Chapter 3: Two
Dimitri Vetrov was sitting in his plush, leather armchair with a glass of scotch in one hand and the other hand, on the head of a Brunette woman in between his legs. Her head was moving up and down vigorously and the moans of "mmm" and "oh God" escaped Vetrov's lips every now and then.
Somewhere in the far corner of his bedroom, another Brunette lay on his huge, king-sized bed, apparently asleep. Vetrov contemplated that lover. His gaze swept over her eyes, petite nose and full, thick lips. Average Russian looks and she was as beautiful as far as Russian girls come. But that did nothing for him. It was a plus point that they were beautiful. Vetrov loved breasts and the bigger they were the better for him. Same, he would tell his buddies, like how you would go to a restaurant and pay to have the biggest lobster, not the ones that could fit in your entire mouth at once, although till this day, Vetrov had never seen a tiny lobster.
But about the one lying on his bed now, Vetrov's erection got bigger just thinking about how he pounded her throughout the night, her huge breasts moving back and forth and how when he grabbed them, he found that oh-so-sweet release—
"Oh God yes!" Vetrov grunted, spraying straight into the girl's mouth, who immediately moved away and glared at him, wiping her mouth of his fluid. He put his glass of scotch down and wanked off the remaining bit himself. "Ohh!" he groaned as he finished off.
He was so exhausted that he remained in his armchair while the other Brunette crawled onto his bed and continued glaring at him, hoping that Vetrov was a mind reader and somehow, realized his earlier mistake. But Vetrov was in bliss, thinking that the chick last night was the best thing to happen to him in five days. Five days ago, he had another chick with even huger breasts and try as he might, he could not even stuff half her breast into his mouth. He smiled, thinking how much fun he had had with that one.
Someone knocked on his door and asked to be let in and Vetrov yelled back in Russian for that person to "go away if they knew what was good for them" but expressed more concisely and in a crude fashion that consisted mainly of two words. Yet the muffled voice of Sergey Grekov's thick Russian accent continued to seep through the solid, oak-paneled doors of Vetrov's bedroom.
"What Grekov? You better have a damn good reason for this!" Vetrov seethed as he opened the door to admit Sergey Grekov who was followed by Vladimir Dragunov, both of whom were Vetrov's leading henchmen in his drug cartel business, among other side dealings.
Grekov walked in and took in the scene. He saw a strained-looking Vetrov in a plush velvet robe with just a pair of too-tight boxers on and two semi-naked girls in Vetrov's bed with one, it seemed, to be glaring at the three of them. He smirked, thinking about what had possibly just happened there. Dragunov however, had no reaction, either having done worse or having seen worse or possibly both. He simply cracked his neck muscles, turned to Vetrov, and waited for his partner to start talking.
"So we saw that boy just now," Grekov started. "That Roday kid. Nervous like hell to see us. I don't think he got the balls to sell all the drugs Boss. You sure gave him a lot this time."
Vetrov wasn't in the mood to hear this. He gave Roday the LSD because he had seen the kid's work. Pushing drugs to his schoolmates or whoever the hell was buying it. But Roday always got back to him in a week, sometimes less, with the cash which had made Vetrov very pleased with the kid. He felt Roday could be nurtured into a professional drug-peddler. Now this guy in front of him is telling him that Roday is turning into a pussy? So no, Vetrov was definitely not in the mood for this.
"Druganov, did you threaten the kid? Punch him in the nose? I remember him having a big nose," Vetrov said, his eyes fixed on Drganov.
"Nope, no damage to him, which is huge accomplishment for this guy here," Grekov clarified, giving Druganov a solid pat on his back.
So much for initiative on their part, Vetrov thought. Or even common sense.
"Ok," Vetrov said, suddenly switching to English and saying it as slowly as one can say that word, "let me spell it out for you. Both of you. I want my goddamn money in three days and it damn better account for all the drugs Roday has, down to the tiniest molecule of LSD that goddamn kid has. You are either going to get it by licking his balls or by force, I don't care. But I am going to get my money. You understand?"
Grekov didn't quite understand what the word molecule was. It sounded really foreign to him but then again, he spent almost all his life in Russia so maybe molecule was American slang for something he didn't want to know. He glanced at his partner who looked unfazed as he gave a slight nod. Grekov felt embarrassed to be spoken to like that by his boss so as he told Vetrov he understood his message loud and clear, he thought of all the ways he would inflict pain on that Roday kid if it was the last thing he did.
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