Nikolai
Dima shows up on Friday. At least I think he’s actually here. It’s hard to say. I’ve been either drinking or sleeping for the past two weeks.
I vaguely remember the guys coming and going—bringing food down and yelling at me or some such bullshit.
Dima seems pissed. He drags open the drapes in my bedroom.
Oh. I think Oleg’s with him because somehow my bed lifts, and I roll out of it.
Thomarai gand mai lund hai? I grumble when I hit the floor.
“No, you’re the one with the d**k stuck up his a*s. Get up.” Yep, Dima is here. The two of them haul me to my feet. “It’s Friday. You have to go run your game, or Ravil will have your a*s. Let’s go.”
“Ravil can suck my d**k,” I mutter.
“Careful,” Dima cautions as the two guys drag me to the shower.
I hate being in it because it reminds
