Tatiana - Part One
2335
Grand Hotel, Moscow
Moving silently, Tatiana Petrovna, better known as Kath Montgomery, paced the room, sipping a nice merlot...still...smoky. She sat the glass down a half dozen times, running a slow fingertip around the rim, touching where her lips had touched. A tiny dram was left in the bottle, and she still felt restless. One minute she felt too hot, the next too cold. She'd known these little shivers before - pure adreneline.
She adjusted the sound on her iPod and tried to listen. "Is This Real" purred through the tiny speakers in her ears and she undulated softly. "So tight and revealing, the moves that I make...and i know, and i know...is this real?"
She smiled, licking the corner of her lips, looking at the mirror. The woman who stared back was all but a stranger. Did that matter? Would it ever?
"Twisted this feeling...."
"Fuck this," she whispered.
Popping out the earpieces, she reached for the hotel phone to call Anna and froze. She knew no one and she had to remember that. Roxie and Sam would be sharing a glass of white wine with a late meal. Colton could be in Berlin or the bar downstairs, not that she'd call him, and the boys, well they were somewhere, likely five beers and four whiskeys into a good story.
She cursed quietly in Russian.
As if propelled by her own dark thoughts, the next moment was filled with grabbing her coat, some cash, her visa. The money and visa went into the inner deeply lined pocket. Tat finished the wine, dropping her gun on the table by the empty glass. Eyeing the second bottle she'd ordered, she left it untouched.
A handsome older gentleman and a crisp young woman manned the still busy front desk. She waited patiently. The world saw a mid-twenties woman, black hair, ice eyes in black on black...in a polished Vogue goth look. Everything about her screamed money, yet for her appearance, she was a government wage slave.
The man motioned her over, showing her a bit of deference. The room, it's cost...paid for by murky money from a deep swamp of hidden deals, but this employee didn't know that. He'd never know that.
"May I help you?" he asked in accented English.
"Da," she began, then asked him to order her a cab and wanted to know a club - loud, techno, with chilled vodka. The man appeared confused for a moment, then called the younger woman over to give suggestions.
"Avenues," she said lowering her voice. "Careful, the newly rich and powerful slum there," she said with a slight grin, as if she thought the woman she spoke with could be the mistress of one of those mob bosses.
"Many thanks. I'd like a cab please." As she slid money beneath the girls fingers, the call was placed, within moments one pulled up out front and a destination discussed.
The club was farther away than Tatiana would liked, but not impossible to traverse on foot. Her slender leather boots would offer little protection against the chill night, but she didn't care. She'd dealt with worse. Shot, bleeding from a shoulder wound, she'd lain for 17 hours in a ramshakle cabin in Bosnia hiding from all but the two men who extracted her. Goddess bless the boys, she thought.
Loud, the music thudded even onto the street. The cab driver asked her if she was certain this was her destination and she nodded. She tipped generously, but not enough to lure him to stay.
For once, she wondered if she'd die tonight.
With a laugh, she pulled open the warehouse-like door. The bouncer, if one could call him that, looked her up and down and made some decision. "Meeting someone?" his gruff voice asked.
"One never knows," she murmured in flawless Russian.
He nodded and she moved past his hulking form to the bar. Several stools were open and dancers, mostly couples, writhed as they saw fit to a throbbing techno version of a Police song. She grinned and ordered four vodkas, chilled, in iced glasses. The generous amount of money passed to the bartender bought her a smile and her order. A few scantily clad young women, employees...whores...who knew or cared - writhed near or on poles strategically placed around. It was a crowded, busy place and the bartender returned shortly.
"The men in the corner would like to buy your drinks and have you join them." The slender-faced young man looked at her and she caught the odd warning in his eyes.
"Tell them I am flattered, but I'm drinking alone tonight."
His hesitation told her those men were someone powerful enough to cause him stress.
She lifted the first vodka, sliding the sweet burning down her throat...the first, always an Elixer. The second, Clarity. The third, Understanding. The fourth, scant Tranquility. Silence, the one sweet peace she sought, remained elusive after the four drinks laced her world.
Fuck.
She held up four more fingers and the bartender gave her a measured stare. But he began icing down the glasses, dragging the Stoli from the freezer once more.
Number five, a softening of the sounds, a certain numbness...ahh, that would be Comfort. Six, and a sensual change in her skin, an electric buzzing, shimmering, Seduction...seven, and a certain Immortality cloaked her.
She felt him, smelled the faint cologne he wore and her body became more aware, even as he moved close to her, just behind her seat. His long fingers took her eighth glass and smoothly tipped it past full lips. He was tall, dark, short hair, leather coat over a black sweater, matching slacks. Much like her own attire...she smiled slowly. Arrogant... That was interesting.
He turned eyes of an indeterminate color to her under the reddish lights.
His voice was pure sin. In heavily-accented English, he leaned close to her ear and said, "Papers, please," to be heard over the first strains of Broken Down Palace's rendition of Sarah McLaughlin's "Silence."
Her private irony, she thought, as she looked him up and down, surveying one of the sexiest animals she'd encountered in two years. Her lips did curve then in a smile. He had taken the shot she'd dubbed Silence and slipped it past those unholy lips. She licked hers and forced herself to concentrate.
Reaching inside her coat, she slowly spread her visa on the bar in the dim light. "Satisfied?" she asked in Russian.
He glanced but briefly at the scrap, before murmuring, "Hardly..."
She caught the play of interest, curiosity, something more...oh but vodka number seven...Immortality, was in her veins and fueling her thoughts. Her hands, steady despite the vodka, eased her visa back into her coat, knowing he could not have read it in the dim glow.
She slid an ungloved hand to meet his. "Tatiana," she said, loud enough for him to hear.
"Nicolai," he offered, "and we're not staying here." He motioned the bartender over and pressed a folded bill into his palm. From the tiny freezer came the bottle of Stoli and this 'Nicolai' nodded curtly. Taking her upper arm in a rather tight grip, he escorted her from the bar to walk towards a black Mercedes.
Passing the mostly full bottle of vodka to her, he unlocked the door and opened it for her.
"Are you arresting me or just my knight in shining armor?" She looked up at him, but his face was unreadable in the darkness.
"Hardly," he said again, crowding her a bit so that she sat. He didn't elaborate.
She uncorked the bottle as soon as he had closed the door, and took a long, long pull as she watched him round the car to get in. He moved like a panther, she thought, almost licking her lips again. A fine, dark, big cat...
Fuck, Tat...stranger, car, Moscow, Stoli...death wish. Little death? Or more...? She caught her smile, choosing not to share those thoughts.
He put the key into the ignition, then paused, turning to her. "Who do you belong to? Who's woman are you?"
"I don't know yet," Tatiana heard herself say, as if from a distance. "It appears his name is 'Nicolai' for the moment." She offered the bottle. She thought he'd refuse at the look he gave her. Instead, he surprised her, taking it and drinking, not one but two deep swallows, before returning it to her.
"Mob club," he nodded back towards the nondescript building. "You were sitting there like a lamb awaiting slaughter." His Russian was native, his voice deep, rich.
She felt her belly clench, not from his words... but from the delivery. Just the timbre... If only he knew her. If only... she closed her eyes for a moment, opening them to see him watching her.
"Knight, then," she declared him, mostly for his ego. She drank another sip of the liquor, but slowed. She wanted to remember this night.
"Hardly," he said a third time, this time with a hint of anger to his voice. "Where am I dropping you?"
Time to decide, Tatiana, she told herself. Get laid or get some sleep...
Reaching into her other inner coat pocket, she watched him tense. It was subtle, but there. So, he was more trained than a simple police officer.
She handed him the keycard from her suite.
He stared at her with all but a glare. She would lay good money that look had quelled killer's hearts. Her's beat faster.
"Are you certain about this?" That voice. She wanted to hear it call her name.
Ah, a valid question, she thought, and not an evasive answer. She tilted her head, taking in his delicious features. With an arch of her eyebrow, she nodded... once.
He flipped the card, reading the hotel name, the room number...
She savored the acceleration as the car moved.
Silence.
posted by LeavesofLothian.blogspot.com @ 4:29 AM
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