4. Dima.

**The Feds are here.**

 

 

“He's still unconscious…” is the first Russian sentence that travels into my ears as I twirl around the bed. It’s more like the person is on a call, I guess because I can’t hear another husky voice spilling responses to that very sentence that went straight to my ears.

 

As I toss around the soft, tiny bed, I try to flutter my eyes open and take in my surroundings. I don’t remember what literally brought me here and on this seemingly tiny bed.

 

Trying to lift an eye open seems difficult as it’s accompanied by a bright, agonizing light and strings of banging in my head.

 

Shit!

 

I cuss under my breath, immediately pulling my eye close. Taking two gulping breaths, I give it a try the second time. Slowly, I begin to pry my eyes open. First, I let my eyes mildly adjust to the intense brightness which I belatedly find out is the sunlight streaming in through a window. Then, I survey my surrounding. It’s only then that I figured I’m in a hospital.

 

On that note, my mind begin to process all the events that led to my being here in a hospital bed, wrapped up with Band-aid and an IV. The unforeseen events of last night begin to filter through my mind.

 

Out of reflex, I gaze down to my aching side, only to figure out it’s wrapped in a Band-aid too. Then my left arm. It’s a surprise to me that I wasn’t able to feel the pains in my arm yesterday because my entire focus was channeled on my pierced ribs.

 

The sounds of footfalls resound in the room, pulling me from my musings and I heft my head only to behold Akim barreling toward me with a smile etched onto his face.

 

Settling down on the side of the bed he asked, “How do you feel, pakhan?” He manages to speak his English correctly although that’s not what I’m most concerned about at the moment.

 

Either way, I gave him a nod while sucking in a series of air to ease my constricted lungs which aches like the son of a bitch. It's in the process of sucking in the air that I take cognizance of the dryness of my throat.

 

Peering my eyes around the room, I find a water dispenser and gesture for Akim to get a cup for me to down. Quickly, he does my bidding and nestles next to me again. I can see his Glock seating in his holster and the dry blood on his face.

 

When I empty the glass which was initially filled with water, I drop it on the nightstand next to me. Now, I've got a semblance of coherence both in my thoughts and in my physical appearance.

 

Good.

 

I give Akim my full attention to tackle our current situation because I know by now the Feds will be out there looking for me. Those bunch of fools will only assume I stomped into the States to cause chaos.

 

I don’t want to engage in any problem with them which was why I lay low at first but right now, I guess I’m having a second thought. I need to figure out something and until I do, I can’t determine when I’ll exit the states.

 

That coward that decided to launch an attack on me will get the attack in spades the second I find out who was behind it.

 

“Where’s Leonid?” I asked in my thickly accented voice and Akim gives me responses without delay.

 

“He was shot too. He’s receiving treatment in the room opposite yours, Pakhan.” He said, gauging my reactions but I give a nod. “Stalin called a while ago.” Akim powers on and my interest peaks.

 

Stalin must be worried sick about the situation of things here in the States. Stalin, a friend turned brother, has always been on the lookout for me. He's a guy whose IQ is second to none. When it comes to technology, Stalin is the wizard.

 

I can’t believe we survived the horrible streets of Russia to become what we are today. Just like me, Stalin lost what was closest to a family he had and was left to wander the streets of Moscow. We met the fucking night some drunk fool was trying to force themselves on me as little as I was then.

 

Shackled in the alley, away from the streetlights, I was nearly assaulted but to my reliving shock someone heard my outcry and that was Stalin. According to him, he was only roaming around in search of a place to lay his head but the instant he heard cries streaming from the alleyway, he took a sneak peek.

 

Seeing the assaulting hands of the drunk, he rushed forward, hands gripping a long spiked club he picked by the roadside, then he surreptitiously lunged forward and stabbed both drunks from behind their fucking backs. I was shocked beyond control that he killed two people but he told me it wasn’t his first kill.

 

To survive in the streets of Russia one must be cold, fierce, and heartless. He made the kill seem like a norm which I found out later that in the streets of Russia, killing is a norm if you have the vision to survive.

 

From that very frosty night, Stalin and I stuck together as one. He watches out for me and I watch out for him. He tried to nurture me on how to be fierce and heartless and fortunately, I learnt it in the streets.

 

Our struggle to survive was our main goal until the last event which propelled me into the corridors of power. The last event that brought out the darkness deep within me

 

Now, I don’t believe in societal moral.

 

I don’t believe in redemption.

 

I don’t believe there’s a being greater than I am.

 

I’m feared by all.

 

And I can’t begin to tell you how much I love seeing those fears in people’s eyes.

 

Wherever my name is mentioned in the underworld, people’s blood coagulate. Pakhan Dima Kozlov is not one to be messed with which brings me back to the very first question roaming through my mind.

 

Who the hell launched an onslaught against me?

 

“He tried t speak with you last night but I narrated the whole ordeal to him. He’s shocked. He assured me he'll tap into the satellite video of the club and see if there are initial movements that led to such a sizzling attack on you.” Akim's words interrupted my train of thought.

 

I’m glad by Stalin’s uncompromised effort to sleuth Benson’s club and find out the remote causes of such an event.

 

As I said, I'd love to capture the ingrates that did this with my bare hands. I'd love to kill them and in the process smell their filthy blood and hear their hoarse screams as death clouds over them.

 

I erected from the bed and sauntered into the closet when I feel my full bladder. As I release the contents into the lavatory seat, my mind suddenly rivets back to the kiss I had last night.

 

Heck!

 

It takes about twenty minutes to recognize the familiar scent of the girl with a Slavic face still lingering on me. I clearly remember the damn softness of her lips. That fear and fascination in the depth of her eyes.

 

Fuck!

 

What the fuck am I doing?

 

I howl inwardly as my mind begins to filter images of the strange girl’s face. As I held my cock, pissing into the toilet, I feel it hardening because of the girl I kissed just to quell my rage because I couldn’t see Benson’s daughter.

 

Hell!

 

I shook my head thrice to erase thoughts about her lips from my mind. I have better things to do than linger on the thoughts of my kiss with a stranger. Besides, I’m never one to think about a woman.

 

I howl at the thought of thinking about someone with a pussy rather than my business as a Bratva.

 

I blow out some breath of air. Thrice actually, so I can find some semblance of coherence in my fogged mind. Fruitless, I ball my free hand into a fist, gnash my teeth as my cock turns stiff in the palm of my hand, and my fucked up mind flickers images of that familiar face in slides like a fucking reel.

 

Thankfully, the door to the closet flutters open with a damn loud thud. I tug my head backward and glance at Leonid whose face shriveled, his free hand held tightly his Glock while the other hand is wrapped in a sling.

 

Veering, I jerk my cock into my briefs and throw Leonid a quizzical look.

 

“The Feds are here in the hospital. About eight of them surround the hospital.” Leonid said and I hear Akim cussing and cussing. I cuss too. I don’t want the Feds coming for me at this moment. Benson should have covered this up for me!

 

Damn!

 

My face mirrors perceptible terror which made Leonid to be on high alert. I throw them a glance and gushed.

 

“The last thing we need now is to add the Feds shit to the shit we already have. I can’t have them capture me. We should escape.”

 

Squaring their shoulders, they nod their heads. Quickly, Akim rush back into the room and bolted the door to give us time to come up with an escape plan. Stepping into the room, I pull off the hospital gown and Leonid hands me my shirt which is still soaked with my blood. I gave no shit about the dried blood as I pull the shirt on and buckle the buttons.

 

“What do we do now?” Akim mutters in rabid Russian while I search for a solution In the recess of my mind.

 

An idea clicks in.

 

“We need to disguise,” I say as I weigh their reactions. Good, they both seem to agree with my thoughts so I power on. “We've got to get someone who will show us another exit from the hospital while we live incognito.”

 

As if fate has us in mind, a knock resounds at the door. Leonid gestures for me to hide inside the closet for cover while Akim hides under the bed with his Glock facing the door pointedly, ready to shoot in case the person happens to be who we less expect.

 

In three slow strides, Leonid answers the door and a janitor assembles in. The look he wear on his face when he saw Leonid was that of terror as Leonid drag him into the room and shut the door.

 

“Sir…”

 

“Shh…” Leonid gestures and the cowering janitor obeys. “I need you to go and get some of your colleagues outside this hallway. Two of them. Now.” Leonid orders with his dagger pressed against the janitor's neck.

 

Visibly shaken, the janitor slips out as Leonid watches his movement. Pulling his head back, he gestures to me that the hallway is empty which is a relief.

 

Within ten minutes, the janitor returns with two of his colleagues who held their mopping equipment.

 

Swiftly, we all exchange our clothes with theirs and silence them with a check of ten grand. Well, not without threatening their lives. An act I’ll carry out in a twinkle of an eye if I find out they snitch on us.

 

In our disguise, we follow the instructions of the first janitor and exit the hospital stealthily.

 

But as we make a run for it down the street thoughts about the girl with a Slavic face rivets back in my mind.

 

I want to scratch it off but I can’t.

 

Fuck! I shouldn’t have kissed her to quell my anger because it didn’t only quell the anger it stirred another strange feelings inside me.

 

Now, I want to find the girl and I want to find out why I can't scratch thoughts about her off my mind.