Lev: a Shot Callers novel(4)

“We don’t get a lot of ladies down here.”

My cheeks turned bright pink as men hollered up at the dancing girls. My gut rolled. The bouncer must have thought I was a complete pervert.

I pulled my hair over my face to hide my flaming cheeks and found an empty bar stool in the corner of the room, hidden from light. It was the perfect place to search for the man who would help feed me.

My eyes scanned the room through the dim lighting of the club. There were too many of them. I’d have to get closer.

I stayed by my stool a while before I made my move. My heart raced as anxiety took over me. I took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. My back ramrod straight, I would find my savior right here, in this very room.

I just didn’t know what he looked like yet.

***

Lev



I was drawn to her immediately. Intrigue held me captive.

My brow furrowed as I watched her. What was she doing in a place like this? It was clear she didn’t belong here.

By the look of her, she didn’t belong quite anywhere. She was so small her black coat was at least three sizes too big, and the way she covered her face with her long dark hair was so childlike that my chest hurt.

That was new. It surprised me. I wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad, but it made me take a step toward her.

I managed to spot one doe-like eye peeping through her hair as she stared openly at the girls on stage. Obviously, she hadn’t come to see dancing girls. From the shock on her face, she didn’t know Bleeding Hearts was a strip joint.

Reaching up, she moved to cover her face with her hair once more before she lowered her head and scurried along to the dark side of the bar. It pleased me that she chose that spot. It was the spot I normally sat. Warmth spread through my torso.

The club was almost at capacity. As news of Paolo’s death carried, Sasha spread the word that he would be opening the club to friends and family. No cover charge. Drinks were on the house.

This, of course, meant that my keen eyesight would have to be keener tonight. Sasha didn’t like trouble. I kept trouble from arising.

The girls behind the bar served customers, smiles pasted onto their faces, even though they would be worked to the bone. The tips would be worth the straying hands and ogling eyes.

Sasha came out from behind the door. His eyes met mine almost instantly and he jerked his chin at me in greeting. I returned it.

When I was younger, Sasha taught me it was rude to ignore a greeting. I was never any good at taking cues from other people. Conversation was painful. I didn’t like to speak unless spoken to, and even then, I would rarely talk unless a question was asked.

My brother was a hard man, but he was also patient. And growing up with me was not easy, I was sure. He never raised his voice to me, even when I was told I was being unreasonable. He was kind and understanding, and he explained things to me in a way I would understand.

I was six years old when my parents realized something was wrong with me. Our family dog, Mishka, ran out into the road and was hit by car. When my father told me she hadn’t survived, I simply nodded then ran upstairs to my room to process.

That was where I was found, hours later, covered in blood after slamming my head into my bedroom wall, over and over. My father rushed me to the emergency room. I’d opened the side of my head to the bone. They stitched me up, but still, I didn’t cry.

When the doctor asked if this was something that happened often, my father got angry. He said there was nothing wrong with me and that it was an accident. The doctor calmly explained that he could help, but my father picked me up and took me home.

In the car, he turned to me and said, “You are my son and I love you. There is nothing wrong with you.” But as the years went on, it became clear to anyone who met me that there was something wrong with me.

Although I smiled on occasion, I never laughed. I was able to remember almost every detail of every conversation I had ever had. I was smart in an abnormal way, and could calculate large sums in my mind. I did not understand or process emotion as others did. I didn’t cry. And I never lied.

People called me a cyborg.

I didn’t like that.

My sister, Nastasia, beat the shit out of the kids who dared to tease me. Sasha never had to raise a finger. All he would need to do was glare at them and they’d run scared.

Time went on, and Sasha helped me while Nastasia loved me unconditionally. Sasha taught me to respond to people in a casual fashion and helped me read cues. I still wasn’t any good at taking prompts from people. If you didn’t tell me what you were feeling, chances were I wouldn’t know.

Nastasia told me there was nothing wrong with me. That it wasn’t my fault I was smarter than everyone else. She said that if the rest of the world didn’t have shit for brains then I wouldn’t be so special, so I should be grateful.

The young woman moved amongst the crowd in a seemingly casual way, but I saw more in the way she watched the men with a hawk’s eye.

She was up to something. And I would find out exactly what.

***

Mina



It was harder than it looked, choosing a man to seduce.

It didn’t help that most of the men in the club were in their late forties and fifties and smelled like sweat combined with vodka, and that stale musty smell people got when they’d been drinking too much. It was funny that I felt the need to complain about smell, when I likely smelled just as bad. I should be grateful if one of these men took pity on me.