The Russian Fighter (Mafia Men #1)

The Russian's Game

Chapter 9

Edited

The party was in full swing by the time a second round of kegs were lugged into the house by Erik's bodyguards. Blue solos cups were scattered all over the floor. Beer cans crushed and half full dotted every space of the house from the parlor, to the front yard. Couples were kissing on the snaking staircase while others ground against each other within the kitchen and the makeshift dance floor outside in the backyard.

A table of cups set in two groups of diamonds for beer pong stood in the center, a crowd of teenagers gathering there. The DJ had his own spot on the lawn, headphones on, and a playlist of songs he was meshing together in few songs that hyped the dancers. I'd never seen so many drunken people 'till now.

Mad Love by Sean Paul and David Guetta feat. Becky G was playing strong, drawing more people onto the dance floor. It even made my bones active.

A table of punch and alcohol bottles stood on a glass table surrounded by a barbeque of food: burgers, hot dogs, nacho cheese, Chile beans and diverse bags of bowls of chips. I was so hungry I didn't think twice to make me a bowl of nachos with the spicy hot Doritos.

A roar blared from my left and I noticed Jeff and another blonde tossing a white ball across the table towards Aleksandr and Maksimillian's side of remaining four plastic cups. Jeff made it in the fourth cup.

Blonde Guy was next.

Making my way into the crowd with my Styrofoam bowl I waited as it went quiet. Jeff's partner was focusing hard on the task at hand, ball swinging back in forth in his hand to measure the distance. With a soft toss it flew.

And he made it!

The crowd gave a hoot each time, separate groups rooting for one side, though the Nikolaev brothers seemed to have the larger audience. With another chance it was down to two cups, balanced on a even scale of opportunity.

Trying to coordinate the width of which to throw, Blonde Guy went first.

And missed.

Aw.

Jeff tried and he tipped the seam, it bounced off and onto the ground.

The Nikolaev brothers were up next.

Maksimillian didn't hesitate with time, and the ball flopped right into the cup, as if it was meant to.

Cheer!

"Shit!" Jeff placed the cup to his lips, chugging the liquid down his throat.

Aleksandr pointed two fingers at his eyeballs, then to the last cup that would be game point for them. It was furthest at the rim of the glass table. As if in slow motion the ball soared the air, rolling like a baseball.

Bloop!

He made it!

A primitive course of bellows shook off the clean-cut tress, shaking the leaves into the untamed, cold night. Midnight was long approaching as was a full moon, the sky darkened by a blanket of ebony.

From my line of vision I decided to take a picture while they were distracted, and snapped a few clicks on my camera. They were completely unaware. I wanted to keep it that way.