Russian Roulette Memes Novels & Stories

It clung to the air around me, warm and masculine with hints of bergamot and orange that assailed my senses. “Chto smeshnogo?” He asked, the Russian rolling off his tongue smoothly. His voice cast a somber air over the men, and they went from loud to whimpering cowards in mere seconds.[What’s so funny?] “Nichego, Boss,” the ringleader said, avoiding eye contact with Aleksei.[Nothing, boss.] Of course, he avoided eye contact with his boss. I rolled my eyes at him. Pussy. “Eto tak? Hm,” he hummed before the familiar sound of the safety of a gun going off filled the air. “I could’ve sworn I heard you making sex jokes in front of my wife and disrespecting her.”[Is that so?]

“Fun?” “Sure,” Callen says, his tone confident. “It’s time for a game of Rumour Roulette. We feed a few of our more questionable pack mates some false plans. Different stories for each one. Then we sit back and see which version makes it back to the hunters.” For a second, no one says anything. Then Ryder’s brow lifts, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting off a smile. “Rumour Roulette,” he repeats slowly. “That’s what we’re calling this?”

My grin blossomed fully into a smile. Yes! Freaking yes! I freaking secured the deal with the most brutal industrialist. *** "Cheers to me," I screamed, tossing the drink down my throat, reveling in its scorching sensation. "A perfect celebration for a perfect day." I laughed, gulping down yet another shot. "I freaking secured a job with Russia! The Russians." The music blasted through the club, threatening to bust eardrums. I laughed even louder, not enough to overshadow the screams of the crowd of sweaty teenagers and old men who just didn't know how to not disrespect themselves.

“Bodyguard? That’s his boyfriend. No one looks at their security detail like they’re the last glass of water in the desert.” Memes blossomed like poisonous, beautiful fungi. Photoshopped images of them in romantic clinches on the Rogers Industries logo. Side-by-side comparisons of Anton’s icy boardroom glare and the soft-focused warmth of his gaze at Sabatine during the broadcast. A split screen labelled “For the Press” and “For Him.”

Arkady laid his gun against the back of Mikhail's head. Mikhail's glare ratcheted even higher. I hadn't known a face could ooze that much malice and hatred. I gave him a little finger wave. "Run back to your masters, Mikhail. Give them an extra leg hump for me, yeah? Dogs do that in Russia, too, right?" Svetlana let out a little buzzing sound. Arkady rolled his eyes at me over Mikhail's shoulder. He lifted his hand, rammed the butt of the gun against Mikhail's head.

It opened. Next, my legs. The ropes were tight — but my pin had teeth. I sawed at them, tearing through the knot. My thighs burned, but the rope gave way just as— Voices???... From the shadows outside the room, I heard harsh Russian. “The boss will kill us if he finds out---” “Idiots!! Why will they sell weapons from us in the first place?? ” "Я хотел бы поцеловать свою жену на прощание перед смертью." ( I'd wish to kiss my wife goodbye before I die. )

“Whoever it is sure has a style.” I scoffed. “His style is not smiling or wearing shoes, you know how the Russians are,” I replied, simply to annoy Mikhail. I knew how exasperated Russians get at that misconception, though I knew the shoe one was a lie. But I kind of believed the smiling one because the living evidence of it was standing in front of me while the other had fucked me last night. Which was the reason why I chose a tattoo of thorns and roses with smiling skeleton heads. I wondered how Nikolai would react to it.

In sin and human flesh. Men bet diamonds, bet lives, territories and fleets. Every chip tossed felt like it was a declaration of power, of arms and Wealth. Vincenzo slammed a single chip and murmured somethinf. The Russian man with eyes Of a snake responded, causing Vince to freeze in his spot. Anticipation gnawed at me. I watched with toed curled in my heels. The laughter that followed chilled me right to the bone. I glanced around, and sure enough, the Russian man was pointing in my direction. On me. Several others spun in their seats and looked, and they all hummed their responses

I exclaimed. “What, you never witnessed that back at Grey Wolf?” He looked at me, smiling. “I did, but I never did it myself,” I replied. “And to be honest, never thought I’d witness it again.” “It goes great with my favorite Russian phrase.” Blake had a glint in his eyes. He turned to the other poor bastard, who was convulsing uncontrollably in fear. As Blake’s warriors struggled to hold him down, a puddle formed on the floor from him pissing himself. Blake just as swiftly sliced his dick off and yelled, “Hui tebé v rot!” as he did the same thing again, shoving it into his companion’s mouth.

Instead, he turned his head, his azure eyes locking onto Alexander coldly. "Ivy doesn't want to see you. But since you refuse to leave, as the Underboss of the Rainier family, I should collect some interest for my sister." He drew a silver revolver from his waist, deftly swung out the cylinder, dumped the bullets, and left only three. Click. With a flick of his wrist, the cylinder spun wildly before snapping back into place. He tossed the gun into the mud at Alexander’s feet. "Russian Roulette. The oldest rule of the Mafia."