Vladimir Puddin Novels & Stories

"AHAhahahaHhaha....*CoUgh*...*COugh.*wHeeZe*...KhahAHAHAhaH, Someone really got you, man!" Vladimir scrunches his nose, finally regaining the bitterness of his words. He stumps out of the chart-room, not saying even a thing towards his friend. The mad dog is sure pissed off! He probably won't forget that a red-headed lowly boy ever exists in this world and one day! Surely one day, he will take that lowly life's head with his two hands! For Vlad, today is the worst day he could have. Even having dinner with his father could not make him this disgusted!

he shot straight at me. My ear twitched, and I got the urge to deep my finger into it, and wipe it clean so I could hear clearly. Because surely, I didn't hear what I thought I just heard. “I'm the pervert who is looking to secure a woman way younger than me,” he continued, as if the first information wasn't heart stopping enough. “I'm the dirty, old creep. Some people call me Vladimir though. Vladimir Bratva.” My pounding heart dropped to my stomach, where it flipped, and kicked back to my throat, forming a lump there that sealed my lips.

My voice came out dry and hoarse, rasping against my throat like sandpaper, the sound barely above a whisper. Vladimir was sitting in a simple plastic chair by the bed, too large for the space, too commanding to belong in a place that reeked of quiet suffering. He stared down at the red apple in his pale hand, turning it over slowly, as if he were dissecting a corpse instead of a piece of fruit. The blade of a small knife flashed faintly in the sunlight that filtered through the plastic curtain, slicing through the crimson skin. The peel curled like thin, wet ribbon, clinging to the white flesh beneath. The apple was mangled, uneven, hacked into submission. I guess he’s not very good at peel

“Um…is there…uh…is there any other name you have in mind? I can’t think of anything else.” “Vladimir.” “And that means?” “Ruler of the world.” “Interesting. I like that, Vlad. Vladimir. Vladimir Yezhov, my bundle of sunshine.” “Yes.” He shifted on the bed, scooting closer while peering into my eyes. “But not as interesting as the content of your journal.” It took me a minute to adjust before being able to interpret the meaning behind his words, and when I did, that lump in my throat returned. If I thought I couldn’t speak before but still managed some words, now he’d successfully rendered me speechless.

As usual, his hands and arms were loaded with heavy gold -- chain link bracelet, diamond-rimmed Rolex Masterpiece, massive rings set with star sapphires and smoky topaz. I licked my lips and crossed my legs when I sat down across from him. But Vlad had only business on his mind. “I am launching new product,” he said, handing me a draft brochure. Vladi Vodka was introducing a line of premixed specialty martinis: apple, chocolate, key lime, orange, cherry, and lemon.

Strong hands caught me before I hit the ground. I blinked. Empty and dark eyes. Sharp cheekbones. A powerful presence that sent an instant chill down my spine. I knew this man. Even through my delirium, even through the haze of exhaustion and blood loss— I recognized him without missing a single beat. Vlad the Impaler. Vladislav Moroz. The most powerful businessman in the world. And Malcom was right behind me.

He threw it to him which he was quick to catch. Sebastian also get one for himself then he walked back to his seat opposite Vladimir and sat there properly. "I didn't know you like beers now. They're not a waste of money now eh?" Vladimir frowned as he felt the beer travel through his throat down to his stomach. It was burning to this tongue and uncomfortably bitter. He can't remember the last time he drinks alcohol. He probably stop having them when Sophia died for she doesn't want to smell or even know that he drank alcohol.

Vladimir took a deep breath and put on his business face. “Hope I didn't disturb you.” “Get to the point, zhopa!” “Uhm… Hugo is hanging naked in my warehouse. Anything specific you want me to do?” Vladimir said. The temperature of the conversation changed instantly. “Suka Blyat! I knew I could count on you, comrade! Great job! You can have as many whores as you want. Even from my personal stash,” Ivan Volkov excitedly exclaimed and laughed. Vladimir cringed at it. This was not going to end well when Volkov realized what had happened.

The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a storm of fury and alertness. "Dammit," he cursed under his breath. "I didn't expect him to show up tonight." "Who is he, Ivan?" I asked again, my heart starting to pound. "Vladimir Kozlov," Ivan answered through gritted teeth. "My father's old business partner... and my worst enemy. He was banished years ago, but it seems he's back to collect old debts." Before I could ask more, the man in white—Vladimir—slowly raised his glass towards us, a mocking smile on his lips, and took a sip.

His voice was a soft whisper against my ear, devoid of any warmth. "You will be my greatest asset. You will be his kryptonite and his nemesis. I can see why Sokolov is really into you." Vlad Kuznetsov. The name finally clicked into place, not as a memory of a face or a specific event, but as a reputation, a name whispered in hushed tones in certain circles, a titan of industry with a dark underbelly, known for his relentless ambition and unforgiving nature.