The Power Trip

make an overnight exit.

Fuck the men who claimed to be Boris’s partners. He’d taken what he considered to be his rightful inheritance and fled to Mexico, where it wasn’t long before he reconnected with the people Boris had done business with in the past.

Now, at thirty-two, five years after Boris’s murder, he had a new life and more money than he could ever hope to spend.

Input Denim, Inc. was a clothing company he’d purchased, a line of clothes that sold all across the US, Europe and the Middle East. He’d also taken over a worldwide medical supply and waste company. Both businesses were savvy fronts for his real business — the drug trade.

Over a short period of time Sergei had managed to turn himself into a master drug kingpin, with major ties to the Mexican drug cartels. He was a natural at covering his tracks and making new friends.

Apart from his crooked nose — which had never set properly — and the vicious scar on his cheek, Sergei wasn’t bad-looking. He was not tall, but his build was quite muscular. He smothered his face and body in fake tan, and exhibited shining white teeth — all capped. Sergei particularly enjoyed the company of women, and they seemed to like him back. Cocaine was his drug of choice. His special kick was snorting it off the body of whatever woman or women he might be with, then packing a fair amount of coke into their vaginas before sucking it out. Good times.

His ex-wife — a Ukrainian model who’d divorced him when she’d found out he was into four-way sex — now lived in New York and headed the legitimate part of his clothing company. Their marriage had barely lasted six months.

He had no children — or at least not any that he knew of, for fucking was his favourite pasttime, second only to making money.

Currently he resided in a penthouse in Mexico City. Weekends he spent at the villa he owned on the water in Acapulco, complete with helicopter pad.

Sergei made sure he was always surrounded by half a dozen faithful and dedicated henchmen. In business, a man could never be too careful.

Boris would be so proud if he could see him now. He’d seized control of his destiny, exactly as his big brother would have wanted him to do.

The one thing that continued to bother Sergei was finding out who had arranged the hit on Boris, and exactly who had carried out the plan. For it was a plan, he was sure of that.

Sergei wanted that person and he wanted them badly.

Over the years he’d never been able to find out. Not knowing ate away at him, for revenge was essential for his peace of mind.

Boris would expect him to exact revenge; indeed, Boris would demand it.

There had been only one witness to the crime, and that was the woman Boris had been living with at the time — a young French slut who went by the name of Nona. The girl had taken off with the contents of Boris’s safe the day after his demise. Sergei had been trying to seek her out ever since; however, she’d managed to disappear.

Over the five years she’d been missing, he’d hired several detectives to find her, but it was only in the last month that he’d received any results. She’d been located in Arizona, where she was living with a divorced businessman.

Sergei was currently on his way to pay her a long-overdue visit.

The conniving bitch owed him the money she’d stolen from Boris’s private safe, and more than that — she owed him the information about who had set up the murder of his brother.

Sergei was convinced she knew.

And he would get it out of her, one way or the other.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sleek, sensual, powerful and fast, Aleksandr’s new yacht was all of that and more. He had ordered an elegant state-of-the-art vessel that could take him anywhere in the world, and that’s exactly what he’d ended up with.

Luxury abounded. There were sun decks on three levels, all with their own bars and spacious dining areas. Plus a spiral staircase leading to all levels. There was a counter-flow swimming pool, a Jacuzzi, a fully equipped gym, plus a Pilates retreat. On the lower deck was an authentic Finnish sauna, a steam room, a hair salon, a movie theatre and even a small medical room for any emergency that might occur. There were also many toys, from water skis and Jet Skis to snorkelling and sports fishing equipment, kayaks, WaveRunners and deep scuba-diving gear. Everything was available.

The interior of the yacht was classy style — all imported Italian marble, pale woods, soft beige leathers and flattering lighting.

A giant Buddha presided over the marble entryway to the master stateroom, leading into the interior, which was more like a luxury apartment. A huge California King bed dominated, covered in exotic fur throws, and there were rich fabrics on the walls with Oriental touches. En suite were his and hers marble bathrooms, a feature Aleksandr had insisted on for Bianca’s pleasure, plus the master had its own private terrace, lap pool and Jacuzzi, where Bianca could sunbathe and swim nude if she so desired.

Six other staterooms were also luxurious. However, nothing lived up to the master, which was located on the sky deck, allowing 90-degree spectacular views.

Aleksandr had ordered the yacht three years earlier, before meeting Bianca. Then Bianca had entered his life and he’d changed the plans and also the name: the yacht was now christened The Bianca. He hadn’t told her. It would be one of the many surprises he had in store for her.

During the course of construction at the Hakvoort shipyard in Holland, Aleksandr had visited several times to make sure everything was exactly as he’d envisioned. Later he’d worked with a team of talented interior designers to fulfil his vision of pure opulence.

The yacht was finished two months previously, and the Captain and crew had taken it for a series of sea trial runs, finally ending up in Cabo San Lucas, in Mexico, where the big trip would begin.

Aleksandr had decided that rather than taking his group on the usual South of France/Sardinia/Italy run, they would embark on a different kind of voyage. They would explore the beautiful Sea of Cortez and the various small Mexican seaside towns and deserted islands along the way.

The Sea of Cortez — sometimes known as the aquarium of the sea because of the bountiful plant species, different kinds of fish and other marine mammals — offered everything for a fantastic vacation. They would visit uninhabited white sand beaches, experience jungle adventures, and sail far away from the ties of civilization.

Aleksandr was determined that this would be a trip to remember.

To be doubly sure everything was to his liking, he’d made one final visit to speak with Captain Harry Dickson, a ruddy-faced Englishman in his fifties. There were to be no screw-ups, everything had to be perfect. Captain Dickson assured him that it would be.

Flying back to Moscow, Aleksandr was fully satisfied that the captain was a man in charge, and that none of his guests, especially Bianca, would be disappointed.

Aleksandr was proud to say that he had created the perfect yacht for the perfect woman.

* * *

Bianca felt like crap as she sat on the British Airways plane taking her to Moscow. She had a horrible feeling that at any moment she was going to throw up all over the man sitting next to her. It seemed as if the plane was flying one way, and she was flying in the opposite direction. Wow! Talk about the mother of all hangovers.

‘Excuse me, miss,’ her overweight neighbour suddenly leaned over and said.

Miss! Was he fucking kidding?

‘Yes,’ she said, backing away from his garlic breath, lowering her copy of OK! magazine. ‘What?’