Red Alpha: A BWWM Russian Alpha Billionaire Romance Read Online Free Page B

of those thugs, but, eventually, he had graduated to a higher position.
    “Demyan!” Osip sprang from his seat, carrying, as he always did, the scent of expensive cigars and starch with him. He rounded the desk to clasp the taller man into a tight embrace, and, naturally, the four bulky guards surrounding him parted to allow it. Demyan knew each of them personally, but by far the most dangerous were twin brothers Petya and Boris Yenotov. Even during the sparse times where Osip’s paranoia cleared enough for him to realize that his bodyguards were, perhaps, a bit overkill when he was secure inside his home, Petya and Boris never left his side. They were like trained attack dogs – intensely vicious and surprisingly crafty. “Rough drive, my boy?”
    “Around this time, always.” Demyan’s tone was good natured when he answered. And why not? A meeting with Osip always meant good food and good wine – even if the company was somewhat lacking.
    “And still you brave the elements for me.” Osip chuckled, his watery gray eyes narrowing in mirth. “Your devotion is boundless, brother.”
    “More like his tardiness is boundless.” Demyan looked over his shoulder to see his sister leaning against the elaborately carved stone fireplace, toying with the butterfly knife she always carried.
    Sometimes it disarmed him how much she looked like their mother. The same long blonde hair, the same bright green eyes – though he could barely ever recall Veta’s holding any warmth. With her thin mouth and short stature, she could have been the reincarnation of Danya Boykov – though Demyan could only imagine the rage she would fly into if he ever mentioned such a thing. Instead, he merely smiled at her, nodding in greeting.
    “Good evening to you too, Veta.”
    She merely answered him with the customary cutting of her eyes and Demyan turned from her, their exchange finished. After all, he had come here for Osip. Veta was just an accessory. “How are things in the Kremlin, Osip?”
    “Oh, you know.” The smaller man waved a hand laden with heavy jewelry superfluously. “Politics, politics and more fucking politics. I’ve barely the patience for any of it.”
    Demyan highly doubted that Osip could wrap his head around most of it, let alone claim to have the patience to sit through many long meetings every day. There was a rumor that he hadn’t actually attended an official political meeting for the past three years.
    “So I take it you didn’t call me here for matters of politics then?”
    As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door before a small, soft and devastatingly beautiful young woman entered, carrying an expensive bottle of vodka. Every man present preceded to devour her with their eyes – all, that was, except Demyan. He was too busy pitying her trembling mouth and the frightened look on her face.
    She poured vodka for each of them, enduring every rough, fondling caress paid to her by Danshov and his men, before taking her leave. Veta, for her part, remained silent. Demyan had long learned that she had little sympathy for the plight of her fellow women. As long as things were going her way, she wouldn’t interfere.
    And things would be going Veta’s way as long as Osip was in charge.
    “To friendship.” Osip made a toast, his eyes lingering for a moment on every person present. “I don’t know what I would do without it in times like these.”
    As the vodka burned it’s way smoothly down Demyan’s throat, he tried not to think that he knew exactly what Osip would do if he weren’t constantly surrounded by his friends and a battery of men to keep him safe.
    He would die. Like a dog.
    “You’re right, Demyan.” Having finished his glass, the smaller man set it down on the edge of his desk, where it joined numerous others. “I did not call you here for matters of state. At least, not strictly.” Osip belched loudly without bothering to excuse himself before he frowned. “Our American friends have