Pissed off women... 

Will be like I really needed that, and it’s just a woman blowing away a misogynist…

Petra's heels leave round holes in the thin coating of snow as we climb the front steps of the manor house of a sprawling estate. Hans and Ramona flank us. Sophia waits by the car, her arms crossed, looking as fierce and beautiful as a mink.

"Good to see you," Boris Negayav says to Petra when we are shown into his sitting room. His rosy cheeks, receding hairline, and round belly give him a jolly aura. Boris kisses Petra's cheeks, and we shake hands. He offers us coffee, and we accept then sit on the couches facing each other.

The glass doors to our right offer a view of a snow-dusted landscape that slopes down to the sea where our yacht is anchored off the Romanian coast. Hans and Ramona wait by the doors leading back into the front hall behind us. Two men in dark suits stand on the far side of the room covering Boris's back.

Petra and Boris have worked together moving women from the former Soviet bloc out to the western world for years. We are here to make it clear that all women being moved must know what their work will be in the west.

The debt they will incur will be paid with their bodies. It is a way out; it is the road Petra followed. But it is not for everyone. And we will not allow the transport of women who believe they will work in offices or anything other than the sweaty, dangerous world of selling themselves.

Boris spreads his arms along the back of the couch, his body language blatantly obvious: I am the king of this castle.

"You've come to tell me your new plans. Your new rules." Boris grins.

"Yes," Petra says in one of her purrs—this one is not sexual but rather the one she uses when discussing money. "We have decided to follow the advice and rules of Joyful Justice to create a safe working environment for our employees—and to avoid Joyful Justice’s intervention."

Boris laughs. "Employees. You have changed, Petra." His eyes, dark and deep set, wander to me. "Is this your doing, Lenox Gold?"

"We are partners," I say.

"You never sold women." My reputation precedes me. "And now you deal in women but only in this new—" He winds a hand into the air as if searching for a word. "—method."

"Yes, I think it's better for everyone involved."

"I am a businessman," Boris announces, leaning forward to pick up his cup of coffee from the low table between us. "And I do not think that your new methods are good for business."

"Human rights have always been difficult to weave into a business like ours, but history shows that it pays in the end to have a happy, healthy workforce," I say. "It's good for the longevity of the business."

"Longevity?" Boris raises a brow. "You speak of longevity to me?"

Petra crosses her legs, the red sole of her shoe flashing and drawing Boris's attention. "We have worked together for a long time—"

"Yes." His voice drops as he interrupts her. "Almost as long as you worked with the McCain brothers. Their business is not so good now though, is it?"

"No," Petra answers, her voice even.

A knock at the door behind Boris interrupts us. He turns, waving to his men to open it. One of them does. A man steps into the room. He wears rumpled khakis and a buttoned-down shirt. His thinning hair is pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes land on Petra and flare with anger. The hairs on the back of my neck stand.

I recognize him from the Isis slave auctions I visited while researching for Joyful Justice. His name is Billy Ray Titus, and he is a leader of what he calls the Men's Rights Activists, but he is more extreme than the average member of that group. Billy Ray is an incel—an involuntary celibate. He used the McCain brothers to purchase sex slaves and transport them to his followers in the United States and other Western nations. Now he is here.

Boris turns back to us. "Do you know Billy?"

"By reputation," Petra says, her gaze roaming over him like a farmer inspecting a heifer for sale. "You are involuntary celibate, yes?" she asks as her gaze meets his.

"That's right," he says, rounding the couch.

"Sit," Boris says, gesturing to the far end of his couch. Billy perches on the edge while Petra continues to stare at him. Her gaze is bringing out blotches of color on his face.

"You think women owe you sex," she asks. "That you should not have to pay?"

Billy Ray throws on a smile and meets her gaze. "I have no interest in discussing anything with you."

Petra laughs as he turns his attention to me. I raise a brow.

Boris sits forward. "Billy Ray." The American name sounds harsher in his accent, "is offering to provide the same services as you two."

"He does not have the networks," Petra says, her voice silky smooth.

"He says that he does," Boris says. "That he is working in a whole new way—with men who share his values."

"Yes," Billy Ray says. "They won't just work for the highest bidder. They won't cave to Joyful Justice or anyone else. They are loyal." He glances at Petra. "Loyal in a way that only men can be." Petra holds her tongue. "Women can't run businesses," Billy goes on, his confidence building at Petra's silence. He clearly doesn’t understand women. "Boris will be working with me from now on."

"Is this true, Boris?" Petra asks.

Boris shrugs. "Why shouldn't I work with Billy?"

"He has no experience," I point out, "and belongs to a movement of men who don’t think they should have to pay for sex." I smile. "Paying for sex is the basis of our business.

Billy Ray laughs—the sound like the braying of a donkey. He stands and paces toward the window, then turns back to us, his chest puffing out, an orator preparing for his speech. "I am a supreme gentleman," he begins. "This arrangement with Boris," he sweeps his arm out, "is necessary to provide my followers—who are all being denied sex—the opportunity to take back control."

He clenches his fist and draws his arm in tight to his body, as if grasping the submission of women he so deeply desires. "It is the perfect union. My brothers and I believe in the equality of the sexes, but that is not what is happening now. Men are being oppressed while women use their sexual prowess to subvert what is best for our society.

“Look at you, Lenox." He lifts his chin, gesturing to me. "This woman sits beside you as though she is your equal when it is clear that you don’t need her to run your business."

I blink at him but do not respond. He is clearly delusional.

"She can't possibly figure out the complexities necessary to move bodies across borders. And then to suggest that we must be completely honest with them. Why? Women are all lying sluts. Why should we show them respect that they will never return? It is time for us to reclaim our dignity."

Billy sits again, smiling, his dissertation delivered. I open my mouth to respond, but Petra stands, pulling my attention.

She reaches into her blazer and draws her gun in one smooth, fast movement. Billy's eyes widen. She aims while Boris's men are fumbling to draw their own weapons—no one expected the petite bombshell to draw a gun with such speed and precision.

She fires. Billy's head snaps back, and his brains explode on the couch, spattering Boris in the process. She shifts her aim, the muzzle landing between Boris's eyes. He puts up a hand. She fires through it.

Boris flops off the couch, dead. His men have their guns out, but so do Hans and Ramona. She looks at the men, their weapons trained on her. "Do you think a woman can run a business?" she asks them in their native tongue.

They don't answer right away.

"Well?" she asks.

One shrugs and looks over at the other. They lower their weapons. "Good," Petra says. Her gaze wanders to the glass doors. "I like this view."

Excerpt from Blind Vigilance, Sydney Rye Mysteries Book #13.

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Until next week...

Emily

P.S. I promise the dog doesn’t die…but I make no assurances about anyone else. 😈

P.P.S. You should unfollow me now if you have issues with "strong" language, sex out of wedlock, or LGBTQ+ characters. 👈 Top 3 things my one-star reviews complain about.