Clubs: The Suit’s Book 2

Present day . . .

I’ve memorized the number of steps it’ll take him to get to my room just from the sound of his heavy boots slamming into the wooden floor.

My heart beats rapidly as I rush to look outside. Kneeling to the floor, my fingers hold up my weight. Through the blinds, I see three blacked-out cars pull up in the driveway. The headlights shine through the window, making my pitch-black room bright with a warm yellow glow. Men step out and look at the house. They’re all wearing fancy suits that look expensive enough to cover our mortgage. They scan the house as if they’ve never been here before, but they have.

They come here all the time. What makes this time any different?

When their attention drifts to the side of the house where my bedroom is, I duck down quickly to make sure they don’t see me. I was only ever allowed to see one person, but not the rest. My hands curl and I place them across my chest, and my breath shakes while I maintain my focus on the silver doorknob.

Dad walks in with my brother, Alek. He starts talking in Russian, but my dad yells at him. I watch them exchange angry looks.

“Sloane, you know the drill. Do not make a sound, and do not leave this room.”

I’ve memorized the drill. Ever since I was little, those three cars have come to our home once a month. I know what my dad does. I may be sheltered, but I’m not an idiot.

“I know.”

He kisses the top of my head and closes the door softly.

I crouch to the floor and place my ear to the small gap along the bottom. On the off chance one of them will speak loudly enough, I want to be able to hear it. I’m a nosy son of a bitch. I just can’t help myself.

Their voices are deep. They don’t sound like the men who normally come by here. The way they speak to one another makes it sound as if they’re arguing.

I lie like this for so long I start drifting off to sleep, but the door that slams right into my head wakes me up instantly.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Ruslan says, helping me up from the ground. He wears a different expression from the one I’ve been accustomed to. It’s almost as if worry is gnawing at him. His slicked-back blond hair is tousled, and his cheek bones are more prominent than usual due to the lack of a smile on his face.

“It’s all right.” I smile brightly at him.

“It’s Friday. Why aren’t you dressed?”

Friday. Family dinner. I don’t know how I forgot. “It must have slipped my mind.”

He shoots me a questioning look and mumbles under his breath, “I’ll send Ingret up. And don’t forget my fight is tonight if you still want to tag along.”

I nod, trying to keep my excitement at bay. Ruslan is the only one who lets me leave the house. If Dad ever found out, I’m sure he’d have a heart attack.

Ingret shoves past him through the doorway, shooing him out of the room.

“Guess she’s already here. I’ll leave you guys to it,” he mutters, finally showing me his usual smile.

She holds a black silk dress and places it against my body. “Perfect. Change into this.”

I smile and take the dress from her. It is perfect. It shimmers, but it’s subtle.

“I don’t want you to overthink tonight,” she sighs, looking through the jewelry on my dresser.

“I don’t want to either, but all they do is argue, and I hate it.”

She ignores me and ransacks my closet for shoes as if I’m not capable of picking them out myself.

“Why am I dressing differently tonight?” I ask her. Our dinners are always formal, but never this formal.

“He has men coming tonight. Not the ones who just left, but others.”

“And he’s letting me downstairs?” My stomach twists with nerves. He never lets me see anyone from outside the family. What changed?

“I was thinking the same thing.” She shrugs and holds out some gold jewelry for me to take, placing the heels on the floor.

I change into the dress and everything else she picked out for me.

While I may not be allowed to see anyone besides family, Dad has taught me a lot. I’ll never forget something he told me when I was in my mid-teens: “Similar to the phrase ‘poison is a woman’s weapon,’ words are a woman’s venom.”

Through years of experimenting, I’ve found Ruslan hates my sarcasm and Alek hates when I talk about how great Ruslan is. As if he’s competing to be better than his brother. As fucked up as it is, I do it anyway. Brothers are ruthless sometimes, and I refuse to let them walk all over me.

I blame Ruslan for all my snarky remarks. If he’d acted like they didn’t bother him, I’d stop completely. But I feel it’s my duty as his sister to be a royal pain in his ass. Plus, I will always welcome a good laugh with open arms.

Ingret has always been my favorite person in this house. I’ll never admit it to her, but she is. She’s been a part of this family for as long as I can remember. She’s my father’s age, mid-fifties. I’m honestly shocked they never formed a romantic connection.

I know my dad will never move on from my mother, but he has to try. Despair drags me down when I see how closed-off he is. I’m sure there’s a woman out there for him who would be able to heal the cracks in his heart. Maybe then he’d stop keeping me locked up in this house like Rapunzel. The time will come eventually—I’m just waiting for it. I’ve been waiting for two years.

Dad rarely talks about my mother, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. If he can’t even bring himself to speak about her, perhaps she should be forgotten altogether. Why live with numbness infusing your body when there are so many wonderful things life has to offer?

As if I’d know about the wonders of the world. I roll my eyes at the thought. I’ll never be allowed to leave this house. I crave adventure more and more as the days pass by, and there is nothing I can do besides crush my own dreams.

Ingret’s curly blonde hair sways over her shoulders with each step she takes. “There is a lot you don’t know, but you need to keep it that way.” Her emerald eyes are coated in worry.

“I know.” Another lie. I don’t want to keep it that way; I want to know everything. I don’t hold my ear against the door for hours on end for fun.

“I will be there with you, and if things get too much, you can leave, and I will keep your father under control.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, you’re the only one who can do that.”

Her hands find her curvy hips and she does a short, quirky dance. “I know.” She laughs. “Don’t you ever tell him I said that!” She makes a fist and punches my arm softly. “Now go.”

I leave my room and sneak down the long hallway, peeking my head around the corner into the formal dining room. Light blue panels with white trim line the walls. The table is centered in the middle of the room with a chandelier hanging above it.

It’s strange to see other people sitting at our table. Sitting in the room I’ve seen once a week for my entire life. The room I know like the back of my hand, yet I know nothing about the people in it.

“Sloane, come take a seat,” Dad says as if he can see through the walls.

I clear my throat and enter the room. There’s a seat right by my brother, Alek, that I slowly walk toward.

The walls start to close in as I feel my anxiety getting the better of me. I sit down in the chair in front of the window. The seals are aged, allowing the warm breeze to drift past me.

The strange men sit across from me. I try to get a good look at them, but I force my eyes down when I see the man sitting in the middle staring at me as if I’m a mirror showing his reflection.

These dinners are always the worst. Alek picking a fight with Dad is inevitable.

I know my place in this family, but sometimes I can’t help but want to stand up for my dad.

But then I remember Dad handles Alek just fine on his own. I’ve come to the conclusion he only lets Alek talk to him like that to prepare him.

“You okay?” Ruslan nudges me.

“I—yes, why?”

“You just look worried.” His brow furrows as he looks at me strangely. His blond hair is messy, but it suits him.

I shake my head quickly, not breaking eye contact. I’ve just been playing the waiting game for years, and I’m ready.

Ingret sits down next to my father and nods for us to begin our dinner. The food she cooks is the kind I’ll never tire of. She uses seasoning in a way I’ll never understand.

I cut into the steak and taste each flavor on every part of my tongue.

“Allow me to skip past the bullshit,” one of the strangers says to my family.

I drop my fork loudly. Dad looks in my direction, curiosity written all over his face. He’s probably wondering what sort of scene I’ll cause today.

“They’re coming, and you know that. You need to kill him if you want full control,” the strange man continues, his eyes stern.

“He said not to,” Dad says.

“Who’s coming?” I manage to get out, eager to grab onto everything I can.

“Oh, Sloane, allow me to introduce myself and my men.”

Four men stand up out of their seats.

“My name is Vladimir. This is Stepan, Ilya, and Volo.”

“This was a mistake,” Dad says to the men.

Confusion and worry only heighten my anxiety as I try to concentrate. They start to argue in Russian, their voices flooding my ears.

“Sloane, come with me,” Ruslan says from across the table.

As soon as the men sit back down, I notice they all have guns placed in the waistbands of their pants.

I get out of my seat and follow Ruslan out of the room. He stops at the stairs and pulls me toward him.

“I don’t want you to worry.”

“What’s happened?”

“I don’t know why he brought them here. Listen, go upstairs and get your insulin pen just in case. I’m about to head out.”

I search his eyes for the answer his words won’t tell me, but it’s useless. I think he’s just as clueless as I am. “Okay,” I tell him and rush upstairs.

What was the point of the dinner if he and I are leaving?

I tuck the insulin pen inside my bra. Before rushing downstairs, I arrange my pillows to make it look as if I’m in bed.

When I meet Ruslan downstairs, we make our way out to the car in silence. He drives us down the long, narrow driveway. The window rolls down, and he scans his card so the gates will open.

“Thank you for bringing me with you,” I tell him.

He takes his eyes off the road for a moment to smile at me. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to leave without you.”

The ride to town doesn’t take long, but the entire time I can’t stop thinking about what everyone was yelling about. If there’s a problem, Ruslan will take care of it easily. He’s been a hitman for years. He’s the one who takes out our father’s enemies. He goes after the men who want the power Dad has and takes away their greed. He’s like a ghost, always lurking in the shadows, removing threats one by one.

Alek doesn’t know about this. He thinks Dad isn’t doing much, but that’s because Ruslan’s taking care of business for him.

I follow Ruslan down the sidewalk when we arrive. The dark street is filled with the city’s nightlife, everyone drinking and laughing. At some point in my life, I hope I’ll be able to go out and enjoy myself like them.

“Sloane,” he calls, gesturing for me to catch up. He throws his gym bag over his shoulder and walks down a dark alley.

I grab onto the metal railing and step down a short flight of stairs.

A man stands in front of the door at the bottom of the stairs blocking my entrance. He eyes me as if he could break me with his bare hands. But when he sees Ruslan, he steps to one side.

It took me a while to come to terms with the fact Ruslan does this for fun. It’s not even about the money.

And there’s a lot of money.

The second I step through the door I’m overwhelmed by the smell in the air. It’s putrid.

“Remember what I told you?” my brother asks as he wraps some kind of bandage over the skin on his wrist.

I nod. “Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t look at anyone but you.” I repeat his rules.

I don’t like how rules are constantly laid out for me, but I understand they’re for my benefit. I’ll listen because the second I go against the rules, Ruslan won’t take me with him anymore. And I love coming to these matches. They interest me.

It’s not necessarily the fighting I find interesting, but the emotion on the men’s faces. I can often tell if they’re fighting for something or if they just want to fight someone.

If my brother took the money he won, he’d be able to live off his savings. But he doesn’t take the money. He donates it.

I’d love to be able to donate someday, but it’s not my place. I don’t even have any money. Everything I have is my family’s.

Ruslan puts a mouth guard over his teeth and taps his knuckles on top of my head. “I’m going to practice,” he says, walking toward a red bag that hangs from the industrial ceiling.

I find a bench and move over heavy bags that smell like shit, but something grabs my attention.

A silver chain with what looks like diamonds on it.

Real diamonds.

I look around to see if anyone’s watching me, but they’re all too busy punching each other.

I shouldn’t take it. Men come here to make money. Most of them need the money.

I intertwine my fingers to keep myself from reaching into the bag. I can’t stand this feeling. It’s as if the chain has eyes and is staring at me, begging me to take it.

I shake my head. That’s ridiculous.

While I wait on Ruslan’s fight, I think about all the things I could do with the chain if I sold it. I could start a life for myself and get the hell out of here. Not that I’d particularly want to sell it, but I do want to have my own life. Constantly sitting in my room for years on end is proving to be a waste of time. I’d rather die out in the world doing something dangerous, something fulfilling, than rot in my bed for safety.

More people flood the small underground room, and my skin crawls. Being around this many people makes me nervous. I’m afraid I’ll mess something up.

Ruslan walks over to me, sweat dripping down his face. “You good?” he asks as his eyes search mine.

I smile through the uncomfortable feeling and wave him off.

Everyone gathers in a circle surrounding the ring. My brother steps up and stares at his opponent.

I watch everyone fight, but I don’t watch him. He’s the one person in my life who never loses anything. But it hurts me to see him get punched over and over. Even though I know he’ll win, it’s a strange feeling watching the strongest people you know take a beating.

I clear my throat when I hear everyone chanting for Ruslan.

Standing up, I reach into the bag and grab the chain. Black clothes fall out, and I bend down to pick them up, but I stop when I notice the entire bag is full of stacks of money.

My eyes widen. That’s so much fucking money.

Focusing on the money and the chain, I’m left with a feeling of greed. I have to take it. I can’t help myself. It’s right there.

A large hand grabs onto my wrist and twists. I screech from the pain and try to pull my hand away. The tall man looking down at me hits me across the face.

With the chain still in my hand, I rush to the door and make a run for it. Kicking the heels off my feet, I race down the sidewalk, passing by everyone.

Why the hell am I running? Oh my God, what am I doing?

I turn my head behind me quickly to see if he’s still running after me and find his face flashing with anger. I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips.

This feeling is incredible. Adrenaline spikes through my blood, a euphoric sensation. My feet slam onto the rough stone, bound to leave cuts on the bottom of them, but I couldn’t care less. I can’t feel anything besides the beat of my heart crashing into my ribs. I’ve never felt like this before. I love it.

“Vorovka!” he shouts after me. Thief.

An alarm rings in my head when I hear the Russian in his voice.

I turn back around, and a man steps right into me. I slam into his back and fall to the ground, scraping my knees.

“Vorovka!” the man huffs, trying to catch his breath. “Vorovka.”

Standing around me in a circle, four men stare down at me. Three of them laugh at the guy who was trying to get me, but one just stands there staring me down. He’s wearing a suit tailored to fit him perfectly.

I mutter under my breath as I try to get myself off the ground. The man in all-black offers his hand.

“Ne tron’ yeyo. Koldunya,” a bald man says. The man who stands out from the rest takes his hand back just as I was about to grab it. Tattoos in an abstract pattern line his entire neck up to his hairline. “Vashe imya?” Your name?

When his eyes find mine, I can’t help but stare.

“I see. English?” he asks. His voice is deep and his Russian accent barely noticeable.

“Yeah,” I answer without giving it any thought.

He offers his hand again, this time not taking it back. When I grab onto him, he lifts me off the ground.

“Your name?”

“Sloane,” I tell him. Does he know me? He should.

His jaw clenches, and he fights a smile as he looks at his friends. “Sloane, I’m Mikhail. Is this man bothering you?” He narrows his deep blue eyes on the man I stole from.

Mikhail.

I turn to look back at him, and he steps closer to me. Mikhail holds up his hand. The man looks like he’s about to piss himself, and rightfully so; Mikhail looks fucking terrifying.

“No,” I answer honestly. I’m the one who’s bothering him.

“He calls you a thief—are you?”

“No.” That was a lie.

“Mm-hmm.” He takes the chain from my hand and holds it up. “No, I know a thief when I see one.”

There’s a lump in my throat as I process his precise accusations. The way his eyes roam freely over my body leaves me feeling uneasy. He can see straight past my lies as if he knows everything in the world. It’s strange. Lying has proved to be an easy task in my household, but this stranger is able to see right through me, and I don’t like it. I never thought I was this easy to read.

“I wasn’t stealing from him. His bag fell and I was putting it back,” I say, trying to lie again when I know I shouldn’t.

The man behind me yells in frustration. “Sloane, if you’re going to steal from me, you’d better own up to it.”

“From you?” My eyes widen.

“Stealing from me is wrong, but stealing from him isn’t?” He holds up the chain in front of my face. He knows I stole something from him, and instead of taking it back, he’s dangling it in front of me as if I’m a child begging for a piece of candy. “You want it?” he asks. “Take it.”

My frustration builds as I try to step away, accepting the chain as a loss, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t move an inch. His tall frame overpowers mine.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“What makes you think I want anything from you? If you want the chain, take it.” His looks are serious, and his words make me question everything around me.

If he isn’t upset with me stealing, then he shouldn’t have stopped me.

He waves it in front of me. It’s humiliating. I never beg for anything. “Ostavlyatʹ.” Leave. Well, he’s not making me beg, but it feels like it in an odd way.

I take in a deep breath and reach for the chain.

Mikhail looks at the man, his face clear of any emotion. He slicks his hair back and walks around me in a circle. My breathing picks up when he pulls on my hair. “Sloane,” he says my name, annunciating the vowels slowly.

“I should really get back—” I start, but he stops me.

“And where exactly will you be going?”

For the first time in a while, I’m at a loss for words.

“What happened to your words? You had so many of them only a moment ago.” He stops right in front of me, but I force myself to look at the ground. I wouldn’t be here if I listened to my brother. Hell, he’s right around the corner—I could still go to him, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind these men would follow me.

It seems the predators finally found their prey.

Mikhail grabs onto my shoulders and turns my body toward the road. “Get in the car, Sloane.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I raise my gaze to his. His blue eyes turn dark, piercing mine.

“I don’t want to,” I tell him.

His head falls back, making his neck appear thicker. His teeth graze his bottom lip. “Oh, I don’t care what you want.”

We battle one another with our eyes until he looks at one of the men behind him.

“Lev, posadi yeyo v mashinu.” Lev, go put her in the car.

Lev, the man Mikhail was speaking to, steps up, grabbing my arm. “Sleep tight.”

I hardly have a second to react when I feel a sharp pain—a pain I know all too well—stab my arm. Mikhail’s lips form a smug smile.

“What did you—?”

Black.