I don’t know why they stayed, considering there are no club bunnies around to fawn over them. Starting today, I instituted a new rule. If club women are on the premises, club bunnies can’t be. No way do I want women I’ve fucked anywhere near Soso. Any more than I’d want to hang out with men she’s fucked. Even if Griff settled down and acted normal, I’d never want him in my face.
Jack wasn’t happy with the rule and left with his sister and mom. I assumed the Dogs wouldn’t hang around either.
But they remain in their corner, speaking in a language they figure we can’t understand. Vlad and his boys could sit right in front of us, making plans to spill our blood. We’d have no clue.
Or, at least, we wouldn’t if it weren’t for my old lady’s savvy ways.
THE BOHEMIAN
THREE DAYS AGO
The women at the rundown Rossiya Motel near the highway are essentially sex slaves. Despite being “freed” by the Johansson family when the Reapers took over, the Midnight Dogs were allowed to remain in control of the motel where the immigrant women live and work. Many of the prostitutes were lured to the US with promises of work and given fake visas. Most don’t speak enough English to gain normal employment, and all of them are conditioned by their owners—the Dogs—to believe their current situation is their only choice.
After moving to Conroe, I find myself often thinking about the women. I even consider inviting them to the party at the pub. Unfortunately, they’d just end up being abused by the Dogs.
The Johanssons are like most “moral” crime families. They react to what’s in their faces and ignore the rest. These women arrived in Conroe prior to the Johanssons’ rule, and they remain the Dogs’ responsibility. Out of sight, out of mind.
But I plan to end this blasé view of the motel. I’m enraged at the thought of anyone whored out against their wills. It’s not like they can save up their money and walk away either. They’re charged for their rooms, clothing, food, and other essentials. It’s the classic pimp modus operandi.
That’s not how prostitution works in Hickory Creek Township. Maybe my uncle and dad changed stuff years ago, or maybe the system was always in place. I just know those women choose their customers, keep most of their income, and pay the club for protection. If they want to quit, they can. If they want to work in the club’s territory, though, they pay a kickback. The women are essentially independent contractors. It’s not a pretty life, and I wouldn’t want to fuck to pay my bills, but prostitution is a business in Hickory Creek. Here, it’s something else. For now, anyway.
With Lex Zaldo rotting somewhere, Diak and Pavel run the motel.
“We like to rotate the men to ensure there are always enough to help the Reapers,” Vlad tells me after he hears of my visit and feels the need to supervise.
I think to question why he speaks of “the Reapers” as if he isn’t the fucking vice president of the local chapter. Of course, I just smile and nod. Men like him are useless. They’re dumb muscle to be molded by better men or tossed aside. Bubba already made a choice on these idiots’ fates. No reason for me to argue with a dead man.
“I’m a bit of a feminist,” I say, giving Vlad a sheepish smile. “My friend in high school got into prostitution and enjoyed her work. Do the women here enjoy their work?”
Vlad smiles at me and strokes his beard. If I had a buck for every man who stroked a part of himself while talking to me over the years, I wouldn’t need to inherit my wealth.
“Not all customers are so good. Many can be, um, how do you say, rough?”
I remember how Bubba claims the Dogs forget how to speak in English whenever they don’t want to answer a question. I notice how Diak and Pavel whisper in Ukrainian behind Vlad. They feel safe saying whatever they want because they know I can’t call them on it. Keanu and I pull that same move by speaking Korean in front of assholes. I’ve looked people in the eyes before and said the worst shit without them having a clue.
And that’s the main reason I’m here today. Not to help these women. Until the Dogs are dead, I can’t do much. No, I’m here to find a translator.
Butch installed surveillance at the pub while Bubba was in Hickory Creek. He worried the Dogs were plotting something. Of course, those recordings are useless unless translated. This motel is full of women capable of telling us what the Dogs say when they believe no one is the wiser.
“I have people in Tennessee,” I tell Vlad and then add just to be a bitch, “Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, yes,” he bullshits. “It’s a state nearby.”
“Yes, and my father is part of a club there.”
“I heard he is a very important man.”
“Yes, and he has many friends looking to visit Conroe for relaxation. I would act as a liaison for my father’s friends and the women here who could help them relax. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he says, smiling wider. I love how the asshole understands the word “liaison” but pretends to get hung up on “rough.”
“I want to meet your girls. One at a time. Talk to them to see who might fit with what my father’s friends seek. Like an audition, yes?”
Great, now I sound as if I don’t speak English well. Vlad gets what I’m saying. He mutters something over his shoulder to the other men who nod in unison. They’ve decided they’ll “let” me speak to the women.
“Are you sure alone is good, though?” Vlad asks, following me into the tacky as fuck front office complete with cheap red carpet and dirty gold chairs.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“They can be temperamental.”
Turning around to look at him, I smile widely. “My father is a killer, Vlad. My brother is too. They taught me how to handle temperamental people. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I plan to kill any of these women, but I don’t need a bodyguard either.”
His smile remains. The humor in his gaze disappears, though. It’s quickly replaced by a realization that I’m more than Bubba’s blonde bimbo. I can make a call and end this man. He might have already known I was connected, but he’s just grasped that I’m willing to remove a problem. So, the question is: Will Vlad become my problem?
No, he won’t. Living is more important than his ego today.
I talk with each girl for exactly twenty minutes, showing none any obvious preference. Most are blonde, very thin, and pale. A few women seem actually ill, and the newest girl looks barely legal. They all wear ratty babydoll lingerie and cheap heels.
After the first round of interviews, I zero in on Katya who knows enough English to translate for the others. I have the women return one by one except this time Katya sits with me and translates. I tell Vlad the girls are hard to understand and I don’t trust their answers.
“I can’t have them disappointing the men I bring here,” I explain when he offers to translate. “Katya seems obedient. She’ll help me figure out if the women are lying. I’ll let you know if any of them are.”
Vlad thinks we’re on the same side again. He’s so easy to manipulate. Just useless muscle. No wonder the income stream in Conroe is so pathetic. With Vlad in charge, there’s no imagination or determination.
The blonde, emaciated Katya breathes faster whenever I praise her. She’s older than me by a few years but almost childlike and desperate for praise. When I ask how she knows so much English, she tells me she watches TV and imitates what she hears.
“I speak good, yes?” she asks, craving my approval.
“Very good.”
While waiting for one of the girls to arrive in the front office, I casually slip Katya a throwaway phone.
“This is from Bubba,” I say in the low, inviting voice I use when my birds get agitated. “He is everyone’s boss. If he calls, you answer and obey. If you do good, you’ll be rewarded.”
Katya’s blue eyes flash to the door where the three Dogs stand outside uselessly.
“They work for Bubba, just like you,” I say, taking her hand and noticing her busted n
ails. “They want to be in charge, but they aren’t. My man is, and he will reward you for doing good. No punishments, just rewards, but you have to be smart, Katya. I think you are smart,” I say, letting the compliment sink in and watching her expression change. “But I think you’re also scared, and it’s easier to be scared than smart. Which one will you choose?”
“They will get angry.”
“Don’t tell them what I said. I will explain you need the phone because I want you for a special man from Tennessee. If Vlad or his friends hurt you, that will fuck up my plans with that man, and I’ll be angry.”
“You are just a girl.”
Channeling my inner Hallstead, I harden my gaze. “No, I’m a biker bitch with the phone numbers for a dozen professional killers who’d end those assholes outside. Vlad and the others work for my man, and I say you are protected. Do you want to be protected, Katya?”
She doesn’t answer before the next girl—Anna—enters. I feel Katya struggling next to me. She stumbles over a few translations. I know she’s worried. She should be. The Dogs are evil fucks, but they’ll be dead soon. I can’t tell her this part or even what Bubba will want from her.
Katya never verbally answers if she’s more smart than scared. Instead, she slides the phone into the bra of her dress, and I know she wants to be protected.
I finish with the rest of the woman, asking them the same questions as before. Their answers don’t matter. I’ll be asking new ones once the Dogs are dead and I can change things here.
But I got what I wanted from this visit. If Vlad worries a little more about his safety now, that’s a bonus. Whatever he hopes for the future doesn’t matter. He’s already dead, and I’d love for Katya to be the one who seals his fate.
THE RUNAWAY
At eleven, Soso and Keanu decide to have a dance-off. I sit at a table with Butch whose jaw is clenched tight enough to cause damage. I mention Sissy teaching Soso to cook, and my brother’s entire demeanor relaxes. Voila! I’ve found the off button on Butch’s bitchiness!
Focusing on my woman’s dancing, I’m shocked by her and Keanu’s lack of skill. Apparently, rhythm isn’t necessary for success at yoga or karate.
The Dogs also watch the siblings’ antics. Vlad leans over to say something to Diak, and the others laugh. Soso tells me nearly every day that I have better things to do than stressing over dead men. As much as I love when she talks tough, I can’t stop wondering about their conspiratorial smiles. What the fuck are they saying? Are they plotting something?
No, they wouldn’t dare fuck with me on a night when top members of the Brotherhood are in Conroe. Colton is in town too. It’d be suicide.
But I hadn’t expected the move with Vigo. Then I was surprised by their sacrifice of Lex. Am I making another mistake tonight?
Leaving Soso and Keanu to their dance contest, I have no idea how they’ll declare a winner. I think Dayton is the judge. Harmony left earlier with Camden and his wife, Daisy. Her stomach rebelled from today’s food offerings, and I wonder if she’s currently puking.
Unable to settle down, I leave Butch and head to the pub’s back office. I’m such a nonthreat to the Dogs that they never glance in my direction as I walk by. Shouldn’t they be more aware of my movements if they’re planning something tonight?
In the tiny back office, I dig out a tablet hidden under the desk. Soon, I’ve pulled up the surveillance of the Dogs’ favored table. I hear the men’s words clear as day, but it’s all gibberish to me.
Calling Katya feels like a mistake. My paranoia is based on nothing. The men are behaving the way they always do—talking shit in a language we don’t understand and feeling superior for keeping us in the dark. It’s all bravado.
But what if it’s not? I remember my brother in the hospital, looking fragile like a child. I should have protected him. It’s my job, but I hadn’t dealt with the Dogs in time.
And I still haven’t.
Stupid paranoia or not, I dial Katya’s number. She answers in her heavily-accented voice.
“I’m going to play you something in Ukrainian. Tell me what they’re saying.”
Katya squeaks in agreement, clearly nervous as fuck. I let her listen to the men’s current conversation for only a minute before asking her to translate.
“I don’t want to.”
Dread fills my gut until it’s boiling over. “Why?”
“I can’t.”
“Katya, you work for me, not them. I can make your life better. They can make it worse. Why are you protecting them?”
“It’s not that. I don’t think you want to know what they say.”
Realizing she’s scared of my reaction rather than theirs; I soften my voice. “I need to know my family is safe.”
Katya is silent for what feels like an eternity but is likely only a few seconds. She exhales unsteadily.
“They talk about Soso.”
“What about her?” I ask in the calmest voice I can manage.
“They say what they want to do to her. I’m sorry.”
“What is it that they want to do?”
After a short pause, she whispers, “What they do to me.”
Katya isn’t willing to spell out their vile fantasies, which is probably best.
I thank her and promise everything will be fine. She did good. Soso said we could trust her. I hear less fear in her voice when she says goodbye.
I stare at the camera above the men, studying their relaxed, amused faces. They’re watching Soso goof around with her brother. Even surrounded by killers, they remain fearless. They think we’re stupid. Or that they’re untouchable.
Even after Lex and Vigo, they bold enough to imagine putting their hands on my woman. It’s a joke to them. All women are only meat in their eyes. This isn’t new information. I see how they leer at every woman they meet. More than once, I’ve nearly caught them giving my mother one of their nasty smirks behind her back. It’s all a joke. It’s not personal to them. Just locker room talk between men, who fuck like they breathe.
It’s not fucking personal.
I leave the office and return to where everyone enjoys the late evening. Butch and Dayton remain at the table by the door. Soso and Keanu look to be wearing themselves out, though I don’t know who is winning. The bartender talks with Roid Ron. The waitress is in the bathroom. The Dogs sit in their corner, leering at my woman.
The gun feels weightless in my hand. Both when I point it at the closest Dog and when I fire.
The first bullet ends Tolya. The other men barely have time to react. Diak suffers a shot to the face before he finishes gasping at the sight of his dead friend. Bullets tear into Pavel next and then Andrei. Finally, I fire at Vlad.
In an ideal world, he’d have more time to worry about his impending death. Fear it, fight to survive, beg even. But I don’t live in an ideal world.
I empty the gun.
I count the five dead men before lowering my weapon.
Only then do I notice how Butch and Dayton are next to me. Guns out, they’re both ready for a battle. My gaze slides over their startled expressions as they accept what’s happened. I look at Roid Ron and gesture toward the door. He gets the message and secures the pub. Keanu is on the move, past me and to the ladies’ room. He’ll make sure Embry doesn’t see anything. The bartender continues cleaning the glass in his hand. I sense he’s more interested in his next smoke break than the execution of the former owners of this pub.
“What the fuck happened?” Butch growls, still ready for a fight.
I think to explain to my brother, but then Soso approaches me. She’s wary. Does she fear me?
Dayton shoves his weapon into a back pocket and wraps an arm around his daughter. “Num-Num, let Keanu drive you home.”
“I want to stay,” she says, her gaze locked on mine.
“Things need cleaning up.”
“I’m needed here.”
“Your mom’s sick. Bubba has business to deal with.”
W
hen Dayton nods at me, I realize I need to speak. The words refuse to come out. Again, I can imagine how Butch feels.
I look to my brother staring hard at Vlad’s slumped body. “I couldn’t wait.”
Butch frowns at me and then nods. “I’ll get Jack and Jace back here to help us make these five disappear.”
Nodding, I look to Soso who stares with unreadable eyes. I need her to understand, but talking in front of everyone isn’t an option.
“Wait for me at home,” I finally say. “Please, Num-Num.”
Soso’s icy expression cracks, and she smiles at my use of her childhood nickname. I recall how Dayton claims his daughter was a noisy eater as a kid. She’s soundless now. Chewing quietly improves her chances of stealing food, no doubt.
The dread and cold rage inside me is instantly gone once I see Soso’s smile. Giving a quick glance to the dead men, I feel nothing beyond a desire to erase every bit of their existence.
THE BOHEMIAN
The only way Keanu or I can win a dance contest is for our parents to do the judging. They find our attempts so entertaining that they often requested a dance-off whenever the cable went out.
Tonight, I’m so overjoyed about life—Bubba, my new home, the chapter’s fresh start—that I’m willing to embarrass myself with Keanu. For my brother’s part, he thinks he dances well. Compared to Cap, yes, Keanu is Fred Astaire. But compared to anyone with the least bit of rhythm, he sucks as much as I do.
Our contests are never about who has the best moves. Or even who makes our parents laugh the hardest. It simply comes down to who can dance for the longest. That’s why I usually try to wear Keanu out first like by asking him to show me some karate moves. There’s no time for trickery tonight. Dad announces I should give swaying with Bubba a rest and dance with Keanu instead.
And here we go!
Keanu’s been dying for distractions since Lottie left the US. He worries she won’t come back, or will come back but won’t want him, or will come back and still want him but realize they’ve both changed, or finally will come back and will want him and they will have stayed the same, but some unknown thing will break them up. For an easygoing guy, that’s a lot of damn worrying.
Fast As You (Reapers MC: Conroe Chapter, #2) Page 18
