Tzivia Azaria stepped from the stage-door of the Bolshoi Dance Theater and gathered the collar of her pea-jacket tightly about her throat. It was mid September and already, in late evening, it was damp and cold in Moscow.

The Mercedes limousine, as foretold, was lying in wait by the curb. The red flag that fluttered from the fender was embossed with the gold, double-headed Imperial Eagle and Taz once again had second thoughts. But to back out now would sound an alarm and the ensuing consequences could be dire– worse than what awaited her inside the car.

Her mind was quickly changed for her.

Taz knew she had made a mistake as soon as she got into the limo. The woman had two body guards: one in front, another in back. And her new driver looked formidable as well. Three against one. Taz didn’t like the odds but there was no choice but to slide across the seat and sit next to Colonel Volkov.

Taz recalled the woman’s dossier all too clearly: Ravena Volkov. Alias, Raven Volk. Born, Moscow. Age 38. Military rank, Colonel. Suspected: Agent, KGB. Suspected: Dissident. Suspected: Trained Assassin. Intelligence risk, Code Red, HIGH. Report all incidents to the US State Department.

Raven smiled and Taz heard the trap snap shut.

Raven leaned forward and held thick black hair from her face. “So good of you to come,” She cooed, her voice as slick as motor oil, and she slipped a hand between Taz’s legs and squeezed the thigh muscle through black denim. “We have so much to discuss.” Taz didn’t flinch at the intrusion, her eyes were locked, instead, on the man who sat across from her.

“His name is Illya,” Raven said, following Taz’s gaze.

There was an immediate understanding between the two of them. Common ground: Illya was a killer.

They recognized each other for what they were; each sensed the professional protocol. The winner and the loser. The man was trained and if it were not for Colonel Volkov’s lust for information, and perhaps her body, Taz realized she would, already, be dead.

“Hard to have an intimate conversation,” Taz said to Raven, still eyeing the bulky nemesis seated across from her.

“That would suggest you have some intimate secret to share with me.”

Taz fought to steady her voice. “You like a women with secrets?”

Raven redoubled her grip on Taz’s thigh. “I like lusty women with long legs who present a challenge.”

Taz squirmed and finally dragged her eyes from the bodyguard. “A challenge? What sort of challenge?”

Raven smiled. She eased her grip on Taz’s thigh but her hand remained. “Do you enjoy a dominate women, Taz? Like the taste and smell of her?” And she stroked the inner thigh, one sweep from knee to crotch where her hand remained– cuddled.

Maybe if I can get her alone, Taz thought, I might have a chance. “Your apartment then?”

They made the short drive to the government building and parked out front. Taz and Raven slid from the rear seat and all three men followed them through the security door and into the lobby where a guard in military dress nodded them through. They crowded onto the elevator together and rode up to the top floor where Raven kept her living quarters overlooking Red Square. Two of the bodyguards positioned themselves in the hall while Illya entered the apartment and locked the door from inside.

Raven was being very careful and that confirmed what Taz feared most: Raven suspected– suspected Taz’s involvement in the deaths of her previous driver and her ex-lover. But worse, Taz had lost the element of surprise and that altered her thinking. She was here to assassinate Colonel Ravena Volkov, but now the tables had been turned and escaping with her own life intact took priority.

“Vodka?” Raven was pouring from a crystal decanter.

“I never drink. I find alcohol dulls my senses.”

Raven gave Taz a puzzled look. She didn’t trust anyone who didn’t drink. “Maybe it is time you started. Vodka can help get you through an unpleasant situation.”

Taz was quick to reply. “If you find me unpleasant why did you bring me to your apartment?”

Raven slipped into a chair and looked up. “Because ... Of all the glamorous women in The Dance Demon, you are uniquely unsuited. I know the Artistic Director enjoys beautiful women; takes pride in surrounding himself with willing bodies. So why did he hire you? You must be very good, Taz ... at something.” She pulled a dark cigarillo from a silver case and held a flame to it with a matching lighter.

“The Director did not hire me. Jill Spencer, the Dance Co-coordinator did.”

Raven exhaled a plume of blue smoke. “A woman...” She sipped straight vodka and pondered Taz’s chest a moment. “Now that is something I find interesting. Very interesting.”

“What could be so interesting about a Dance Co-coordinator?”

“Do not pretend to be naive, Taz. It does not become you. I know as well as you that Jill Spencer has a lusty desire for women. And I bet I know what you had to do to join America’s most celebrated dance company. My question is ... did you do it willingly?”

Taz gave her a blank stare.

“It would suggest, after all,” Raven continued, “that you and I could be bed-mates. At least for one night. I mean, liking the taste or not, you do know how to do it. Right?”

Taz felt the sweat erupt from the pores across her shoulders and back.

“Did you enjoy licking Jill Spenser between her legs,” Raven asked, pointedly, “or did you find it the most repulsive act on the planet? Tell me, did you have to forced yourself to do it?”

She sensed Raven would be happiest to learn that she had been repulsed and Taz ignored the question. “You seem to know much of The Dance Demon.”

“You are Americans.” Raven spat, distaste sharpening her words. “We do not allow Americans into my country unless we know all there is to know. Even to your sexual preferences.”

“I hope you have not been misled. I am not like you.”

“Your gender orientation is of little concern to me.” Raven shifted in her chair and looked up. “Take off your clothes,” she added smoothly, caressing the words with her tongue. “I want to see you naked.”

Taz had to work at keeping her hands unclenched, her shoulders loose. She steadied herself and looked toward the guard standing by the door, her hopes of success all but dashed. “With Illya– standing there? Watching?”

It was a lame attempt to get the man ordered from the room. It didn’t work.

Raven smugly shook her head. “But he likes to watch, Taz. Now take off your clothes– for Illya’s pleasure. And mine.”

Taz nodded, slumped into a chair across from Raven and began picking at the laces of her knee high boots. “I see what you mean, now.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” Taz stood and began to unbutton her shirt. “About the vodka.”

Taz shuffled off the black denim shirt and stood bare-breasted; her heavy tits curving like plow shears– the black nipples like rose-thorns against olive-colored skin.

Her stretchy jeans fit like leggings. She unzipped and wiggled them down over slender hips. Taz didn’t condone pantie-lines and found underwear constraining. The light came up in Raven’s eyes when the jut of pubic bone, matted with thick, rust-colored hair, appeared behind the open zipper. It was a succulent triangulum of soft, furry curls that rose to extend across Taz’s lower belly, almost from hipbone to hipbone.

Taz turned to one side and forced the denim down, pulling her feet free. She shook her jeans out and placed them on the chair next to her shirt. Naked, with empty hands draped at her sides, she turned to Raven. “Well?”

Raven looked over her prize.

Taz was not a rare beauty, far from it, but she had a kick-ass body, work-hardened and built for it. In her bare feet, Taz stood a lofty six-feet, but it wasn’t scrawn. Her limbs were ropy and long, and she had good shoulders and a narrow torso which seemed to ripple like horse flesh. But more than that, there was a rawness about her: A cold belligerent woman that begged to be forced to her knees. To be dominated. To be held down and ravaged. Raven wanted to feel Taz struggle. Wanted her to suffer. Wanted to fuck her without mercy. Wanted Taz to die under the onslaught of her sexual butchery.

“Come closer. I need to feel you.”

Taz turned her head– the cautious movement of a cornered snake, and took a step closer. The light flashed in her eyes and for the first time, Raven saw the reflection. She had never noticed before and a chill ran through her gut. How could she have missed it? The woman’s eyes widened and flashed yellow, the eyes of a marauding jungle cat. And for the first time since she was a little girl, doing her father’s bidding, Raven felt uncertain and inadequate.

Raven fought to maintain her advantage and reaching, she savagely grabbed a fistful of pubic hair and twisted. “Who are you, bitch? Talk.”

Taz wrestled with the burn that crept into her eyes. “I am Tour Coordinator for The American Dance Demon. Nothing more, except perhaps in your overheated imagination. I would like to get dressed now. Please have your driver take me to my hotel.”

Raven went stony inside. She maintained her grip in the crotch hairs and pulled Taz closer. “I do not believe you,” she sneered. “And it is time we took care of this shag.” And once again Raven distorted the vaginal lips with a brutal twist. “Yes. A shave. The hair has to go. Move over to the divan and open your legs to me.”

“Divan?”

“Yes, yes. Divan, sofa ... what you Americans call a couch.”

“I am not American.”

“Yes, Tzivia Azaria. Trust me. I know all about you. Now move.”

With her mind reeling, Taz eyed the guard by the door. He was watching intently, watching her boobs sway and the muscles working in her groin as she stepped toward Raven’s leather sofa. Her damp skin squeaked on black cowhide as she stretched out. Taz cocked one knee up against the back cushion, leaving the opposite foot on the floor and opened her knees a little, exposing the tight, dry lips curved in her crotch.

Raven removed a comb from the manicure set she opened on the coffee table. “What a magnificent spread you have, Miss Azaria. This will be a pleasure. At least for me.” And she moved between Taz’s proffered legs and parked a buttock on the edge of the sofa.