Sergei (9 page)

Movement in the corner of the room caught Sergei's eye. He spotted Besian, the recently promoted head of the local Albanian outfit, leaning against the wall and looking murderous. Glancing back at the women, Sergei tried to figure out what the hell was happening here. He couldn't make the connection between Kostya's piece of action in Sugar's, the two strippers and the two bosses until Nikolai addressed one of the women in Russian, telling her that he was going to take care of everything. It occurred to him that the woman was one of them, part of their tight-knit community of immigrants and ex-pats. Whatever terrible thing had happened to her, Nikolai had taken it as a personal affront.

Rising tall, the boss glanced at him. The briefest hint of sadness flashed across the other man's face. Was he thinking of how nice and easy it was last night at Ivan's wedding and how messy things were probably going to turn? Did Nikolai feel some guilt at whatever he was going to ask of Sergei?

Besian stepped forward, laid a gentle hand on the other woman's shoulder and spoke to her in Albanian. The sound of ice rattling against plastic caught Sergei's attention. He leaned back for a better view of the hall and discovered the scrawny kid bringing a bucket of ice from the bar and a handful of plastic bags and towels.

With the women occupied nursing their injuries, Nikolai gestured to the hallway. Sergei fell into step behind the two bosses who followed Kostya to an office. When Besian dropped into the chair behind the desk and looked instantly comfortable, Sergei realized the Albanian owned part of the club. It wasn't the first time Kostya had crossed party lines to make a business deal, and Nikolai obviously didn't mind. Still, Sergei doubted their boss would have let anyone else in their crew get away with so bold a move.

Closing the door, Sergei took up a sentry's position inside the office, automatically putting his body between Nikolai and any danger that might come through the portal. After settling into a chair across from the desk, the boss rubbed his face between his tattooed hands and exhaled roughly. He'd seemed tenser lately and short-tempered. Sergei hadn't asked what was bothering Nikolai because questions like that were none of his business, but that didn't stop him from worrying about the man who had saved his life not so long ago.

"Last night, those women were picked up a by a couple of guys who turned out to be recruits for
nochniye volki
." Nikolai said the words with a disgusted sneer.

Night Wolves. It was the name of the local skinhead gang. They weren't major players in the Houston underworld, especially not after backing Grisha in his failed coup against Nikolai. Most of their gang had been rounded up on charges of murder and human trafficking. The men who had avoided the legal entanglements seemed to be on a recruiting drive for racist assholes, something that Houston sadly seemed to have in abundance these days.

"Apparently, the girls thought they were working a private bachelor party, but as you can see, it turned out to be anything but that. Those two got away and hid at a friend's house until this afternoon. There was another one who wasn't so lucky." Nikolai shook his head as he continued the gruesome tale. "This morning, they found her body behind Besian's social club."

Sergei inwardly winced but didn't allow a single change to his cool, collected façade. His gut roiled. What had those two women in the other room survived? What about the one who hadn't been able to get away? What had she endured? No doubt those racist bastards had been exceedingly cruel.

The boss spun his wedding ring around his finger. Was Nikolai thinking of the horrific ordeal Vivian had survived when she had been kidnapped and prepared for trafficking? Or was he thinking about the young girls—most of them underage—who had been held captive with Vivian and later rescued from the clutches of the Night Wolves gang that was selling them?

"I've got the police so far up my ass I can taste donuts." Frustration filled Besian's voice. "They know the woman worked here so they're convinced I had her taken out. It's so stupid. Shawntelle was one of my best earners! Why would I hurt her?"

Nikolai's irritated gaze slid to Kostya. "This is exactly why I keep us out of this line of work." He gestured around the office. "You sit here in this nice room and rake in all the money while other people have to degrade themselves." He let that cold, terrifying stare of his land on the two business partners. "I hope the thousand dollars they paid you upfront for that bachelor party was worth it."

Kostya visibly flinched but didn't utter a word in his defense. Even Besian squirmed a bit uncomfortably. Thinking about the women in the other room, Sergei decided to break the silence. "What are we going to do about the girls?"

Nikolai glanced at him. "Danny is on his way. Take them to see the doctor. I would have preferred for them to go the official route, through the emergency room and the police, but they're refusing so this is the best we can do for them."

Sergei didn't like the idea of covering this up, but the women couldn't be forced. They likely thought they would be safer relying on street justice for protection than the police or district attorney. Sergei wished their instincts were wrong—but he conceded they were probably right. Knowing what they had been through, he would be extra gentle with them. "I'll take care of them."

"I know you will." Clearly, Nikolai had handpicked him out of every man at his disposal for a reason. This was a task that required some sensitivity. "When they've been treated, take them to the apartment complex we just renovated. They had their wallets stolen so they're afraid trouble will follow them home. The manager is expecting them at the complex, and Danny will handle whatever moving arrangements need to be made."

Sergei had a feeling both women would both be given better jobs to go with their new homes, probably at Besian's expense. Not that new jobs and more money made up for the beatings they had taken. "And when I'm done with them?"

Nikolai's shoulders lifted in a careless, easy shrug. "Go home. It's your day off."

The direction surprised Sergei. He'd come here expecting to put his skills to use and now the boss was assigning him glorified babysitting duties. "Aren't we going after them?"

Nikolai's brow lifted with some surprise at his question. "On my terms, yes."

His statement put an end to the discussion. A heartbeat later, a knock sounded at the door. Danny's voice carried through the wood, and Sergei was dismissed to handle the tasks he had been assigned. Getting the women medical treatment and taking them to the apartment complex took up the next two hours.

While Danny got them situated in their new housing, Sergei drove to the nearest big-box store and picked up some basics. Pushing the cart down each aisle, he couldn't shake thoughts of Bianca. In his mind, the images of those bruised women melded with her sweet face. His stomach churned at the very idea of her being touched by such violence. He had never killed a man—but he wouldn't even blink at the idea of doing something so brutal in defense of Bianca.

Back at the complex, he separated the groceries, toiletries and household items and carted them to the apartments the women had been given. He spotted a handful of Besian's men loitering in the parking lot and deduced they had taken on the task of guarding the women.

Nikolai's remark about settling this on his own terms circled round and round in Sergei's head. Was he thinking of inviting Darren Blake, the leader of the Night Wolves, to a sit-down? When the Hermanos, a Latin street gang, and the Albanians had been at each other's throats earlier in the year, Nikolai had brokered a peace by offering them some of the illegal action he'd wanted to shed in lieu of safer earning avenues. It had been an elegant solution that had yielded surprising results, especially when Grisha had pulled his shit and murdered anyone who got in his way of usurping Nikolai's position. Both outfits had stood side-by-side with Nikolai and provided a tremendous amount of help.

Sergei suspected the two bosses wanted to find a way to avoid an all-out war with the skinheads. Bloodshed and violence weren't good for business, and nowadays Nikolai and Besian were businessmen first. Whether the skinheads were smart enough to take a deal remained to be seen. They were new enough on the block that they might think showing their strength was an easy way to build their reputation as men who shouldn't be crossed.

And they couldn't be more wrong.

"How much do I owe you for this?" The woman called Katya poked through the bags he had placed on the small dining table that came with the sparsely furnished unit.

"Nothing."

She shot a dubious look his way and hugged her oversized shirt tighter to her body. He didn't miss the way she raked her appraising gaze up and down his body and took the smallest step backward. The realization that something about him—his size, his demeanor or simply his connections with the underworld—frightened her left him feeling hollow and pained. It was a stark reminder of the reasons Bianca wanted to keep him at arm's length and how many obstacles he still had to surmount to convince the woman he wanted to let him stay in her life.

With a tired, resigned voice, she said, "I can't pay you back today. It…it wouldn’t be any good for you. Come back later this week, and I'll make it worth your while."

Aghast that she thought he wanted to trade sex for food and shelter, Sergei slashed his hand through the air. "
No.
When I said nothing, I meant
nothing
. You don't have to trade favors for anything that you've been given today. Do you understand? If any man bothers you, come to see me or the boss. They won't bother you again. This is all free. No strings."

She seemed skeptical but nodded. "All right."

Glad to have that out of the way, he bid her farewell and left the apartment. Hard and brutal as he was, Sergei's skin still crawled at the idea of forcing some woman to blow him for the promise of protection. His stomach clenched as he considered the way he had maneuvered his way into Bianca's bed last night. He had definitely overstepped the line when he'd come out of her bedroom in a towel and when he had cajoled her into letting him have one kiss.

But he hadn't forced Bianca. He had flirted outrageously and won his chance fair and square. This morning, she had come to him of her own accord, hugging him and kissing him and enjoying their sensual play together. She was an incredibly strong woman and wouldn't have allowed him to take any liberties with her. Over the last five months, she had proven that she had no qualms about shutting him down.

Sergei noticed Nikolai's car rolling into the parking lot. Sure his boss would want a word, he leaned back against the door of his SUV and waited. Kostya climbed out of the driver's seat of the outrageously expensive sports car but headed straight for the apartments instead of making the detour to Sergei's vehicle with Nikolai.

"You got them situated?" His lucky lighter clamped in his hand, Nikolai fiddled with the souvenir he had carried since his teenage years. As far as Sergei knew, the boss hadn't had a smoke since January, but an unopened pack of cigarettes still sat in his desk at Samovar. No matter how strong the urge must have been to light up and give in to a lifelong addiction, Nikolai seemed to be beating it.

"I did. The doctor patched them up but they didn't have any serious injuries. It's all bruises."

His boss hesitated before asking, "Were they
hurt
?"

Sergei understood he meant raped and shook his head. "No. They seem to have escaped the worst of it."

"A small mercy, I suppose." Nikolai tucked his lighter back into his pocket. "Are you going to ask me or not?"

Sergei considered the invitation. "What are we doing? Why aren't we going after them right now?"

"We're waiting for the perfect opening. This isn't the right time to rise to provocation."

"Because they're only strippers?"

Nikolai's eyes narrowed to slits, and Sergei realized he had overstepped. "Last night, it was two dancers. Tomorrow, it might be one of our wives…or a girlfriend," he added pointedly. "These men aren't playing by the rules."

"I understand."

Nikolai tilted his head. "Do you know why I didn't send you to beat the shit out of those skinheads today?"

Sergei took a moment to study all the angles. Finally, he said, "Because I'm fighting in less than three weeks and I could hurt my hands."

"That's part of it," the boss agreed. "Before he left on his honeymoon, Ivan made me promise I would keep you out of trouble before this tournament. He worries about you because he knows what it's like to be inside that cage. I need you healthy if we're going to win."

His mouth slanted with amusement at the way Nikolai said
we
. The last time Sergei had checked, he was the only one taking hit after hit and kick after kick inside that cage. Sure, the money he earned was nice, and Nikolai made sure to pay him a fat bonus after every match, but the punishment his body had taken over the years was beginning to show its toll.

After studying the way Ivan and Alexei Sarnov, another notorious underground fighter, had used their skills and winnings to escape the clutch of the mob, Sergei had made his own exit plans. It wouldn’t be easy and it would probably cost him some friendships he held very dear, but he couldn't do this forever. He had to get out before he ended up in prison—or dead.