Dirty Little Wars 01: Moscow

A FIRM NEGOTIATION

He stares at me in disbelief. "We're not on a date. Would you be here if they weren't forcing you or holding something over you? Didn't you just ask me to play along? I assumed they would take it out on you if I didn't."

"No. They'd take it out on you if you didn't."

He frowns and then shakes his head. "You expect me to believe that you're trying to help me?"

"I am trying to help you."

"By serving caviar and giving me a nice view?"

"That's not what I'm doing," I assure him. "I'm trying to smooth over your fuck-ups and get you off this jet alive."

"My fuck-ups?" he repeats.

"You're being measured," I remind him. "Your strength. Your will. Your power. They're trying to see what works with you and what doesn't."

"This doesn't."

"About that..." I stroke my fingers over his knuckles. "You're dealing with people who don't understand 'no.' They understand negotiation and bargaining. They understand compromise, but only when it's in their best interest. This is part of their culture. You can start with 'no', but eventually, you have to make a counteroffer - even if it's bullshit."

"A bullshit counteroffer...?"

"With finesse. Don't botch it. Relax. This is Russian theater. That's all. You need to start by lamenting how much this is going to cost them, through no fault of your own. You're going to be forced to pay more people off. It's not as easy as they make it sound. You have expenses, etc."

"It's me saying this?" he asks, sarcastic. "This is my script?"

"Or, maybe you like losing teeth."

"That's... concise."

"I could be more concise," I warn because he's acting like a saint or an amateur, and I sense that he's neither. It's a feeling, not an observation, but it thins my patience. "Here's your script. Stop playing the mild-mannered victim. No one cares. Tell them you want to do business, but the costs are higher than they think. Tell them that some of your competitors might be a better choice—maybe not so reliable, but definitely cheaper. Let them argue with you. Once they've justified that away, tell them that you'll do it - but only if they bring all the business from the districts that they control to you. Everyone ships their express packages through you. You need the profit to offset the incredible risk you're taking. The last part is important. They'll never respect someone without a criminal profit angle of their own. You will seem disingenuous. They'll agree to your terms because it doesn't matter. They're not going to honor their part anyway, but they'll let you go if they think that you will honor yours."

He narrows his gaze. "Who are you?"

I ignore the question. "I'm supposed to be flirting with you, and you're supposed to be flirting back. That's the show. Natalya offers more, if you want to take this all the way, but you have to do something. You have to accept the game. You can't just sit here being offended. They will lose hope that any of this is going to work, and then you're going to be in real trouble."

"You want me to start flirting with you?"

"It makes us both look bad if you don't. Maybe a little more than flirting."

"Which means what? I act like them? Throw you on the floor? Rip off clothes? What?"

"You don't strike me as that kind of killer."

"You prefer killers?"

"A nice guy with an imagination isn't bad either," I murmur. "When he shuts up."

"Nice," he mutters, glancing at the boyos on the sofa behind me. I follow his gaze, finding both of them leaning forward in their seats and yelling at the television.

"Start with the vodka," I whisper. "And then a kiss. Not so hard, is it?"

He doesn't answer. He doesn't object either.

I lean back, selecting a full shot glass from the table and bringing it to his lips, avoiding the cut in the skin. "This will sting a bit."

He's staring at me now, and I catch the change in his eyes, as if he's reached a conclusion he can't reason out of. His lips part, and he tilts his head back as I pour the vodka into his mouth. To his credit, he lets it slide down his throat without wincing. He wets his lips with alcohol after he's swallowed, its sharp flavor lingering on his breath.

I lean forward and kiss him while his face is still upturned, sliding my fingers along his jaw and down his neck, feeling the warm pulse of his blood under my fingertips.

He's easily coaxed into the moment with me, and it doesn't take him long to respond in kind. Sliding his hands behind my back, he pulls me closer against him, his mouth opening for mine, accepting the tease of my tongue. I hear him breathe in sharply, as if this is real.

Maybe it is real. It feels real. It might be the adrenaline, or the way he touches, but it's real enough to make me want more.

In the background, the boyos notice. One of them laughs. The other gives an approving whistle, just to be obnoxious. They snap little jokes back and forth. All he needed was the pussy. Too bad, I was looking forward to breaking a rib, or an ankle so he can walk like a Polish duck...tak tak tak. Maybe she'll write the contract for us.

They snort and chuckle, but it's the right reaction at the right time. They think he's going to see reason after this. I hope that's true.

Nadya comes out of the stateroom. "Oh! Now she does some work!"

The boyos greet the joke with mean laughter.

"And you two..." Nadya continues. "You're sitting there like idiots. Are you poor? Aren't you men? Don't you want more than vodka before we land?"

I slide into Lucjan's lap and he closes his arms around me, nudging my lips open wider to deepen the kiss.