Chapter 5 Adrian
ADRIAN
The door splinters off its hinges with a crack that echoes through the hallway. Wood fragments scatter across the ground as my men pour through the opening, weapons raised, boots heavy against the floor.
I'm right behind them, my Glock already drawn, ready.
Loud music fills our ears as we make our way down the hallway that smells of perfume and weed.
There's cheap-looking artwork lining the halls and poorly done tile lining the ground.
One of my men moves ahead, hand raised in a fist. He signals left, then right, and we keep advancing.
Victor walks beside me, adjusting his tie. He doesn't have his weapon drawn. He never does. He doesn't need to. That's what I'm here for.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. His eyes scan the corridor with the same calculating precision he uses when he's sitting across from a prime minister or blackmailing a judge.
Another closed door ahead. The bass from the terrible fucking music vibrates through the wood.
I walk toward it. I don't slow down. I raise my boot and kick it open, the lock bursting apart as the door slams inward.
The smell hits me first. Sweat and sex. A man is naked on the couch, a woman between him on her knees, her head bobbing up and down.
The man opens his eyes, sees us, and yells. The woman stops, looks at us, and screams.
One of my men walks over to the stereo and starts kicking it, but it doesn't shut off. I aim my gun at the speakers and fire three times.
Finally, silence.
The Bulgarian smuggler doesn't move, but the woman tries to cover her chest with her hands.
"Ce dracu—" the man starts, but Victor cuts him off.
"Shut the fuck up," Victor says, his voice smooth and unbothered as he moves forward. He grabs a blanket off a nearby chair and tosses it to the woman. "Ie?i."
She nods frantically, wrapping the blanket around herself as she stumbles toward the door. Her eyes are wide, glassy, unfocused. She doesn't look at any of us. She just runs down the hall and out into the night.
The smuggler's eyes dart between me and Victor, his bravado crumbling as he realizes what's happening.
"Who the fuck are you?" he demands, shifting forward to sit on the end of the couch.
I walk forward, closing the distance between us.
His eyes widen.
"Stai! Wait," he says. "Please what do you want. I have whores for you.”
I grab him by the throat with my left hand, my fingers digging into the soft flesh under his jaw, and slam him back against the couch. His head bounces off the cushion.
"Who—"
I hit him with the butt of my pistol.
The metal cracks against his jaw as I'm sure I shatter some of his teeth. Blood sprays across the couch and he screams.
He tries to curl up, to protect himself, but I smack his hands away.
"You talk when I tell you to talk," I say, my voice firm.
He nods, blood pouring from his mouth, dripping down his chin and onto his bare chest.
Victor moves around the room, looking over everything.
"We need information," Victor says. "Locations."
The man looks away, and I grab his fucking hair and yank it so hard he has no choice but to look at me.
"Where do you take the girls you steal?" I ask.
He sputters, choking on his own blood. "I... I don't—"
I slam his head against the armrest.
"Where do you take the women?"
"Okay! Okay!" he says, his hands flailing uselessly. "I'll tell you!"
I let go, and he collapses back against the couch. He wipes his mouth and looks at the blood smeared across the back of his hand.
"Talk," I say.
He coughs, spitting some blood and a broken tooth onto the floor.
"We start in small towns."
"No. Valuable girls," I say, raising my hand to hit him. "High prices."
"There's... there's a chateau. In the Swiss Alps. That's where they take the high-end girls. The ones worth," he stops to swallow, "worth more than usual."
My chest tightens, but I keep my expression blank.
"Who runs it?"
"I don't know," the man says.
I punch him.
"Shit. Fuck," he says and grabs his nose. "I am serious. I just know they use it for auctions, and that's where we send them."
"Do the Volkovs use this place?" I ask.
The man thinks for a moment, then nods. "Yes, the Volkovs are dangerous. You don't want to cross them. Someone from that family is always around there."
I breathe deeply, trying not to break. I pull out my phone, scrolling to the photo I've stared at for days, and I shove the phone in his face.
"Her," I say. "Do you know her?"
He squints at the screen and blood drips onto his legs.
"I... I don't know her," he stammers. "I've never seen her before. I swear."
"Fifty million was her price," I say, lowering my phone and putting it back into my pocket. "That's what your Bulgarian friends in LA said."
He shakes his head and wipes his eyes, looks around the room, then back at me. "I swear I've never seen her, but if someone paid that much, fifty million, you said, then yeah. She was probably brought to the chateau."
Victor steps forward. "Where exactly is this chateau?"
The smuggler looks up at him. "It's near Verbier. In the mountains. It has a small local airport they all use. But you're not—"
"What's the address?" I snap.
He looks at me and laughs. "I don't have an exact address! It's not like that! These places don't show up on Google Maps, man. You need connections, invitations. Fucking clearance of some kind."
I grab his throat again and squeeze. A sudden sideward urge to pop his fucking head off almost overtakes me as his hands claw at mine.
"Give me something," I say through gritted teeth.
"There's... there's..." he says, but I don't let go.
Victor taps my arm and I release the man.
"There's an auction happening there next week. They are doing it during some ambassador summit or some shit. I don't know, but that's when we'll move the girls. That's when they—"
"Ambassador summit?" Victor asks.
The Bulgarian nods frantically. "Yeah. They do that sometimes when they have an influx of buyers coming. Bring in diplomats, politicians, rich fucks from all over Europe. Host an event. No one questions it because it looks legitimate. But underneath, it's... it's the marketplace."
Victor leans down and stares at the man. "How fortified is it?"
The smuggler smirks. "Fortified? I told you, you don't get it.
It's a fucking fortress, man. Guards. Security checkpoints.
Diplomatic immunity for half the guests.
Unless you've got high-level political clearance or you're connected to someone on the inside, you're not getting within a mile of the gates.
" He stops and spits more blood out. "Shit, you won't even be able to land at the airport there. "
Victor straightens up and nods, then looks at me and pulls out his phone. "I'm on it."
The Bulgarian sees the shift in my expression and starts babbling. "Look, I gave you everything. You got what you wanted. I don't know that girl. We're done, right? Right?"
I don't say anything, and the man starts to breathe heavily.
"Please," he says. "I told you everything. You got what you came for. We're square, yeah? It's just business. Money, you know."
I tilt my head, studying him.
His eyes are wild, darting between me, my men, and the door, as if he thinks he can make it.
"Maybe you did give me everything," I say.
He exhales, relief washing over his face.
"But if you live," I continue, "how many more girls will you take?"
His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
I shrug and pull out my gun.
"I don't know," I say and run the barrel against my temple like I'm scratching an itch, "but I know exactly how many you'll take if I pull this trigger."
"No, wait."
BANG.
The shot echoes through the room as his head snaps back. Blood sprays across the couch, the wall, the floor.
He slumps sideways, his body twitching as bright red flows from the hole in his forehead.
I holster my gun and turn toward the door.
Victor is waiting in the hallway, his phone pressed to his ear. He glances at me as I step out, his expression unreadable.
"S-a terminat?" he asks.
I nod. "He's dead."
We start walking back down the hall.
"I've got someone working on the clearance," he says. "We'll need diplomatic cover. Fake credentials. Maybe an invitation to the summit. It's going to take some time, but I can make it happen."
"Before the auction next week?"
He nods. "I won't rest until we're there."
I follow him down the hallway, stepping over the broken door and out into the cold night air.
The car is waiting, the engine idling. I slide into the backseat, and Victor gets in on the other side.
The driver pulls away from the curb, and the building disappears behind us, our men in the SUVs following closely behind.
I stare out the window, my hands resting on my knees.
If the Volkov’s do use this place, then whoever I meet there will know about Elena, and I can use them as leverage to get her back.
No matter what it takes.