.

The music ended after that.

The room went silent.

I studied Zahkar.

I could see why the brotherhood had nicknamed him the Colonel. Even with the tweed jacket on, Zahkar looked like he’d just taken off his uniform and was hanging out on the town. The military presence was in the way he stood and held his shoulders.

Low chatter began to ensue around us as many brothers probably wondered why we’d come to him. I checked all of Zahkar’s men that sat near him, wondering who would try to protect him if things went dark.

And then, I spotted a man sitting on a couch behind Zahkar. A blue cross covered his bald head.

I thought back to what the little kid had said outside of Yuri’s mother’s place. His name had been Red, and he’d witnessed several men break into the apartment.

“Three guys,” Red had said. “Big men. One had a bald head with a blue cross tattooed on it.”

Boris jumped in, “The blue cross was on his head?”

“Yes.” Red widened his eyes.

I lowered to his level. “What kind of clothes?”

“Suits.”

I leaned Kaz’s way. “A kid described the man who killed Yuri’s mother. He said it was a guy with a blue cross on his head.” I gestured to the bald guy. “I think that’s him.”

The man hadn’t heard what I said, but he rose, probably knowing we were talking about him.

Zahkar glanced at the baldheaded guy and then spoke to Kaz in Russian, “What