by Zoey Parker
“Do what?” Spike asked, confused.
“Talk to me like I’m the crazy one just because I refuse to let you continue lying to everyone here!” Cleo accused him. “You’re supposed to be our leader, Spike,” Cleo added, calming down now. “That means putting Satan’s Disciples first; over everything and everyone else.” She looked pointedly at Georgia.
“Ivan’s after her, Cleo,” Spike explained. “She doesn’t have anywhere else to stay.”
“So you fucking brought her here?” she asked rhetorically.
Spike’s phone rang and he didn’t know whether to curse or be grateful. He looked at the screen to see a restricted number. “Cleo, shut up,” Spike said in a calm voice that immediately silenced her.
An unknown number probably wasn’t a good thing, he thought, his stomach sinking as he answered the phone. “Who is this?” he demanded.
“Someone you should speak to a little more respectfully if you don’t want to watch your girlfriend die a bloody death,” a voice said imperiously.
“Cut this shit, Yury,” Spike said, recognizing the slight Russian accent in the man’s voice. “Put Ivan on the phone.”
“Unfortunately, Ivan is out picking up a few special items for when Georgia and Felix come to visit,” Yury replied, sounding magnificently bored. “He does wish to talk to you, though, so do you think you could pop on over sometime today?”
“Sure,” Spike said evenly, refusing to be baited. “I look forward to it.”
“Wonderful,” Yury replied. Spike could practically hear him grinning. “Stop by around six; I’ll call around then with directions.”
“Don’t need ’em,” Spike said gruffly. “I know where you live.”
He hung up the phone, looking between Georgia and Cleo. “We’ve got a problem.”
***
Ivan walked up and down the aisles of a dark basement in an abandoned building, looking at all of the tools and equipment hanging on the walls. After this morning, he had decided to come visit an old friend who dealt in specialty items.
Last night, Nicholas had come barreling into the warehouse without a care in the world how a cop car might look to some of the clientele—many of whom were prone to violence when surprised.
He had been ready to shoot Nicholas right then and there, when the little zadnitza began squeaking about the Satan’s Disciples and Spike Turner. Ivan had almost panicked, thinking they had planned some kind of ambush, but, apparently, he was somehow connected to the Lewis siblings.
Ivan hadn’t believed him at first, but Nicholas had insisted that he’d seen Spike Turner’s motorcycle—a very distinct bike, Ivan granted him—parked at Georgia Lewis’s place. After a few minutes of convincing, Ivan returned with Nicholas to Georgia’s home to see it for himself.
Sure enough, they parked the dark car across the street just in time to see Spike Turner exit the house, get on his bike, and drive away. Ivan wasn’t sure, but it looked as though Spike was only partway dressed.
Ivan had wondered what that meant as they drove back to the warehouse. He ordered a detail to stay with her until he decided what to do. Is Spike fucking Georgia? Did he know her before Felix and Alex came to work for me, or did she go to him for protection? No, he decided, it didn’t make sense that Georgia was paying Satan’s Disciples for protection if she couldn’t afford to pay off her brother’s debt. Alex! Ivan realized. That’s it!
“Alex!” Ivan had roared when he entered the building that night. “I need to talk to you!”
Alex poked his head out of the upper security office, and hurried past the guards and down the steps. “What do you need, boss?” he asked nervously. Ivan was standing at the base of the steps, tightly flanked by Yury and Nicholas. Alex began to feel trapped—and he was right.
“You still haven’t heard from Felix, have you?” Ivan began interrogating him.
Alex emphatically shook his head. “No, sir. I would have told you right away if he had.”
“What about his sister? Have you spoken to her?” he asked, carefully scrutinizing him.
“Uh, no,” Alex was genuinely confused now. “I didn’t talk to her much even before everything started to—uh, even before,” he replied, managing to stop himself before he said something too closely resembling a critique of Ivan’s management skills.
“What about Spike Turner?” Ivan asked, his face uncomfortably close to Alex’s.
Alex felt beads of perspiration form along his hairline. “S-Spike Turner? The guy in charge of Satan’s Disciples?”
“Yes,” Ivan said shortly. “That Spike Turner. Unless you know another one?” he asked sarcastically.
Alex fearfully looked at the floor, hearing Yury and Nicholas snigger like schoolboys. He shot them a sullen glance. “If I had seen him, do you think I would be alive right now?”
“That’s true,” Yury drawled from behind Ivan. “Spike Turner would eat him for breakfast and shit him out before lunch.”
Ivan looked him over closely, then shrugged and walked away, Yury and Nicholas trailing after him, both of them shooting him a smarmy grin. “You’re right.”
Alex watched them leave, hating that it was so easy for them to believe that about him. Considering it had just saved his life, though, he didn’t think he should be too upset at the moment.
Ivan settled into his white leather throne, his sycophantic followers fanning out around him. Alex sat in the chair opposite from Ivan.
“We need to know why Spike was at Georgia’s,” Ivan said.
“That’s easy,” Yury said smoothly. “He’s fucking her.”
“That is one theory, Yury, but I’m not as confident as you are,” Ivan said. “If we act upon that and we are wrong…”
“I’m right, and here’s why,” Yury declared. “She’s into him because he’s the one last bad boy she can feel dangerous with before she goes off to marry Mr. Right, and after all the whores he’s had, he gets to see what fucking a putana is like,” he said, using a phrase for upscale prostitutes.
“I don’t think the girl is exactly what you claim, but even if she were, how did they meet?” Ivan insisted.
Yury shrugged. “Who cares? Tomorrow morning we will go and take her; you can ask her about their love story then.”
Ivan shot a glance at Yury. “You need to take more care when you speak,” he said warningly. “For a moment there, it sounded like you were giving me an order.”
“No, no,” Yury said quickly. “Just a suggestion.”
Everyone looked at Ivan, tensely waiting his reaction.
“It is a good one,” Ivan said, pretending not to notice the collective sigh of relief that came from the room. “Tomorrow, we collect the girl. Early—she’ll be disoriented.”
The next morning, however, only a few minutes after they had parked across the street, they saw who else but Spike Turner walking up to Georgia’s house. Ivan was convinced now that the girl meant something more to him than just a high-end fuck. Why else would he be coming by this early in the morning?
Spike went around to the back, however, and suddenly, Ivan wondered if maybe his original theory was correct—that Felix had pissed off Spike, and now Spike had also shown up to collect.
The poor girl, Ivan thought, having to pay so much for her brother’s mistakes. Ivan watched curiously through the windshield as Spike returned quickly, but empty-handed. Is she not home? he briefly considered, then quickly dismissed the thought. His detail should have noticed if Georgia had left in the middle of the night. It doesn’t matter, he reassured himself, soon we will go in and know for sure.
Nodding to Yury beside him, the two men stepped out of the car and walked up Georgia’s drive. The garage door had not been fixed yet, so Ivan motioned for Yury to take that entrance, while Ivan headed for the front door.
“Odin,” Ivan shouted, counting to three in Russian, “dva, tri!” He kicked in the front door and heard Yury do the same thing half a second later.
They stormed from room to ro
om, tearing the already heavily-damaged apartment to pieces.
“Motherfucker!” Ivan cursed, kicking an ottoman. “He took her; he had to have.”
“Not to worry,” Yury said. “We can still get her back.”
“How? Tell me this,” Ivan demanded. “You have all the plans lately, don’t you?”
“Whoever Georgia Lewis is to Spike Turner, she’s not a part of Satan’s Disciples, which means she can’t be that important to him,” Yury pointed out. “We tell Spike we will let him and all of his gang relocate without harm if he gives us the girl. We find her brother later,” he said, waving dismissively. “The boy does not have his sister’s intelligence; he can’t hide for long.”
Ivan dug in his pocket. “Here,” he said gruffly, slapping his phone into Yury’s hand.
“What do you want me to do with this?” he asked, confused.
“Something you don’t know for once—good,” Ivan said shortly. “Your plan, you make the call. Get him here, and get him to bring her.” He turned abruptly on his heel and walked out the door.
***
A few hours later, Spike strolled into the warehouse. Ivan’s mouth tightened imperceptibly. When Yury told him Spike already knew the location of their office, he had hoped the biker would be bluffing. Though Ivan was still confident he had the numbers and the weaponry to outmatch Spike, he didn’t like that the man could stop by at any time.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Spike said casually as he walked into the open room. “Nice shop you got here.” He gestured to the carefully organized and itemized shelves.
“All alone?” Yury called softly. “Where are Satan’s Disciples?” he taunted.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Spike said with a wink. “They’re around.”
“Take a seat,” Ivan pointed at the open space on the couch near him, “and cut the shit, as you Americans like to say. I want the girl.”
Spike sat down heavily. “No,” he replied simply, not bothering to pretend he didn’t know who Ivan was talking about.
“Let me repeat myself,” Ivan tried again. “Give me the girl, and I don’t kill off half your people.”
“If you’re going to threaten me, why not threaten to kill all of my people?” Spike said mockingly.
“Because it’s not a threat,” Yury interjected, quieting as Ivan held up a hand.
“He’s right,” Ivan said evenly. “We had already decided it was too much of an effort to try to ferret out every one of you vermin, so we settled for killing most and letting the rest of you go to salvage whatever was left of your lives.”
Spike couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him like this, but whenever it had been, he was certain he had left the person bruised and broken.
“Now, if you hand over the girl,” Ivan continued, “I will let you go—all of you—as long as you promise to relocate outside of the state. I’m not interested in spilling blood over her.” Ivan paused. “Unless you decide to stand in my way. I think we all know how that would go.”
There wasn’t a single person in that room who didn’t know Ivan’s mob could crush Satan’s Disciples, though at what cost to Ivan, no one could say.
Spike thought for a minute. “I’m willing to give her to you,” he began slowly, “but not for another day—a full day,” he clarified.
Ivan frowned. “I am not a patient man,” he said, irritated.
“Then we have something in common.” Spike chuckled. “But I’ve been waiting to fuck that girl for a couple days now, and I’d like to see that patience rewarded, get me?”
A thin, knowing smile spread across Yury’s face, and the back of Spike’s hand itched to wipe it off.
“You will bring her to me twenty-four hours from now?” Ivan asked.
“I was thinking by midnight tomorrow,” Spike pushed.
Ivan gazed at him. “I will give you twenty-five hours, and not a second longer.”
Spike shrugged, giving him a crooked smile. “Twenty-five hours it is.”
He could have cut it down to twenty hours and I would have agreed, Spike thought. I’m not giving him Georgia, so it doesn’t really matter. That wasn’t exactly true, any extra time he could buy before Ivan realized he wasn’t handing over Georgia was time the gang could use to set up their plan, but it was what Spike told himself.
Ivan put his hand out and Spike shook it firmly. Suddenly, Ivan seized him by the forearm, pulling him close. “If you do not bring her to me, I will kill everyone you love in front of you, ending with the girl. I promise you: it will not be swift,” he said quietly, giving Spike a meaningful glance towards Yury.
“Well, then,” Spike said, returning the pressure that was being applied. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ll be dropping her off tomorrow.”
Ivan released his hold, as did Spike.
He nodded to the men in the room. “Gentlemen,” he said, turning to leave.
Spike kept his stride slow and calm, smoothly starting his bike to cruise away. Once he hit the highway and he was sure he was not being watched, he opened up the throttle, tearing down the road back to headquarters.
If they didn’t execute the plan soon, it would be too late for all of them.
Chapter Eight
Spike returned from Ivan’s to find Cleo, Hector, Tiny, and Vince all sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for him.
“We need to talk to you,” Cleo said, her voice tight.
“What is this? A fucking intervention?” Spike joked as he sat down.
“Some of us,” Tiny began hesitantly, “are concerned your focus isn’t exactly where it should be right now. But all I need is some reassurance that you’re looking after things,” he said, emphasizing the ‘I’ to let Spike know he didn’t agree with everything Cleo was saying.
Spike let out a deep sigh. “Look, guys, I know you’re worried, but trust me—I have everything under control.”
“You are not behaving like someone who has things under control,” Vince said.
Everyone gave him their full attention. Vince didn’t speak often, but when he did, it was something to be carefully considered.
“You walked into Ivan’s with no one behind you.” Spike realized Vince was scolding him. “The people in this gang rely on you. You have a responsibility to them as their leader to make them feel safe. When you make reckless choices and put yourself in danger, you weaken yourself, which frightens people and makes them weak in turn.” Vince gazed at Spike with heavy eyes. “Strong leader, strong group. Weak leader, weak group.”
Spike didn’t say anything for a moment, absorbing what Vince had said. “What about you, Hector?” he asked.
Hector shifted in his seat. “I’m all for going in guns blazing, pero going in by yourself is suicide. We need you around. This girl…” Hector started to say, immediately stopping when he saw Cleo’s death glare.
Spike looked between the two of them. “Wait a minute, this is about Georgia?” he asked, looking directly at Cleo.
“This is about the decisions you’ve made recently,” Cleo said, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “But if we’re going there, yes, you started making these kinds of decisions once she came around.”
“Well, I’m taking her out of here, so you don’t have to be jealous anymore, Cleo,” Spike said drily.
Vince, Hector, and Tiny all exchanged looks, slowly and quietly getting up out of their chairs to leave the kitchen. The three of them all knew there was no longer any room for a rational discussion. When Spike and Cleo went at it, minimum safe distance was the far side of the moon.
“I am not jealous!” Cleo screamed, and Spike rolled his eyes. “You are behaving like a complete ass, and you’re going to get us all killed!”
“Are you listening?” Spike asked sarcastically. “I said I’m moving her out of here! So no more danger, alright?”
“So you take her to some safe house, then what? What happens next? Because I’m still seeing us getting murdered.”<
br />
“I don’t understand how you can still be so mad,” Spike exclaimed. “This morning you told me you didn’t want her staying here, and now she’s not staying here! How do you still have a problem?”
“What I said was that you needed to put the gang first!” Cleo yelled back. “And right now, the gang agrees! They want to know that if we go through with this plan, that if some of us die, it’s for us—not her.”
“How can you say that to me?” he asked her, pain clouding his dark green eyes.
Cleo shrugged. “You haven’t been around lately…it makes some of us wonder.”
