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Deadly Games Now Available from New Concepts Publishing

CHAPTER ONE

UNEDITED EXCERPT

Czech Republic; October 28; 10:00 p.m.

The Prague club roared with the sounds of vices better left unknown, but too tempting for most. This Czech city was Janas faced. Beauty and old world for the discerning tourists, but flipped, the red light districts rivaled those in Amsterdam or the worst hells on earth. An evil, black and thick rolled through the Prague underground, plumping its greedy fist from those who sought pleasure in unconventional ways.

So much for a quiet evening at home. Though quiet might not be found for a couple more days. Most residents were out celebrating—this was, after all, Czech Independence day. The pop of fireworks burst through the air, laughter rang out and motorists zoomed by. Tonight was full of revelry. Fireworks still shot from Prazsky hrad , the Prague Castle and people still gathered in Stare Mesto .

Dimitri Petrolov, also referred to as The Reaper, strode to the front of Nero's Nightclub. Ivan, the bouncer only nodded to him and let him pass. But then Dimitri really hadn't expected anyone to try and stop him. There was, after all, a good reason for his nickname. He was Viktor Hellinski's enforcer. And everyone who was anyone knew that Hellinski was not a man to cross.

The club pulsed. Rammstein beat against the smoked tinged air from hidden speakers. Strobe lights flashed through the darkness, and dancers, revelers, drug users alike took on a macabre glow. The club was painted black, with the only relief, burning murals on the walls that seemed to glow and flicker in the black lights.

“Hey, Dimitri, baby,” a sultry voice called.

He looked to his right where one of the night waitresses weaved between bodies with an empty platter. Debromil. Or was it her twin, Elsa? They were both blonde and stacked like Viking goddesses. Hopefully, they would simply remain waitresses and not wind up in Hellinski's other jobs. He merely smiled at her. Her silicone breasts, all but bursting from the corset she wore, didn't move as she gyrated to the music, her platter never wavering.

Dimitri made his way to the staircase at the back of the club. Women, men, college kids moved out of his way. He ignored the drugs, probably ecstasy, being passed between two girls. Another couple kissed open mouth. His foot on the bottom step, he heard the sounds of an argument between a man and woman, but ignored them. At the top landing he looked below at the strobing, spandex and leather clad figures, dark in the shadows of flickering bright lights. The smell of cigarette smoke, the tinge of stronger chemicals mixed and melded with too many perfumes on too many bodies and glossing it all was the permanent smell of alcohol. It was the fragrance of greed and vice. Well, one he associated anyway. Most here tonight were simply out for a good time. At least this was Nero's and not one of the other clubs.

He closed his eyes for a moment before turning to the hallway, guarded by two men he personally thought of as Pit and Bull. Their jackets did little to cover the holsters or the semi automatic weapons harnessed there. But who the hell was he to raise a brow at a weapon. His Glock was in his own shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket.

His skin itched with the knowledge that something was up. He didn't even look at them as he walked down the hallway. The black door at the end was marked ‘private'.

Dimitri ignored this and shoved the door open, walking into the dark office. A low light spilled from a lamp on the desk. The tall leather chair was turned away from him, facing the large picture window which over looked the floor of the club below.

“What took so long?” Viktor asked, not turning.

“I was otherwise….” Dimitri paused, “engaged.”

Viktor scoffed. “Were you? Hope she gave you a good time, my friend.”

Dimitri chose not to answer. Instead, he walked to stand at the edge of the window looking at the melee below. They reminded him of chaotic ants. Too much confusion.

“Nice profit tonight.”

“It's Friday,” Dimitri answered, not bothering to look at his boss. The man was reflected in the glass. No one could see them since, from the viewers below, it looked like a giant wall of mirrors. He studied the man sitting in the chair, his hands resting on the arms, a glass of vodka in his hand.

They both stared out at the scene below them. Dimitri waited. He never pressed for details, never asked. Questioning, in his opinion, led to others questioning him. Questions often gave more away than silence. And silence, he had learned afforded him more.

He watched as one man and woman screwed against the wall in the shadows. The bouncers and guards didn't notice and if they had, nothing would have been done.

Peopled gyrated on the dance floor, to him, they all looked the same. A sea of black ants. Drugs, sex, booze—just a good time, they'd say.

If they only knew.

“I have a job for you,” Hellinski said.

Music from below barely pulsed through the floor or walls, there was a soft vibration from the base, but that was it. Dimitri knew these rooms were sound proof.

As was the rest of the building.

People came to play downstairs and some went upstairs and to the joining building for a different taste in entertainment that had little to do with dancing on the dance floor. It was only one of the many businesses that Dimitri helped his boss to oversee.

These days he was more gone than here, only called in for specific jobs.

Dimitri waited in silence again.

“Tis annoying habit you have, Dimitri. Silence. I don't like silence. I've killed others for their arrogance, you know.”

“I'm certain you have.”

“And I'm aware I'm not the only one who gives you orders.”

He kept looking at the dancers and party goers below. He saw a group of young men slip something—probably roofies—into the drinks of their dates.

“No, sir. You told me when I was brought in that I would answer to Elianya as well as to you.”

The older man grunted and Dimitri turned to study him. Viktor did his Slavic ancestors proud. Wide slanted eyes, like those of a lion watched him from their amber depths. Viktor's nose was slightly crooked, broken God only knows how many times. Scars slashed across the right side of his elongated face. The ash blond hair was pulled back in a queue. The man was one of the most feared in the Prague underground and in time, Dimitri knew, he himself would be on Viktor's hitlist. It was simply the way the game was played.

Those amber eyes narrowed on him, even as Viktor straightened in his chair and pulled at the maroon silk shirt he wore. “Tell me what you would do if I ordered you to kill someone you might not want to.”

Dimitri merely arched a brow. What game was the man setting into motion now?

He walked to the sideboard, reached into the small refrigerator and pulled out a frozen glass. The vodka poured in with nary spilling a drop. He set the decanter aside and turned back to his boss, sipping the clear liquid.

“When do I learn the name of this….problem?” Someone he wouldn't want to kill? He felt his pulse speed. No way the man could know.

Dimitri glanced at him as he sat in the chair to the side of the desk, his back against the wall, facing the rest of the room.

Viktor frowned and propped his left ankle on his right knee, his foot bouncing.

“Perhaps,” Dimitri ventured, “the person is not one that I might have a problem eliminating?”

Those eyes snapped back to him. Silence settled between them. “Perhaps.”

Dimitri nodded. And waited.

With a curse, muttering of whores, Viktor stood, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared again out the window.

Apparently someone had angered Mr. Hellinski. Not wise, but then who was he to complain. This was what he did.

On a deep breath, the other man shook his head. “Come back tomorrow night. I will give you a name then. And I want it done as soon as possible.”

It was Dimitri's turn to frown. Why the hesitancy?

“Hellinski.” When the man faced him, he said, “You're a hard man, with a business to oversee and protect, and as far as friends go, I consider you one.”

Viktor smiled, his scared face more distorted. “And I you, Dimitri. And I you.”

“You don't like people to cross you.” Dimitri stared at him. “And you have no mercy for those who betray you.”

Viktor inclined his head.

“I'm of the same mind.” Dimitri stood, set the glass down.

Viktor's eyes widened in shock. “You think I would betray you?”

Dimitri smiled. “For enough money, yes.”

Viktor laughed, but they both knew the words to be true.

“I'll be back tomorrow night.”

Viktor nodded. “You're right on what you said of betrayal. I'll give you the name night after tomorrow, I have a prior engagement. I do want the job finished within the next week.”

Dimitri strode out of the office, seemingly not paying any more attention to anyone than when he walked in.

He slapped Ivan on the arm as he walked out of the club and put his head down against the cold autumn wind. He waited for a cab, noted that Ivan took out a cellphone and made a call.

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