Watching the men continue to fill her suite with delicious food, Jacqueline took the glass and drank. By the time the stewards had left, she’d finished the glass.
A knock hit my door.
I looked up. “Who’s that?”
One of my men went to the door and opened it.
I expected it to be my other guard, but Maxwell stepped inside, wearing the Belmont’s silk robe over his suit. “So. . .this is a nice place.”
I smirked. “I’m glad you like it. I’ve booked it for the week.”
“Damn. I can get used to this.” Prancing around in the robe, he headed inside and then stopped at the screens. “Oh shit. You’re watching her grandma?”
“I’m making sure she’s happy.”
“Do you have footage of my room?”
“No, but would you like me too?”
Maxwell gave me an odd look. “No. I would not.”
“I guess I have seen enough of your nudity for one day.”
“Let’s say a lifetime.” Maxwell turned back to the screens. “Why are you watching her?”
“I have to make sure Jacqueline is not only enjoying herself, but not contacting the authorities or even worse, Ava.”
Maxwell studied the screen as Jacqueline sat at the large dining table and ate. “I don’t know, man. You might be doing a lot with all the cameras.”
My phone rang.
I checked the device.
Kazimir’s name came up on the display.
Does he know about the missing codes? No. It’s too soon.
I pressed ignore on the number and then texted him.
Me: I’m busy with my complications. I’ll talk to you later.
Kazimir: You should be on the plane, heading to my party.
Since when does Kazimir get so excited about throwing a party? Perhaps, the mouse is truly changing him.
My phone buzzed again.
I groaned and looked at the text.
Kazimir: I was going to wait to for you to see the surprise, but I’ll tell you.
What now?
Kazimir: Crucifix will be playing at the party.
What has gotten into the lion?
Crucifix had always been Kazimir’s favorite rock band. When we grew up, my mother would yell at him for blasting their music in the castle.
Those days had been so simple.
I thought back to a young Kazimir rocking out in his room and dancing badly to Crucifix’s controversial lines. Mainly a group that catered to the Russian underground music scene, the government had banned them for their political critiques. When their songs did not rage against the Kremlin, they talked about sex and the lovely ways to make a woman orgasm.
Our parents hated the band. No matter how many times Kazimir’s mother or mine threw the CDs out, he would steal or buy another. Eventually our mothers gave up and let us listen.
The phone buzzed.
Another text from him?
Kazimir: Crucifix will be here!
“Dear God,” I muttered under my breath. “What is going on with my cousin? The mouse has turned him into a teenage boy.”
Maxwell glanced my way. “What’s up? Is Em okay?”
“Nothing is up and yes. She is fine. However, my cousin has lost his mind.”
I typed a text back.
Me: I’m glad you have Crucifix performing, but I won’t be able to attend.
Kazimir: You must! Bring Ava, if necessary. I need you.
“You do not.” I groaned. “You just think you do.”
With my father now gone, my cousin was just feeling alone at the top. Such was the trouble of kings. But that was a difficulty I could not deal with today.
I put the phone up.
Kazimir wouldn’t say no.
And I wouldn’t say yes.
Today was already a difficult. What would it hurt to now piss off the lion?
This day just keeps getting better and better.
Maxwell gestured to my balcony. “Hey, you mind if I smoke a joint out there? I was going to do it in my suite, but I figured you may need me.”
“Go ahead.” I rose and walked out there with him.
Maxwell grinned. “You want to smoke with me?”
“Maybe one hit, but I need to be focused.”
“Oh, this will have you focused.” He dangled the joint in front of him. “I mixed it.”
“Mixed it with what?” I asked.
“Valentina bought me some shit called the White Russian. And I was like, baby, you’ve got to get me the Black Russian. It was a joke, but sure enough, her man brought back a strain called the Black Russian. So now my joints are interracial. Get it?”
“I get it. So, you have a black and white joint?”
“I do because I love everybody. No discrimination over here.” He placed the joint in his mouth and lit it.
“How do you like our cannabis?”
“It’s good. I looked up the White Russian. It’s a cross of two legendary strains, White Widow and AK-47. An Indica-dominant hybrid.”
I raised my brows. “You know your marijuana?”
“I do.” Maxwell blew out smoke and handed it to me. “Smell that shit, man. No skunk at all. Got that sweet fruit scent.”
I took the joint. “And the Black Russian?”
“Apparently, the Black Russian is related to the White Russian. It was crossed with one called the Black Domina.”