Novak removed his watch and laid it on the metal table, smiling grimly to himself that a Rolex would make such a cheap, tinny sound against the tabletop. He turned toward the center of the room to address his guest, approaching him with slow, steady steps as he rolled up first one sleeve and then the other.
“So, tell me. What are you most afraid of?” Silence. “Here’s what I know: you obviously enjoy games of chance, and you think nothing of cheating. So, I want to know. What puts the fear of God in your thieving heart?”
A quick business trip to Louisville, that was all it was supposed to be. Get a little work done, take a break from the bureaucratic grind that was his life back home in Washington, D.C. But the inner demons that Wesley Keller thought he had conquered years ago had had other ideas. And now here he was, tied to a chair, face to face with the most intimidating man he’d ever seen, after being caught counting cards. And in a Russian mafia gambling house, of all places.
As Keller struggled to think of anything he could say that would get him out of this ordeal in one piece, Novak kicked his legs apart and stood between them, so close that Keller could smell the gangster’s high-dollar cologne.
Novak was dressed impeccably in black tailored pants and a slate gray button-down shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. His tie was draped over the suit jacket he had draped on a chair in the corner. And yet, nothing about Novak hinted at civility; his multiple tattoos and piercings saw to that.
“I don’t like to repeat myself.”
Keller knew it would do no good for him to lie or refuse to answer. Maybe honesty would gain him some mercy. “Water, I hate water.” At his captor’s slow smile, Keller closed his eyes, hating himself for speaking so impulsively, for revealing so much. He hung his head. “I almost drowned as a child. I’ve been terrified of water ever since.”
“Very good. See? That wasn’t so hard.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at Keller. “Wait right here. I think I have just the thing.” Moments later, Novak returned with an unopened water cooler bottle. Keller began to hyperventilate and emit strangled cries that grew louder with every breath.
Novak smirked as he held the bottle aloft. “I bet you didn’t know I take requests.” Then, “Pavel, gag this motherfucker.” Novak glanced over at Oleg and Roksana who were standing off to the side with Dmitriy, Anastasia, and Helena as he added conversationally, “I’m afraid I’ve been feeling a bit stressed lately, worrying about our boy and his wife. I’ve decided it’s high time I clear my mind and relax a little.”
“This is how you relax?” Helena asked, eyes wide.
Novak shrugged. “Some people do yoga.”
Pavel stepped forward and grabbed Keller by the hair, yanking his head back. Keller took one wide-eyed look at Pavel and began to struggle anew. The severe lines and angles of Pavel’s face combined to create an intimidating visage. His eye socket had been fractured decades earlier and his nose told a similar story. Put it all together and his harsh features made a fierce first impression, so Keller’s reaction was not altogether surprising.
With a nod to Oleg, Pavel held out a ball gag and gestured for him to take it. Oleg fastened it in Keller’s mouth. With the gag in place, Keller’s muffled screams were much easier on everyone’s ears.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Novak said. “I couldn’t hear myself think. Now, where was I?”
Novak moved with an easy confidence born of experience, kicking over the wooden chair so that Keller fell backward onto the floor. Novak wasn’t in a hurry. He was ready to go all night if the entertainment proved worthwhile. It had been a while. In his role as advisor to the Pakhan, he had, by necessity, taken a step back from the more hands-on aspects of Bratva operations. It was good to be back in the game. But where to begin?...
Novak pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and draped it over Keller’s nose and mouth. Yes, this was exactly what Novak needed—well this, and a brutal, rutting fuck when he got home to his woman. He lowered himself to one knee a few feet away from Keller. Resting an elbow against his thigh, he nodded for Pavel to begin.
Pavel lifted the container of water and held it over Keller’s head. At Novak’s nod, Pavel tilted the container over. A steady stream of water gushed over Keller’s covered face. He couldn’t get away from the relentless cascade of water that blocked his airway and plastered the handkerchief in place over his nose and mouth. The gag only made the drowning sensation worse.
Yafon paused and Novak commented, “Waterboarding was outlawed by the U.S. military. Nasty business, really. But lucky for you, I don’t answer to them. Personally, I find this technique quite effective in yielding results, but you be the judge. Yafon?”
Keller thrashed back and forth, emitting a garbled roar of panic as he began kicking rhythmically with his legs. Novak held up his hand to signal Yafon to stop. “Now, I don’t want to stop unless you’re really serious,” he admonished him sternly as he removed the drenched handkerchief from Keller’s face. “Are you trying to say something?” Keller nodded frantically and Novak turned to Yafon, gesturing for him to put the water container down.
“Now, I am nothing if not thorough. I’ve enjoyed our time together this evening and I think I’ve cured you of your interest in counting cards. But here’s the thing; if I let you live and we go our separate ways, what’s to keep you from telling all your friends or the authorities about what happened here tonight?”
“I won’t say anything. You’ll never see me again, I swear.”
Novak just smiled and pulled out his phone, scrolling through a series of screens until he found what he was looking for. “I wish I could believe you, I really do. But I don’t. Luckily, we like to get to know our customers before they’re allowed entry into our gambling house. So, I know all about you, Mr. Keller, and how you’ve been passing the time here in Louisville on your business trip. I just wonder, though, whether Mrs. Keller would approve.”
He held his phone in front of Keller’s face, revealing a photograph of Keller with his head tilted back and his hands clenched in a woman’s hair. Her back was to the camera so her face wasn’t visible, but Keller’s pleasured grimace as the woman sucked his dick, was there for all the world to see. As
Novak swiped through a series of photographs, Keller’s eyes widened and then slowly closed as his life and his marriage flashed before his eyes. His chin dropped to his chest and he began to weep.
One photo in particular featured a naked, snarling Wesley Keller with his cock jammed down the throat of an overly made-up woman who was most definitely not his wife. It was a close-up shot that showed enough of the woman’s ass to reveal the pattern of bright red handprints, compliments of her john for the evening.
“Now, that had to sting. I hoped you tipped her well. If I might offer some thoughts on technique, though. Do you always spread your fingers so wide? See, I prefer a closed-finger approach myself. You really don’t sacrifice anything in terms of speed and the force of the impact is so much more gratifying. Aesthetically, though, I can see why you might opt for a flexed hand. It definitely leaves a prettier handprint.
“What’s wrong? Not your best side? Oh, I don’t know; this one is definitely suitable for framing, don’t you think?” He had swiped through to settle on an image of Keller getting his ‘69’ on with the same woman. His face was buried in her shaved pussy. “I wouldn’t recommend hanging this one in your living room, of course, unless your lovely wife is very understanding. You know, she really is quite beautiful, your wife.”
Keller’s face was ashen at the mention of his wife. When he was confronted with a recent photograph of his wife walking from her car to the front door of their suburban home, he began shaking his head frantically and trying to talk. Novak removed the gag from Keller’s mouth. “I had actually hoped you’d hold out longer,” he said wistfully as he tossed the gag onto the metal table with his watch. “I do hate to cut the evening’s activities short. But, alright, speak if you must.”
“Thank you,” Keller grunted as he took in heaving gasps of precious air. “Please don’t tell my wife about any of this. I swear, I won’t say anything. Listen, you won’t be sorry. There’s a lot I can do to help you.”
“Really. How so?”
“My job. I can help you.”
Novak feigned ignorance of his professional background. “Where exactly do you work, Wesley Keller from Washington, D.C.?”
“Immigration.”
“Ah. Well, we’ve already got connections in Immigration.”
“Not like me, you don’t,” he said, his voice suddenly strong and clear as he met Novak’s gaze. “I’m deputy director over Citizenship and Immigration Services. I’m the guy who says yay or nay. I can get requests fast tracked, no problem.”
“Really,” Novak said, his eyes narrowing. Now things were getting interesting.