Bikers?
She had very little knowledge about the gangs herself, only that Mishca made the occasional business transaction with one, though she couldn’t be sure whether it was this particular one.
“Lost?”
Blinking, Alex looked at the person who had just joined her, but thanks to the number of peach infused vodka shots she’d taken earlier, it took a moment to focus on him.
He was muscular. His powerful arms were on display since the shirt he wore beneath it didn’t have sleeves. They were tan, probably from a life in the sun. He only had a few tattoos, all done in black ink—a crest on his left arm and a bull’s skull on the other. His hair was cut close to his scalp, considerably different from what she was used to since most of the men in the Bratva kept their hair long. A rugged jawline, clean of any facial hair, and dark, almost black eyes were staring down at her, waiting for an answer.
He was handsome in a rough biker kind of way. When he noticed her perusal of him, his lips kicked up into a grin, revealing rather pleasant looking teeth, his canines capped in gold.
Shrugging, Alex answered, “Not lost, no.”
He was holding a bottle of beer by the neck, condensation dripping from the brown glass. Bringing it up to his lips, he took a healthy swallow, the muscles in his throat working before he dropped it back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand. “I’m Snow.”
“Snow?” She had heard worst names. “Alex.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, Alex—and considering I know everybody—that begs the question, who the hell are you?”
Alex was so used to giving her full name, the only true power she had now that she wasn’t dancing anymore, but standing next to him in a place of iniquity, she rather wanted to keep her anonymity, just in case he knew her brother.
“Nobody special,” she replied when she noticed he was still, though patiently, waiting for her to answer. “Do you interrogate all the new people who come in here?”
“Maybe, maybe not, but I thought I would keep you company…unless you want me to leave you to the wolves out there.”
Wolves…how appropriate. “If you want to talk, it’s a little loud in here for that, don’t you think?”
His eyes trailed over her face, like he was trying to figure her out, but after a lengthy pause, he merely slung an arm around her shoulders—an act, she thought, to send a message since several pairs of eyes were turned in their direction—leading her away from the noise toward a back hallway where, even with doors shut, the sounds of slapping flesh and sharp moans could be heard.
Her heart never sped up when they reached the second to last bedroom at the end of the hall, nor did she bat an eyelash when he walked her inside, closing the door behind them with a firm click.
She took in her surroundings: the bed in one corner, a couple of pictures hanging on the walls, and on the rather massive desk was a shiny chrome nine millimeter that looked brand new. There was nothing really personal about the space, but Alex didn’t think that this was his home, only an available room where he brought women who he intended to keep for only a night.
One part of her, the part that grappled for reason, knew that being here was not a good idea, and that it would probably be for the best if she just left this place entirely. But where would she go? Back to an empty apartment that didn’t really feel like home? Maybe to Mishca’s though he was currently in the midst of taking his wife on a honeymoon?
Or maybe, to the lone person she would happily run to, but didn’t want her in return.
No, maybe she would stay because as she watched Snow move toward the bed, sitting on the edge, his gaze moving from her bare legs to the rather immodest dip at the front of her dress, she felt a stirring. It might have been forbidden or even a little dangerous, but she was willing and ready to chase it if it meant she could feel again.
“You—”
The door came crashing open before Snow could finish his thought, and if his darkening expression was anything to judge by, he was not happy with the interruption.
“What!”
The woman, whoever she was, eyed Alex for a second before turning to Snow, her smile sickeningly sweet. “Can you hook me up?”
“Get the fuck out.”
She shook her head, her hands flying up to ward off an attack as Snow launched to his feet, looking like he intended to physically remove her.
“Boone said you owed him.”
He cursed, gaze skirting to Alex who was regarding this entire act with cool indifference, before he jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. Once she was inside with him, he pushed the door up, but not far enough that the door closed, making Alex wonder if he’d done it on purpose so that she could see what was happening inside. She only had a limited view, so she missed the majority of what took place inside, but she didn’t miss the small baggie he handed over or that the woman hid it in her cleavage.
At the sight of it, her heart kicked up.
When they were alone again, after the woman had thanked him with a kiss on the cheek, it was clear Snow had one thing on his mind, but Alex’s attention was seized on what she had seen.
“What did you give her?”
A curious glint entered his eyes as he shrugged out of his cut, hanging it on the back of the chair. “What’s it to you?”
“Merely curious…”
“Nah, it’s a little more than that.”
In answer, she shrugged. “Are you a drug dealer? Is that why they call you Snow?”
His expression was unreadable as he said, “You ask a lot of questions for someone who’s just curious.”
“Maybe I want to buy from you.”
“Yeah? And what exactly do you think I’m selling?”
Alex trailed her fingers through her hair, knowing that he was watching the motion. “That’s why I’m asking.”
As the silence stretched between them, Alex thought maybe she was changing his mind, at least until he started laughing, which only made her cheeks turn rosy in embarrassment.
“You couldn’t handle it.”
Now, it was her turn to laugh though she did it without humor. “You have no idea what I can or cannot handle.”
Whether he believed her or not, he went back into his bathroom and came back out moments later, carrying another one of the baggies that he had passed off to the woman.
Inside were five pills, all emblazoned with a small smiley face. With an arm hooked around her waist, he tugged her deeper into him, smiling down at her.
“First one is free.”
“What is it?” Even as she asked the question, she reached for it, nimble fingers curling around hers as she tried to take it.
“Something that’ll take the edge off.”
That really wasn’t an answer, but as Alex opened the bag, popping one into her mouth, she didn’t really care.
His expression was one of amusement more than anything else, but there was something a bit predatory about it as well, but this, and the rest of the night, was lost on Alex as the pill started kicking in.
First a tingling in her stomach, then a gradual, but all-consuming warmth filled her, as Snow’s hand closed around the nape of her neck, tilting her face up to smash his lips against her own. That only intensified everything she was feeling.
Now, her heart was racing, her hands were trembling, and as he worked the zipper of her dress down, she had never felt more alive.
2
____
The Enforcer
Wiping the blood from his hands with the tail end of the man’s shirt, Luka Sergeyev stepped back, snapping his fingers in front of Donnie Jefferson’s face to regain his attention. He didn’t need the guy passing out before they got to the actual reason Luka had paid him a visit.
Sticking the knife he favored back into his pocket, Luka sighed, knowing that he had probably taken it too far with the amount of cuts that were still oozing blood, but there was no other way to guarantee t
hat he got his point across. Pain made people more receptive to persuasion.
Luka had learned this the hard way, but that was ages ago, back when he was just a boy.
Curling his hand around Donnie’s shoulder, he dug his fingers into one of the particularly ugly cuts there, feeling the skin and muscle give as he shoved his finger deeper.
The man’s response was immediate and loud. Luka tried not to let that excite him.
“Now that I have your attention, you have two options. Tell me where the money is and we can get this finished up now. Maybe I’ll drop you at a hospital—that’s debatable—but at least you’ll get to go home. The second option, you don’t give me the money and I show you how creative I can get over the next two hours. I mean”—Luka gestured to the man though it was doubtful he could see himself with the blood leaking in his eyes—“you see what I can do with a knife. Imagine what I’ll do once I’m inspired.”
Groaning, Donnie tried replying, the words coming out rushed and jumbled, but with another firm squeeze from Luka, he was able to force them out. “It’s in the safe.”
“Good man.”
Removing his finger from the newly bleeding wound, Luka circled the chair, placing his hands on the back to wheel the man over to the state-of-the-art safe installed into the wall that not only had a digital lock, but one that also required a retina scan.
Donnie was a rather smart businessman. At least when it came to screwing over his clients who signed over their life savings for what they thought he could provide them. The problem was that he was operating on Bratva territory, and when said Bratva protected one of the clients he screwed over, it was Luka’s job to pay him a visit.
That was what it meant to be a Bratva enforcer.
While Luka didn’t always enjoy the carnage he left in his wake, when he had a job like this…he enjoyed it a little too much. For the last half hour—a new record, even for him—he had made intricate carvings in the man’s flesh, always careful not to cut too deep or too quick, just enough that the person on the receiving end felt it everywhere, but not enough that they would pass out anytime soon.
Considering the fact that he was duct taped to a chair, Donnie couldn’t open the safe himself. Instead, he gave the combination to Luka, who had it popped open in seconds. There were stacks of bundled money, enough to know that there were undoubtedly hundreds of families out of thousands of dollars.
Luka emptied the safe, dumping the money in an old backpack he carried with him. He was only meant to take just enough to cover what Donnie had taken from one of his victims, but with the mood he was in, Luka took it all.
Finished, he tossed the bag by the door, feeling the man’s eyes on him.
Donnie would probably pack up and head out of state where he would set up another operation similar to this one and start all over again, far away from where Luka could get to him.
Luka had never liked men like Donnie, and if he were better at controlling himself with the coppery scent of blood embedding itself in his mouth, he might have left.
But that wasn’t who Luka was.
Not giving it a second thought, Luka pulled the blade from his pocket, walking back over to Donnie who was shaking his head forcefully, pleading behind his gag, but he couldn’t do anything to stop what was about to happen.
With the swiftness and efficiency of years of practice, Luka cut off the man’s thumbs. His screams were like music, but Luka didn’t stick around to appreciate his handiwork.
He made quick work of cutting the man free, his warning left unsaid as he slung the bag over his shoulder and headed out into the brisk autumn night. Retrieving the keys from his pocket, Luka climbed in the Jeep that had seen better days, if only because it needed a good wash to clean off the layers of dirt caking the outside.
The cold air didn’t bother him as he headed into the city, toward the club in lower Manhattan that had opened just a few months ago. While it might have been Bratva property, it was mostly kept clean of the work they did because the boss’ wife handled the books and practically ran the place.
If there was one thing that Luka knew, it was that his boss would never leave this life, but he would at least make sure that none of it fell on his wife.
Climbing out of his Jeep, Luka headed toward the back entrance, entering a four-digit code on the keypad next to the door handle. After an incident a couple of years ago, the boss had decided it was better to have a code lock rather than have someone standing guard.
Once he was in, Luka walked the length of the hallway until he reached a door, taking the stairs on the other side of it to an office above the floor of the club.
As usual, the Pakhan—the boss—Mishca Volkov sat behind a desk of mahogany wood, the office phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, speaking in rapid Russian as he asked for the results from one of his contractors across the city.
Unlike his predecessor, Mishca was directly involved with all of the new aspects of the job he’d been given not eight months ago.
Luka tossed the bag in a corner of the office, plopping down on the sofa as he kicked his feet up on the table, smiling broadly when he saw Mishca’s frown.
It was the little things in life.
He waited patiently for the boss to finish his call, his eyes drifting around the room until they landed on the one framed picture of two that he never failed to notice when he came in.
It was a rather candid photo of the one person who continuously plagued him, the one person who wrapped herself around him despite his desire to get her out of his head. He knew there was no way that he could have her the way he wanted, not when he was the way he was.
Then, of course, there was the conversation that he and Mishca had had earlier. Him warning Luka away from his sister.
He freely admitted there was a darkness inside of him. Some nights, he fed the hunger that could never truly be satisfied. Thrived in the pain he caused others. But when that same bloodlust wore off and he saw the result of what he’d done, he couldn’t stand the sight of himself, let alone what he had done to someone who, while deserving of punishment, hadn’t deserved what he had done.
But now wasn’t the time to think about that.
Hanging up, Mishca dropped the phone back into its cradle, turning in his chair so that he was better able to see him. Unlike his sister, who was blond and had the biggest green eyes Luka had ever seen, Mishca was cold. Dark hair, blue eyes that missed nothing, and the stature of a man who was used to getting his way.
Now having worked for him for the last five years, Luka admired him, even if he was a pain in the ass. “How’d it go?”
“Like you wanted.”
Luka gestured to the bag on the floor, not needing to open it. They both knew the money would be inside it or he wouldn’t be there. Neither of them addressed the blood staining his hands at the mention of Donnie.
“And Jefferson?”
Luka smirked, failing to hide his satisfaction. “Like I wanted.”
Mishca shook his head, knowing all too well what that meant. “Breathing?”
Shrugging, he answered, “Barely.”
“Good enough. The girls are spending the day in the city tomorrow. Keep your phone on.”
Though he nodded, Luka did wonder whether Alex would be going with Lauren and her friend, Amber. For the last five years, Luka had gotten used to his life in the shadows, completing more of the bloody jobs that others secretly coveted, but over the last couple of months, his role had begun to change. His work shifted from behind-the-scenes to more public as he played bodyguard some days. But more than that, he’d started attending meetings with Mishca and not just as the muscle.
He had never questioned why, though it was apparent that everyone was wondering the same thing. Luka didn’t do well with people in general, and he had the unfortunate habit of making enemies out of people within five minutes of meeting them, not that he minded. He would much rather be feared than be ridiculed.
____
On the long stretch of road, the thundering roar of his engine cut through the silence of the night, tall grass swaying as he sped by. This was not an uncommon occurrence when Luka was driving, music blasting through the speakers. Anyone at the other end of this dirt road could hear him a mile away.
Eventually, his headlights illuminated a Victorian-style house in the distance, only a few cars parked alongside it. A fat man by the name of Roger Pedenski was supposed to be standing guard, watching for anyone who drove up, but he was sitting on the top step, fast asleep, oblivious even to Luka’s music.
Not even when Luka revved the engine did the man stir, which told Luka one of two things. Either he had partaken in the stash of blue pills they kept around for the clients and had spent the last few hours inside with one of the girls and was now passed out, or the old bastard was dead.
He was inclined to believe the first.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Luka took his time walking over to the front of the house, peering closer at Roger to make sure that he was, in fact, still breathing. At this point, he hoped Roger wouldn’t wake up, just so he could have the opportunity to teach the man to never let his defenses down, especially considering their work.
Instead of taking the steps, he climbed over the side, walking over to the slumbering man. Luka had always been light on his feet, usually undetectable when dealing with someone of the average intelligence.
Sighing, Luka couldn’t fight his grin as he lifted his foot and kicked the man down the steps.
Roger yelped as he came awake, throwing his arms out to break his fall, but his momentum was too great and he ended up tumbling down each step until he landed in a heap in the dirt.
“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, trying to climb to his feet, but his significant weight made it difficult.
Luka shrugged, walking backward to the house. “Alarm clock, you fat fuck.”
When his back was to the door, Luka yanked it open and walked inside, but not before he heard Roger muttering about him being a lunatic. Yes, yes, he was, and he was proud of it.
Three floors made up the old Victorian: the basement where they kept nearly every brand of alcohol known to man—though clients were only served the cheap crap—the ground level where clients were introduced to the girls and ultimately made their selections, and the top floor, where the actual servicing took place.
Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva Book 4) Page 2
