Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
The video appears of Alexei from at least seven years ago. He’s smiling with his arm around the neck of another man at a bar, who’s laughing and spitting up what looks like beer. Women cling to Alexei’s arms, and a stunning blond futilely tries to remove the choke hold, snorting with giggles.
I open a file folder and scan notes and annotated pictures to see that Alexei and his friend Garik Petrov owned the Amethyst Pony. What a stupid name for a bar. The guy being choked is Garik. He’s around Alexei’s age but wears a tattered T-shirt and has forgone a haircut for an immeasurable amount of time. He seems rough, like he should be the bouncer and not co-owner.
I watch them laugh and joke and goof off on the screen. Alexei looks different. Younger definitely, but more free with fewer tattoos. The panther on his neck must’ve been inked while in prison.
When he looks at the camera, obviously knowing he’s being videoed, there’s still an edge in his eyes. The same one I saw today. He’s dressed in an expensive-looking white shirt with embroidered dragons on each breast, and it’s unbuttoned to his navel. His slacks are black and perfectly creased. He was slimmer back then, in good shape but not nearly as hard cut as he is now. On the video, he releases the other guy, and they move past several women trying to grab them, to reach a stage.
Both pick up guitars.
I lean forward, curious. They play a hard rock song and Alexei sings. His voice is smooth and sexy, even with a hint of devilment in it. He smiles as he croons about lost love and murderous dragons. It’s impressive. The man can sing. At least he could. Today in the prison, his voice had been darker, deeper, raw, and more scratched like he’d screamed for years.
As I watch, women throw panties and bras onto the stage. He grabs several pairs and laughs, tossing them in the air and catching one. He stops singing, holding white lace panties up. “It looks like we have a winner tonight, and they’re still warm. Who just pulled these off for me?”
A woman shrieks happily from the audience and runs forward, climbing onto the stage wearing a sheer white dress, sans the undies. She’s a young brunette, hopefully at least eighteen. Pink flushes her face, and her nipples are hard beneath the barely there material. She hops up and down, her hands clutching at one of his arms.
“I guess you won, darlin’.” He leans over and kisses her, one hand sweeping down to grab her ass, the epitome of a spoiled rich boy accepting a gift. “Free drinks for the entire month.”
She squeals and presses closer to him.
I note that his business partner has his lips pressed tightly together. So Garik didn’t like his buddy giving away booze.
Alexei cuts him a quick look. “I’ll cover it.”
Garik’s face relaxes.
The brunette leans up and whispers something into Alexei’s ear.
He grins and shakes his head, looking over the crowd to the bar. “I’m afraid not tonight, sweet thing. I have plans.”
I zoom in to study a woman sitting on a bar stool turned to face the stage, her legs crossed with a slit up the sparkling red material that reveals her well-toned thigh. It’s Blythe Fairfax, and her platinum blonde hair is cut with sharp edges across her shoulders, which are bare except for thin spaghetti straps holding up the elegant and sexy dress. Her lips, painted in matching scarlet, and her eyes, adorned with heavy makeup, complete the look. Her smile looks possessive.
At the time of the recording, Alexei had to be in his early twenties, and she was at least in her late thirties, maybe early forties. There’s no doubt she’s beautiful, yet I find it odd that she was so public with their affair. They hadn’t seemed to hide it from anybody. I scratch a note on a sticky pad to dive deeper into her deceased husband. Anybody partying at the Amethyst Pony that night would’ve clearly seen that the two were involved.
Another figure catches my eye, and I scan the video and zero in on a man at the far end of the bar, surprised to see Hendrix Sokolov standing with a beer in front of him, watching the interplay. Even ten years ago he was handsome, with blonde hair swept back from his face and intense blue eyes. He’s not smiling and seems to be on alert. They didn’t get along to the point that the family failed to support Alexei during and after the trial.
So what was Hendrix doing at his half brother’s bar that night?
THREE
Alexei
I slip out of my hiding place in the vast laundry room and strike with the shank, instantly stabbing into Anton Lebetev’s neck from the side. I slide away and allow the blood to spurt on the overlarge washing machine—away from me. Kicking him in the back of his knees, I take him down flat. His hands claw the rough cement before his body convulses several times. Blood glides gracefully away from him to pool near the drain.