Anton Belofsky was a Russian oligarch, who enjoyed
life and shared his good fortune with the beautiful people. His lavish
lifestyle meant that he always kept an eye out for more ways to make money.
This was his eighth visit to Tenerife in a year and each time he’d been paid
handsomely for his trouble. After the fourth time, Customs became suspicious
and decided he must be a drug smuggler. They gave his luxury cruiser Mara a
thorough going-over but found nothing, and in fact spent a great deal of time
and money replacing damaged furniture and locks. Some of the male customs
officers had been very apologetic, possibly because Anton surrounded himself
with up to ten beautiful women. Anton suspected that they lingered over their
searches so they could ogle the scantily-clad women longer. No matter, his
merchandize was unharmed and vastly profitable.
This
journey was no exception. As the cruiser approached Santa Cruz, he lounged on
the plush leather couch on the stern upper deck and spoke with a nasal twang
into his handset. ‘Nicolai, I want to examine the merchandize one last time.’
‘Very
good, sir.’
Moments
later, Sorina climbed up the steps and offered him a smile. Her small round
face was angelic, while her diminutive figure was the complete opposite; the
voluptuous curves hardly contained in the red bikini suggesting demonic
passion. She sent his pulse racing. ‘Very good, my dear.’ She was Romanian and
didn’t understand English, Spanish or Russian, but she nodded at his gentle
tone. She walked a little unsteadily in her red high heels and sat in an
ungainly manner on the couch next to him. ‘You probably require a little more
decorum. But you’ll do.’
Next
stepped out Gayla, big boned yet slim, with angular hips and a thick moist
mouth. She wore a green swimsuit that tantalized with its many cutaways,
revealing pale flesh in unexpected places.
And so the
parade went on – Elena, Ludmila, Annika, Dorotea, Sofia, Pia, Tena and Lia. Ten
women – from Greece, Italy, Russia, Romania and Sweden – smuggled in on false
papers to provide pleasure for men with money.
Ten expensive
women.
Surrounded
by his merchandize, Anton chewed his thumbnail and his thin lower lip turned
down. Well, nine expensive women, he allowed. He must save one for el Jefe,
as usual.
‘Sir,’
said Nicolai on the intercom, ‘Customs have radioed – they want to come onboard
when we get alongside.’
Belofsky
snickered. ‘I bet they do – just to get an eyeful of our pretty women!’
- Blood of the
Dragon Trees, (pp25-26)
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