I was in my domain,the strip club, but all I did is look at the scarf in my hands.
"Hey handsome." A voice brought me out of my trans. I looked up and there stood my type of lady, tall, beautiful, confident.
"Hey beautiful." I smirked, looking up at the lady with a lustful look.
"You look like you're either plotting world domination or lost in a daydream." she said. I know what she was doing she wanted my attention, and I — let's just say I love giving attention to the ladies, if you know what I mean.
"A bit of both. But I think world domination can wait now that you're here. Seems my daydream just walked in." I smirked.
"Oh really?" She said taking a sip of my vodka."Do you use the line on every girl you meet?"
"Only on the ones that stop me dead in my tracks. Lucky for me, that's a very rare occurrence." I said standing up to meet her eye level, but of course I'm still a giant compered to her and I'll definitely get her legs on my shoulders if I keep this up.
She chuckled, clearly amused but not entirely convinced yet. But I have more up my sleeves — I always do.
"Uh-huh, so what's a good looking guy like you doing here alone, in a strip club of all places." She said.
"Honestly? Wondering how I got so lucky tonight. First, a beautiful lady in my memories. And now, another in front of me who might just outshine her." [My tone dips into a soft, warm note] "Though I have to admit, I never imagined anyone could."
I caught her off guard, of course, her confident stance faltering slightly. I leaned closer to her, my voice low and smooth. "How about you tell me your name? Let me see if it sounds as beautiful as you look." I said smirking, I kissed her, she didn't pull away, of course, I mean it's me, how could she pull away. And when she did, I made sure she was breathless.
"Alright, you've got my attention. So… what's next?" She smiled, trying to hide how flustered she really was.
I smirked, "Would you like to continue, but let me warn you, I don't do gentle."
"Who says I like it gentle.", There, I've got my stress reliever to day.
"Your house or mine?" I said capturing her lips into mine. I pulled away to meet her gaze again.
"My house." She said breathlessly.
"Okay." The trip to her house was full of kissing, touching and —well nothing normally I would have stripped her of her clothes but the moment I try to, the girls image flash in my head"Oh sorry I .... wasn't looking where I was going, oh my ...my books." ....."Thank you sir and I..I.. I'm sorry."
Even as I kissed this gorgeous lady in front of me I still heard those words in the back of my mind.
The cab ride was hazy, flickering lights through city streets passing by, casting shadows inside. I sat there, arms around a beautiful woman whose name i could barely recall, her laughter drifting over me like a fog. She leaned closer, tracing her hand along my arm, and I held her waist, almost automatically. Her perfume was intoxicating, and her warmth against me was all I should've needed—but my mind drifted elsewhere.
"Hey, you're with me but your mind is else where." She said putting her hands around my neck.
"Yeah, I was just thinking of ways to make you scream." I lied, as usual these women always fall for my lies.
You know what happened next — I left her at the door of her house, she was confused of course and so was I. I went home that night, that girls scarf still wrapped around my hand, staring at the window of my dining room.
I had a meeting the next morning with a bunch of old arrogant bastards but, I showed them that you don't mess with Sergei Volkov.
The meeting room stank of old leather and stale cigar smoke, a holdover from a time when older men occupied these seats. I didn't belong here, not in their eyes. And they'd reminded me of it with every sideways glance, every condescending word.
The room was filled with generals and advisors well into their sixties, men who clutched their medals as if they'd earned them just by surviving. They'd lost none of their pride, but they'd lost their edge. And yet, here I was—the youngest general, a little over thirty-four, sitting in a room full of gray hair and mustaches thick enough to strain their morning coffee.
"General Volkov," one of them sneered, a puffed-up relic named Kovalchuk, his belly stretching the buttons of his uniform. "We're here to discuss serious matters—matters that may be beyond the experience of someone as... young as yourself."
I bit back a grin, letting his words hang in the air like a weak punchline. I poured myself a small glass of Beluga vodka, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. It tasted better knowing they couldn't touch me, even if they wanted to. I lit a cigarette, took a drag, and let the silence stretch, feeling the weight of their stares.
"With all due respect, General Kovalchuk," I said smoothly, "it's precisely my youth that should be taken seriously. Our enemy isn't playing by the same dusty rulebook you cling to. If you keep treating them as if they're still in the Cold War, you're going to get our men killed."
A few murmurs broke out, but I held my ground, cold and steady. I knew these men, or men like them, all too well. They prided themselves on tradition, on the battles they'd won decades ago. What they didn't understand was that I didn't care about their traditions. I cared about winning. And winning meant looking forward, not backward.
"Our intel shows that this neighboring country—" I didn't bother to name it, they'd all read the same briefings I had—"has mobilized twice the number of forces we estimated. If we don't counter with something unexpected, something efficient, we're walking into a trap."
I leaned forward, eyes like ice. "Now, if you've got a better plan, I'm all ears. But if you want to keep underestimating me, be prepared to get burned."
The room fell silent. A few of the older men shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. They knew I wasn't bluffing.
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