by Yorgi'sBitch
Disclaimer: Sony and Revolution Studios own everything. Except Yorgi. I'm stealing him. Haha! :D Just kidding.
A/N: This takes place two years before TripleX. It's about how Yorgi and Yelena first meet. You know, romance, the smaltzy stuff. Some bad language. For the record, I know Kirill isn't Yorgi's brother but I wrote this based on observations I made about the movie.
The hypnotic music was deafening. Yelena wasn't used to the club scene. She was a career woman, level-headed, twenty-five and too old for this. This shit! She cursed. But she had fought for this assignment because she believed in her country and its struggle to the capitalist upgrade. Unlike Anarchy 99. A bunch of fucking hypocrites. Red Army, Mother Russia, dying for rebel Chechnyans and hating it. All they care about is money. That was not the Kremlin's idea in the old days. And she would bring them down. Whatever intel the Russian Intelligence Agency wanted, she would get. But first she'd have to get inside Yorgi's elitist clique. She didn't really know how yet. Getting into character was a lot harder than she thought it would be.
Kirill blew a smoke-ring into the crowd below the private lounge, situated on a set of elevated platforms reminiscent of low-budget 60s sci-fi. The Czech club-scene of the late 90s. The thin cigarette hung delicately from his yellowing fingers. Woman. Pretty woman. He was scanning the crowd for one, but not the usual female frequenters of his brother's clubs. She must be extraordinary. Different would do. As long as she looked a little strange, exciting. It seemed to suit him and his freakish personality which made a man like Viktor shudder and his own brother issue a warning. Kirill blew another smoke-ring and watched it float down, widening as the blue-grey wisp expanded and broke up, framing the face of a dark-haired woman pushing through the crowd. She stood out because she was older than the other clubbers. Shorter, too, and her make-up wasn't garish or clown-like. Her plainness among the clubbers was refreshing. And exciting. Sharp green eyes followed her towards the chill-out room with military-like alertness and within seconds he was moving towards the club floor.
"Your brother has seen something he likes," Viktor remarked with a bemused nod of the head.
"I pity the girl," Yorgi muttered with a disgusted curl of his bottom lip. He shook his head and threw back a shooter. The booze might have reawakened his senses, because he added, "Viktor, go make sure he does not cause trouble for her. And us." Fresh in his mind was Kirill's obsessive handling of Mischa, that stupid slut from Kiev who turned out to be a transvestite, who threatened to lay a charge of assault and sue the club. Until Yorgi had paid him/her compensation and told him/her to shut her mouth.
Viktor grunted an affirmative.
Yelena needed her thoughts to regroup. If she could endure the rest of the night she might find herself among the fifty or so girls who comprised Yorgi's harem. That was probably her best bet at getting close to him, she reckoned. As long as she wasn't too obvious. She didn't think Yorgi was impressed with girls: the sluts prostituting themselves for his dirty money. If she could prove useful to him in some other way at least she had a chance. That was the plan.
Kirill wasn't part of the plan, and he was standing in the doorway of the chill room, it's décor sterile blue. Empty except for Yelena. He raised the cigarette to his lips, took a drag and exhaled. "You're new."
Yelena turned calmly, eyeing him with subtle suspiciousness. She knew who he was at once. Of all the anarchists in Yorgi's crime ring, Kirill was the only one whose appearance had remained loyal to the Russian army. And as ugly as in his photo. This was her lucky break – or so she thought. "What?"
"I know all the regular girls," Kirill continued, leaning against the doorframe. "But this is the first time I'm seeing you here. You're new." His words were edged with a question.
"Yes, this is my first time in club … This club," Yelena fumbled and cursed herself mentally, "I mean." Why was she so nervous? This wasn't her first field assignment.
"You are Russian?"
"What makes you say that?"
"You have Russian accent. Not like other girls. They're all Czech here. They have Czech accents." He smiled.
What a creep. Kirill's eyes danced over her in hungry, lustful way. An uncomfortable silence followed and then he pushed away from the frame and meandered further inside, towards her. His left hand was in his pocket, the other still supported his cigarette, burnt almost down to the butt.
"I am Kirill."
Yelena forced a tight smile. "I am Yelena."
Kirill's teeth came into view as his smile widened to a discomforting grin. "A pretty name. Yelena." He paused and frowned slightly. "You are woman, right?"
"Yes." Weird, too, Yelena thought.
"Good." Satisfied, Kirill came a little closer and seated himself opposite her on a pale blue couch. "Would you like a cigarette?"
Yelena didn't usually smoke, but she was willing to go along with this pervert if it meant getting close to Yorgi. And after all, who better to win over than the little brother? She nodded gratefully. "Please," and leaned forward.
The ex-Russian military man placed a cigarette carefully between her lips and lit it. Yelena was careful not to inhale, but that damn smoke was not enough of a distraction from Kirill's searching eyes as they removed each item of clothing in his head. One by one. When she thought he must imagine her naked, he asked, "How long are you here for?"
"Is permanent." This pleased Kirill to no end and he traced his fingers over her left thigh. Little bastard. If you were not Yorgi's brother I would smack you.
The thing about Kirill is that his assumption of women extended no further than what they were like in Yorgi's clubs, no matter how different they looked. That and he craved the kind of attention his brother got from them. To be the centre of one girl's attention and allow him to return the favour whether it was opening the car door for her or fucking her.
"You are career woman?" By which he meant an upmarket whore.
Yelena didn't catch this. Text book criminals were one thing in the notes. Adjusting to their nuances in the practical world was still something she needed to learn how to do. "I work in bank in Moscow. When Rubel devalued, bank close and I lose job. More opportunities in Czech Republic. Less shit from their government." She hoped she was making an impression on his anarchist's brain. "Is only more shit. So I party until money runs out. Life is shit, but what can you do?"
But it wasn't her sad life-story that amused Kirill. In fact he'd barely heard her. With the kind of panther-like grace that was better suited to his taller, more handsome brother he rose and hooked an arm around her waist. The fake smile on Yelena's face lost all charm and she frowned, trying to back up instinctively. He wouldn't let her. Instead he pressed his nicotine lips to hers, using his tongue to crow-bar them apart. Yelena's agent training took over and she pressed her cigarette into his neck, delivering a swift kick to the groin. But Kirill had seen something he liked and lust and love were all the same to him. As he went down he grabbed her ankle and pulled her to the floor with him, clambering on top of her. No! This is not part of being agent!
It was at this point that Viktor chose to intervene. The fun was over and his boss would be pissed. "Kirill!" He yelled and pulled out a firearm. That was all the filthy bastard understood anyway.
Out of the corner of her dark eyes, Yelena saw the gun. Using her heel she shoved Kirill off of her and reached into her purse. Within seconds her own side-arm was levelled and the barrel shared both men's forehead's for a nice clean shot.
"Okay, little girl," Viktor began, lowering his weapon. "I am not going to shoot you. I shoot him." He indicated Kirill with a nod of his head. "So relax and put gun down."
Yelena scrambled to her feet. She was angry for acting like a rookie agent and allowing herself to be spooked like that, but there was nothing for it now. Maybe there was still a chance to recover the situation and worm her way into Yorgi's presence by threatening to sue the bastard. But this is Yorgi. You do not kick his brother in the balls and live to brag about it back in Moscow. She glanced at Kirill who was massaging his cigarette-burned neck and looked ashamed with himself. Which was more disturbing because she could see there was still a glint in his eyes as if to say: You are beautiful woman and I love you. So I forgive you. This just pissed Yelena off.
"He is pig!" She yelled, deliberately letting the gun tremble along with her hand. Ex-military would smell her cool otherwise. "You are pig!" She screamed at Viktor.
"They are both pigs."
A third voice entered the room and Yelena's gun had itself a new target. Yorgi stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back enduring the pistol barrel. Behind him Kolya had ordered the nosey crowd nearest the chill room back to its business of having fun and was guarding the entrance with a semi-automatic.
"Kiri, I thought we talked about this," Yorgi said calmly, his eyes trained on Yelena and her gun.
Kirill began to make an excuse, but he was cut short by Yorgi's stern order for silence. "My brother is filthy bastard, but he is still my brother. I must make apology for him."
Yelena asked with feigned ignorance. "You are owner of club?"
"Dah."
At which she lowered the gun and dealt her trump card. Or at least what she assumed would endear her more to Yorgi than the timid female repertoire and a lawsuit. "Your club stinks! If I want to be raped I can walk down any alley. You waste my time and money! You are lucky I do not shoot them." Snatching her purse, and stuffing her gun inside she made for the entrance. Kolya blocked her way.
"Where are you going?" Yorgi asked pointedly, though he didn't face her. If she was going to the police she would have to be dealt with. She certainly seemed capable of it.
"Home! What do you think? Your pigs have spoiled my evening! Now tell this one to get out of my way." She glared at the towering Kolya.
Yorgi tried not to smile, but this woman was fresh air. He could hear she was Russian, not only by her accent but by her "bite me" attitude all Russians seemed to have adopted after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the economic plunge. It reminded him of home. "Viktor!"
Obediently, Viktor came and produced a wad of money. American dollars. A shit-load of money anywhere in Eastern Europe. They'd rehearsed this before with Mischa. Yorgi began counting bills under his breath in Russian and held them out at arm's length for Yelena. "Here. Take. For wasting your time and money. It will not happen again, I assure you."
"You're damn right it will not happen again. Keep your filthy money," Yelena snubbed the gift of compensation. "I'm not coming back to this stinking club."
Even Viktor who would not hit a woman for the love of his mother looked indignant at Yelena's attitude. Only Yorgi looked amused. "Where do you work?"
Yelena was waiting impatiently for Kolya to move his large frame out of her line of departure. "What? So your pigs can cause trouble for me at work?"
Kirill was the only one who knew what Yorgi was getting at and it suited him fine. So he said, "She doesn't have work. She used to work in a bank."
Yelena glared at him, but glaring at Yorgi seemed like a bad idea. "You need the money. Take it. And when you run out, come back for more."
"So your brother can grab me again? Ha! You are biggest pig of them all. I am nobody's whore." This time she forced her way past Kolya and hoped Yorgi would do what she thought he would. Her gutsy display of "I don't give a fuck" had made an impression on Yorgi's brain, which only understood two types of women: the slut and the respectable kind, like mothers and sisters and business partners.
"I give you job!" Yorgi had to raise his voice above the deep-trance music. The crowd closed around Yelena and she looked back past flailing arms and rotating necks. Yorgi was looking at her. She allowed herself to study him for the first time. He was different from his military ID photo. His hair was longer and he had days worth of stubble masquerading as a goatee. Tall, dark and handsome. Which was probably why Russian Intelligence had wanted a woman to go.
Shoving a punk-kid out of her way she returned to the chill room. "What job?"
"Bank job. Handling accounts. Your kind of job," Yorgi said.
Pretending to think it over cautiously, Yelena asked, "Salary?"
"How much are you wanting?"
"A lot," Yelena snapped. A lot more than Russian agent pay-check.
Yorgi snapped his fingers and sent Kolya for a pen and paper. Clearly he was not going to discuss salary around the others unless he wanted to come across as pussy-favouring.
"And benefits?" Yelena demanded, lifting her chin arrogantly, although her arms were folded across her chest insecurely.
Little girl playing with big boys is not so easy, Yorgi noted. But is more fun. Especially if little girl plays just as dirty. How she'd gotten a gun into his club was still a source of annoyance, but he admired her for it. If she was packing she'd fit in perfectly.
"Everything your little heart desires …?"
"Yelena."
"Yelena," Yorgi repeated her name, savouring it and giving Kirill a wary look when he tried to savour it too. "I am Yorgi."
"Well, Yorgi, my little heart desires a lot. I want car and place to stay. Not shitty apartment with no heating."
Yorgi smiled at her innocence. Or lack of creativeness. Still it was more than any whore had ever wanted of him. "I give you ten cars. And you live in castle. And I protect you from my brother."
The last benefit was a joke at Kirill's expense. The younger of them even smiled and lit up another cigarette. But Yorgi was far more subtle than Russian Intelligence made him out to be. That was the difference between Russian black ops and those grunts running around the pathetic post-Cold War army. Yorgi liked Yelena. More than he cared to realise right away. Because she was cold and a bitch and Russian. And Kirill had a point, she was a beautiful woman. But while he might toy with the idea of being her lover he couldn't. This was business. And anyway, she seemed pecuniacentric.
Kolya returned with a pen. No paper. Yorgi wrote the figure in the palm of his hand and showed it to her, watching appreciatively as her black-eye-liner-rimmed eyes widened. "You like?"
"Very much." Yelena looked up at him as his palm closed and he rubbed his hands together to smudge the ink, leaving Viktor and Kolya to wonder about the sum.
"Then everything is in order. Come my dear. Now we party." He slipped his arm around her shoulder and escorted her to the private lounge.
To be continued
A/N: Yeah. The next chapter will also be the last. It's sort of the conclusion about how exactly Yorgi falls for Yelena and finds out she's a Russian agent. Poor Yorgi :\ He's not evil, just misunderstood. *gives Yorgi a hug*