Collierville, TN
Crown Suites
Room 235
D r. Owen Lewis. It had taken eight years to gain that title. Thousands of hours of study and research. It took working at night, doing odd jobs, saving and even living out of his car. It took student loans and ass kissing and praying when he was certain his own will wasn’t strong enough. As he gazed across the small hotel room at his white smock, the black letters of his name embroidered below the company logo, he assessed all that he had sacrificed to get to this point and felt strangely hollow.
“Are you still with me, baby?” a woman asked, propped between his legs on her knees as she tried to summon a full erection. She had been down there so long that her legs were starting to numb, and her mouth ached at the sides.
Owen trailed his gaze from the smock down to the face of the young woman he had paid to give him service before work. Her brown eyes had a hint of irritation in them.
“I’m trying,” he apologized.
“Well, let me keep trying too,” she said sympathetically.
Watching her lips run down his shaft again, he let go of a frustrated sigh and gently pushed her away from him. Fuck! “What’s the use? I’m just not up for it today. Pardon the pun.”
The red head raised from her position and grabbed a hand towel to wipe her mouth. In her profession, it had not been the first time that she’d had a client who couldn’t perform, but it was the first time that Owen had not been able to. No skin off her back. He was still being charged for the full hour. “Don’t worry, hun. There’s always tomorrow.”
Owen dragged a hand over his clean-shaven cheek. What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t been able to get a hard-on since his unfortunate encounter with those Russians. He had tried everything – porn, prostitutes, even his wife. But nothing worked. In a last-ditch effort after abusing himself in the shower for thirty minutes this morning, he had texted a pro and told her to meet him at their normal meet-up place to see if a little assistance might change his condition.
Rochelle was one of his favorite girls, hand-picked because of her close resemblance to the girl in undergrad who had dumped him for the quarterback of their college football team. They could have been twins – his ex and Rochelle. When he felt inadequate or inferior, he always used this one to take out his frustration on. She could always get him going, no matter the mood, no matter the time. But this morning, he just couldn’t make himself and neither could she.
Resting his head back on the king-sized chair situated in the corner of the hotel room, he looked up at the ceiling. “Your money’s in the envelope by the bed. I put a little extra in there for the short notice.” He didn’t even want to look at Rochelle right now. She might have been the paid help, but it was still embarrassing.
Rochelle stood up, knees reddened and dimpled by the carpet, then shamelessly shimmied her heavy breasts back into her low-cut top. “You want me to go?” she asked, picking up her cell phone from the end table beside the chair to check the time. He still had 15 minutes, what he chose to do with it was up to him.
“It’s up to you, if you’re ready to leave or not. The room’s paid for. I have to go though.” Standing up, he dressed quickly, snatching angrily at his clothes as Rochelle went to retrieve her money.
“Call me if you want to hook up later. I have some time. We can pick this back up,” she said, walking out of the door.
Left alone, Owen sat on the edge of the bed and slipped on his loafers. The sun shined into the room from the open windows, scantily covered by a sheer white curtain. It was nearly nine now, time for him to be walking in the door of the hospice center to make his rounds, but for the first time in his life, he was dreading stepping foot into his job.
A text had already come last night. Today was the day he was supposed to finish off Sanaa Baptiste, a terminal patient of his who up until a week ago was showing signs of improvement. He had been working hard on her case, trying medicines and trials that had started the reversal process of her cancer. The treatment was working, and he planned to use that research to advance his own career, become a leading oncologist like he’d always hoped. But then, a fatal error on his part occurred.
After drinks with a few friends at a bar downtown, he picked up a strange girl he had been flirting with at the bar and took her down to Tom Lee park for a little late-night quickie. She was young, the way he liked, slim in the waist like his wife used to be before two kids, bubbly and dumb, the way he needed as a married man. Without hesitation, she mounted him in the driver’s side seat of his Land Rover after he slipped on a condom and without asking started to ride him into the promise land. But half-way into what was turning out to be a good end to his long day, a camera flashed several times, then his door swung open and he and the girl were snatched out of his vehicle by two very intimidating Russians. The girl was underage. The flash was from a camera, and the blackmail was complete.
One of the men had given him an ultimatum right there beside his vehicle with his pants still half-mast and his pride brutally beaten. He could stop treatment on Sanaa Baptiste and start giving her medicines that would make her sick, or he would be turned in for sex with a minor. His reputation would be destroyed. His license yanked. His wife would divorce him. His kids would hate him, and he would eventually be killed. The alternative was to accept the one million dollars they were offering and arrange a meeting with the woman’s family for a final reunion before pulling the plug on her life support.
In other words, either murder that poor woman or murder himself. After working so hard to build a life for himself, after coming from the trailer park in Bartlett and arriving at being a member of a local country club and a rising star in the oncology world, there was no way in hell he was going to kill his dreams, while they still had a chance to come into fruition.
Unfortunately, Sanaa was going to die – eventually. If the treatment didn’t work, she would die. If she didn’t receive the treatment, she would die. She was dying before she came to him as a patient. Her fate was set. All he was doing was moving the process along a little at the behest of his new employers, right? It was a hard decision to make, but he felt he had made the best one for himself and his family.
However, after that encounter, every time that he tried to have sex in any situation, he always pictured that young girl on his lap and the decision he was forced to make because of his insatiable sexual appetite. The end game was that he was a flaccid murderer who was a million dollars richer.
His cell phone buzzed on the bed. Picking it up, he read the screen and felt his stomach constrict.
Get your ass here. This happens today.
He dropped his head and sobbed quietly. Over the years, he had lost more patients than he cared to count, but he had never killed one. Now, his hand was being forced. The Russians has sent a woman to work for him the day after his encounter. She was to work with Sanaa as his assistant until the job was done. Like a hawk, she had watched his every move, given all the medicines under his supervision to bring Sanaa to untimely end, and threatened him daily behind closed doors with death and exposure, if he changed his mind.
“What the fuck did I do?” he asked himself aloud, tears running down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Memphis was a hell storm of humidity and uncompromising heat. When Bandi stepped off the jet with his small entourage, fully-briefed on his new target, he immediately remembered why he had left the assassination business. No one he had ever been hired to kill ever was in a nice locale like the Caribbean Islands or the south of France. The sun cooked the ground below without a cloud in the sky to provide any cover, which meant he was going to burn like a piece of meat on the grille for the rest of the afternoon.
“I’m going to need some sun block,” he told his handler as he loaded into the SUV waiting on them.
“Anything else?” the woman asked, making a note of his request. She ducked into the vehicle as the guards closed the door behind her.
Bandi sat beside her and slipped on his shades. “Nothing else outside of what I already told you.”
They were going straight to scouting site from the airstrip. No hotel. No food. No fluffing. He was brought directly into the country with one goal in mind. Kill Dmitry Medlov.
“When your job is complete, take the motorbike provided to the Winston hotel about eight miles away from the hospice center. Room 614. We will be waiting to take you back to your plane and get you home,” the woman said as they headed out onto the two-lane highway toward Memphis. “Before we drop you off, we’ll show you where the hotel is in relation to the job.”
Dmitry Medlov had spies everywhere, especially at the private airstrip in Memphis, where he jets were housed. To keep from being discovered or to raise suspicion, they had opted to fly into the smaller airport for the casinos in Mississippi. It was only a 30-minute drive into the city and much safer for everyone involved.
“Is there a second rally point, just in case?” Bandi asked, studying the satellite pictures of the hospice center.
“What would you suggest?” the woman asked.
“A crowded public place.”
“Beale Street,” the woman answered quickly. “It’s a tourist spot, always crowded.” She had never worked with Bandi, thus the reservations about his touted skill, but she did know of Dmitry Medlov. “As we said before, this has to be executed flawlessly.”
Bandi pulled a stick of gum from his pocket and slipped it in his mouth. “Why do you think that Popov brought me from fucking Budapest? I guarantee it was not to give Dmitry Medlov a fucking manicure. He wants him dead. He’s dead. It’s that simple.” His eyes narrowed at the woman and her snide comment. What a bitch. He’d snap her neck for free right now, if she was not integral to the mission. “If I’m not up to your standard, you can always fly me back home now.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said, looking straight forward.
Dmitry snored lightly in his study after a long night of tossing and turning. His long legs hung over the arm of the sofa and his mouth was wide open. It had been a long time since he had been banished to the sofa from his wife’s bed, but last night, she reminded him that he was not beyond reproach. As he shifted uncomfortably to turn to his side on his make-shift bed, he caught a glimpse of someone watching him.
His eyes flashed completely open, and he quickly sat up to find Anya standing right beside the sofa with a coffee mug in her hand. She was wearing yellow pajamas with the brown poop emoji tiled in patterns all over and sporting very poofy pink slippers. Her hair was braided into two ponytails that made her look like a doll, but her face wore a maturity fit for a woman instead of a child.
Anya watched her father carefully, noting he was only wearing his slacks. No shirt or shoes. He looked like he had been in a fight instead of an argument. “You got in trouble last night,” she said, offering his liquid breakfast.
Dmitry threw his long legs over the side of the sofa and planted them on the floor. “I got in big trouble,” he confirmed, taking the mug. “Spasiba, princess.”
“What did you do?” Anya asked, sitting beside him. Although her parents were mostly happy people, it was not out of the ordinary for them to have a disagreement from time-to-time.
“I made Mommy mad,” he said, taking the entire blame for last night.
Anya knew her father would not tell her what he had done. That wasn’t his style, but whatever had transpired between her parents, she refused to believe that her sweet father had been completely at fault. “I’ll tell her to take it easy on you.”
Dmitry chuckled at his daughter’s wishful thinking. “If you’re smart, you’ll leave it alone.” He grunted as he pulled the pillow from behind him to get more comfortable. “Your mother is a very reasonable woman once you let her cool off, but if you poke the bear,” he bucked his eyes at her and growled jokingly like an animal. “She’ll bite you.” He hoped she would heed his warning.
Anya giggled. She didn’t affectionately call her mother Mommy Bear without cause. “Maybe you’re right. There is no reason for us both to get in trouble.” She watched her father’s face crease with thought. “Everyone is up already. They are eating breakfast in the kitchen. Maxim is biting people again, and Konstantin ran across the top of the table and knocked down Gabriel’s plate.”
That was typical. His boys were a force to be reckoned with, only reined in by his mother’s constant paddling or his stern voice. “So, everyone else gets eggs and pancakes, and all I get is coffee,” he said, twisting up his lip in envy.
“Looks that way.” She turned to her father seriously. “Mommy told me about why we have to go see Anil’s mother today.” Death was no longer mysterious for her. She was only glad that instead of murder, their newest loss would be because of illness. Still, she wished her father had been the one to tell her.
“I wanted to tell you last night, but I didn’t know how to broach the matter.” Dmitry sipped the coffee, wishing for a little whiskey to put in it after such a tortuous night. He could feel his daughter’s glare burning through the side of his temple for an explanation, but he could not give one. It was good to have a wife who knew how to talk to his daughter about the complicated things in life. She did it much better than him. “How do you feel about it?”
“I’m sorry for him,” Anya answered sincerely. She shrugged and huffed after long contemplation on the matter. “But that’s life.”
Dmitry cut his eyes at his daughter. The cup paused at his lips. “I hope you don’t say that to your brother. It would hurt his feelings,” he admonished.
“Come on. I’m not a monster,” Anya said, standing up. She finally brought herself to what Royal had sent her today. “Mommy wants you to get up and get ready. She sent me to tell you.”
He nodded, figuring as much. “I’ll be there in just a minute. I need to get my thoughts together first.” Raising his chin, he allowed his daughter to peck his cheek. “Love you,” he said with a wink.
“Love you too,” she said, heading out of the study, feeling better about the day now that she knew her favorite person was okay.
Kids. Each one was different. Each one was complicated.
Dmitry checked his watch and stood up from the sofa. Stretching his long body, he extended his arms toward the ceiling and let out a monstrous roar. He never slept this late. Maybe he should sleep here more often.
Making his way over to his desk, he opened his laptop and took a seat to read his emails and check the news before he embarked on putting Sanaa to rest. The thought made him nauseous. It was going to be a long day, and although it had just started, he was already dreading it. However, he was the head of the family. They needed him now, especially Anil. He knew his son would embark on a loneliness that he had never experienced once his mother was gone, and he needed to be there to help him through it. Losing a mother changed things for a man. He either closed up for good or opened up to new possibilities – there was no in between.
As he read threw his various reports from those appointed to run his various businesses internationally, the office doors burst open again. This time Anatoly came in, fresh-faced and full. He gave a sardonic smile as he closed the doors behind him.
Dmitry pushed back in his chair and threw up his hands. His muscles flexed under the tattoos that covered his broad chest. “Why do I even have a fucking door for this office, or guards for that matter? I should just have the contractors come in and cut a hole in the wall, so everyone can just come and go as they please.”
Anatoly strutted over to the chair in front of his father’s desk and took a seat. “Sounds like a good idea to me.” He was used to his father’s smug comment when he wanted to deflect, but that wouldn’t derail him from his current task.
Dmitry rolled his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked, giving up.
“Good morning to you, too.” Relaxing in the chair, Anatoly shook his head at his father. “You look like shit after spending all night on the sofa. Trust me. I know. Renee has sentenced me to the bad place a thousand times.”
“Ahh, shit. Does everyone know?” Dmitry asked, annoyed but not surprised that everyone in the house knew his private business. Such was one of the drawbacks of keeping everyone under one roof.
“Yep.” Anatoly tapped his fingers on the leather arm rest of the chair. “I have some concerns.”
Dmitry looked up from his computer. “About?” His blue eyes like diamonds in the sunlight.
“The thing today.” Anatoly’s left eye twitched. He had a bad feeling – one that didn’t need to go unappreciated. “I think we should bring Sanaa here, instead of taking the entire family to the center. It’s a security risk.”
Dmitry yawned, tasting last night’s dinner still on his tongue. He needed to brush his teeth and take a shower before he could think straight. Planting his elbow on the desk, he looked across at his son. “Explain.”
“We should have her brought here in an ambulance or something. To take the entire fucking family and the council members over to pay their respects is dangerous.” Anatoly knew he sounded cold-hearted, and he knew that Marat was now over security. But he couldn’t help but revert to his old job as chief of security.
Dmitry wouldn’t hear of it. He put a hand over his mouth and yawned again, trying to protect Anatoly from his bad breath. “So, you want me to put a woman who is already on life support in an ambulance and have her trek across the city to our home, running the risk of complications that could lead to her death before your brother can properly say goodbye because you feel uncomfortable?”
Anatoly blew off his father’s bad mood, and the over-explained hypothetical scenario. “It’s not smart to put the entire family at the same time in a place that we don’t have complete control over. You’ve asked us all to be there. And I think we should, but it’s dangerous.”
Dmitry pushed his son to think deeper. “What other suggestions do you have? Bringing her here is not an option.” He rubbed his temple, feeling a headache starting to come over him. He hadn’t even had breakfast, and he was already entertaining meetings. Damn, could they all just give him a minute?
Anatoly belched, now full from a bountiful breakfast. Hitting his balled-up fist against his chest, he sat up. How could he make this clear? “Okay, how about going in shifts. The women and children first with Vasily and Boris. Then the men with Marat. Everyone can see her and pay their respects, but it doesn’t leave us open to an attack where everyone gets killed.”
Dmitry noted his son’s concern, but this situation was uniquely different from most. “Royal is not going to allow us to pull the plug on Anil’s mother without her there to see it.” He had various reasons why that was the case and a few theories on the matter, but he would speak on none of them.
Anatoly shook his head in frustration. “Fine. She can stay in the room while we rotate. The point is there is a security risk involved. We need to plan accordingly.”
Dmitry quietly agreed. “Fine. You work out the logistics with Marat and the security team. But first, run it by Royal and make sure she understands your plans. I don’t want her throwing one of her epic fits.” Dmitry didn’t question his power over this family or his status in their lives, but he also didn’t want to make his wife any angrier than she already was. If she was not properly apprised of their plans, she would swear it was all done in retaliation of last night. And Anatoly, while meaning well, could not help him in that department.
“I’ll be happy to tell her,” Anatoly grinned at his father. “She’s not mad at me.” He laced his fingers together over his chest and kicked up his feet on his father’s desk. “So, what landed you in the shit house?”
Dmitry knocked his son’s feet down, knowing Anatoly meant it as a comical jab at him. “Who said I was in the shit house?”
Anatoly tilted his head and remained silent, sure his father could read between the lines.
“It doesn’t matter. She thinks I’m wrong, and in that kind of situation a man can’t be right, even if he’s right.” Dmitry explained.
Anatoly sat up in his chair and leaned toward the desk. “Whatever you did, just say you’re sorry. That’s all that really matters with them.”
“So, now you’re an authority on wifely rage?” Dmitry turned his attention back to his computer. The boy hadn’t been married long enough to be giving advice.
But Anatoly understood something that his father didn’t. Royal might have been his stepmother, but she was also his wife’s best friend. He was privy to a lot more than the old man was aware. And this morning, Royal woke up and had breakfast with Renee, unloading all her marital woes with the one woman in the world who couldn’t keep a damn secret.
“Just one question, and then I’ll leave you alone.” Anatoly paused for theatrical inference. “Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?” Anatoly asked, using advice once given to him. He already knew the answer, but sometimes, it took someone else to make one see how simple the most complicated problems were when allowed to go unchecked.
Dmitry submitted, dropping his boulder-like shoulders. “I want to be happy, but it would also require me to give my wife another child.”
Anatoly didn’t see the problem. He shrugged indifferently. “So? Give her a child. Shit. Give her five. It’s not like you don’t have plenty of money and time.”
Dmitry knew he hadn’t told his son the whole of their current situation with the Popov Crime Family, and he hated himself for it. But today was not the day. “I’ll explain later.”
Anatoly narrowed his gaze on his father. “As soon as the plug is pulled, and you’ve said your goodbyes to this woman, I want to know what’s really going on with you, Papa. Promise me.”
“You have my word,” Dmitry assured. There was a smile in his voice, brought out by the overwhelming pride he felt for his son’s growth. Of course, there was no need to speak on it. Men like them didn’t get bogged down with sentiment, but they understood silence didn’t take away from the affirmed telepathic transaction.
Just then there was a knock on the door before the guards opened it and Royal came in carrying a tray of food. She was still in her pajamas, a wardrobe of tight-fitting yoga pants and low-cut black tank top exposing her voluptuous breasts. She wore her long hair in a ponytail that hung lazily over her shoulder and a fresh face free of make-up.
Dmitry half expected a scowl on his wife’s face after last night’s argument, but instead, she greeted him with a genuine smile. He sat up in his chair at the sight of her, always transfixed by her beauty.
Anatoly twisted in his chair to see Royal and then turned back to his father. “Remember what I said. Happy or right,” he said under his breath. He stood up and excused himself to leave his parents to hash out whatever was going on between them.
Royal brought the tray over to Dmitry’s desk and placed it in front of him. “I figured you’d be hungry,” she explained in a soft voice.
Dmitry looked at the tray, a plate of hot pan-cakes covered in a sheen of syrup and Irish butter, fruits, scrambled eggs and a pile of finely cut potatoes and veggies. A tall glass of orange juice was situated beside a small vase with a yellow rose she had cut herself. He understood it was a peace offering, and he wanted her to understand that he gladly accepted.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely, looking into her eyes.
“You’re welcome.” Royal’s eyes darted around the room. Arguments with Dmitry always made her anxious. Taking a deep breath, she tried to move the conversation along. “I set out your clothes for this morning. Everyone’s getting ready as we speak.”
Dmitry wasn’t concerned with that now. Waving her toward him, he pushed his chair back from his desk. “Come here,” he ordered.
She walked behind his desk and stood in front of him. Pulling her to his lap, Dmitry made her sit down and then picked up a small cut of watermelon. He placed it to her lips with his fingers, watching her eat it.
“I’m sorry,” he confessed. His deep voice croaked with regret. “Last night…”
Royal cut him off before he could finish. “Today is not about us. We have plenty of time to talk. Right now, we need to focus on Anil, and making sure he gets through this the best he can.”
Dmitry held her in his embrace. “Then, we will talk later.” His strong hands massaged her arm. “But you know I love you, right?”
Royal nodded at him and managed a smile. It wasn’t that she was not still incredibly hurt by last night, but she knew that her feelings couldn’t cloud the events that were forced on them today. “Yes, I know you love me. I love you too.”
That was all Dmitry needed to hear. Picking up his fork, he made her sit with him while he had his breakfast. Even if they sat in complete silence, it would be fine by him, but he wanted her to know, he wasn’t handling her – not this time. She had more than enough reason to ask for another child and he had an obligation to fulfil it. He just couldn’t do it right now – not until he made sure she was safe.