Chapter 25
Priest
After Riordan’s initial visit to the compound, I started researching the entire Petrov bratva. If Indi was related to them somehow, I needed more information about their family than the basic information we had on the major players active in our territory. Mikhail’s father, Aleksandr, the first Petrov don within the international Russian syndicate, achieved the top position in the US bratva about five years after emigrating from Russia. He was the Pakhan of pakhans in the states and answered only to Moscow. There was a bit of drama when Mikhail took the reins after Aleksandr’s death, as Riordan had explained, but other than that, the Petrovs have retained complete control of Russian organized crime in America since they were established. An impressive feat given the ruthless reputation the Russian syndicate was known for.
It was only a few hours ago that Riordan prick called to tell Indi that she was Tatiana’s long-lost daughter. After Bones and I had left her with Lennon, I’d headed straight to my office. I could only find out so much about the Petrovs on my own, and now that we knew they were related to Indigo, it was time to break out the big guns. I knew my contact with the Reno PD wouldn’t be able to uncover the depth of information that I was looking for. I ran my hand down my face, trying to wipe away my exhaustion before I picked up my phone and logged into an encrypted app. I only used this app to contact one person who had installed it on my phone the last time we’d seen each other in person in a safe house outside of Boulder, Colorado.
The phone rang several times before it connected, and a familiar face filled my screen. “This better be important, Priest. I’m on episode three of Tiger King on Netflix, and I’m not going to lie, it’s looking like Carol Baskin for sure fed her husband to a tiger. What do you want?”
“Jesus, Clover, that documentary came out years ago, and you’re just now watching it?” Hazel eyes with molten gold rings around the pupils narrowed as Clover pursed her lips, scowling at me. To be fair, Clover usually scowled at me, so I was used to it.
“The date the documentary premiered has no bearing on whether or not you’re interrupting my ‘me time,’ dick. You only call when you want something, so spit it out.” Clover’s bitchy attitude didn’t rile me at all because it was just how she was. With her dark brown pixie hairstyle and septum piercing, she looked like a punk rock fairy. You’d think someone with a name like Clover would be a sweet, suburban sorority girl and not a snarky, reclusive hacker…and you’d be wrong. So, so wrong.
We met a few years ago when Los Cuervos raided a facility we believed held trafficking victims. Men were loading women and children into a tractor trailer when we arrived on the scene and slaughtered the piss-poor excuses for human beings who thought they could sell people. The traffickers must have suspected someone was coming for them because they had been in the process of clearing out when we rolled up. I’d never forget the bodies in cages lining the walls or the terrified whimpers coming from the people already loaded into the trucks. When the ringing from the gunshots cleared and we began gathering the victims together, that was when I found Clover.
She was huddled in the corner of a cage, chained by her wrist to the cold iron bars. I approached her slowly, hands out and words gentle like I was soothing a skittish horse. Trafficking victims were subjected to trauma of all varieties, and we always did our best to avoid adding to that trauma. A gentle, calm, and decisive guiding hand was what was needed now to show the people here that they were safe with us. This girl didn’t cower in her cage like the majority of the people currently in her position, even though she was visibly shaking in fear. I did my best to look kind and kept my hands visible. Eyes nervously tracking my movement, she pressed her parched lips together so tightly they were turning white.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’re here to help; no one else will hurt you. I’m going to touch your wrist now. Let’s get that shackle off you so we can leave.” She extended a shaky arm my way, and I worked to remove her binds. While I worked, I took in her appearance. She had shoulder-length chocolatey-brown hair that hung lank around her face. Hazel eyes, red-rimmed from crying and dimmed after witnessing the horror one human being is capable of inflicting on another. She was probably only a few years older than Ellis.
Gently, I introduced myself. “My name’s Priest, and my brothers and I help people like you. No one will touch you without your permission. I need you to know that. We’ll take all of you to a safe house where you can get cleaned up and rest. We have a doctor on call if you need one. If you have a family, we can help you contact them. If you don’t, we will help get you set up somewhere new.” I got her free of her chain and gently helped her out of the cage.
The room was filled with similar murmured conversations and soft sobbing as the woman before me found her bearings. “Why are you helping us?” she asked, suspicion clouding her expression.
I shrugged. “It’s what we do.”
“In my experience, no one goes out of their way to help unless they get something out of it.” She was jaded, but given her current circumstances, it wasn’t like I could blame her.
“Not everything has to be transactional. We helped you all because we could, because it’s right, and because we couldn’t stand not to. So, this rescue is on the house.”
Some, but not all, of the suspicion faded from her hazel eyes. “Well, Priest, if that’s the case, then I’ll offer my professional advice pro bono. Don’t leave until you find the security room. Yesterday, there were some men here who seemed like they were in charge. They were angry, yelling, and they ended up shooting one of the men who’d ‘unnecessarily damaged the product.’” She scoffed, and rage filled her eyes. “Fucker got what was coming to him, but the fact they knew details about what he’d done to one of the girls in the cages means they have cameras in here. If those cameras aren’t on a closed system, they may have video of you. You better hope they’re not live streaming.”
I was surprised that she’d been coherent enough in her shock and terror at being treated like human chattel to notice anything about their security setup but tried not to let it show on my face. “We have a guy who’s good with computers. We’ll have him investigate it.” I went to guide her to the vans we had on standby to transport victims, but she dug her heels in. “Modesty isn’t something I’ve ever been afflicted with, so I’ll tell it to you straight. I’m better than your guy.” She made finger quotes around the word “guy” like he was some rando from the Geek Squad. “Take me with you to the security room, and I’ll be able to get you details on this operation and where their security footage is stored. I can find anything online with enough time.” She widened her eyes in emphasis. “Anything.”
I looked her over where she stood, battered and bruised and undoubtedly traumatized. She was doing her best not to shake, and I got the sense that she needed to do this, to help in her rescue and reclaim some of her power in her situation. I pulled my phone out and texted Cricket, letting him know he needed to find their security room and that we’d have company when he did.
“Alright, but you already said this consultation is pro bono. I better not get a damn bill in the mail.”
She snorted a laugh and then looked shocked, like she’d never thought she’d be capable of laughter again after everything she’d been through.
“Clover. My name, that is. It’s Clover,” she said.
I smiled widely. “Nice to meet you, Clover. Let’s see what you can do.”
I softly shook my head to dislodge the memory of the girl I found locked in a cage and focused on the woman whose face filled the screen of my phone. Clover had been one of the victims who didn’t have a family to go back to, so she had opted to relocate to a safe house permanently. Usually, our safe houses were strictly temporary, so trafficking victims could take a few days to regroup and decide what to do next. Clover insisted she didn’t have anyone to look for her and that she wanted to start over from scratch and build a whole new life. We agreed to let Clover be a permanent resident in a safe house of ours in exchange for the use of her hacking skills as the need arose. She became a bit of a recluse but seemed content with her life, so we left her be. We didn’t call her unless it was important, and it said a lot that I was willing to interrupt her “me time” for Indigo.
“Sorry, Clover, got a lot of shit on my mind. I won’t keep you from your show much longer, but I need you to look into something for me. I need as much information on the Petrov family as you can find.”
Clover scrunched up her nose like she suddenly smelled something rancid. “What are you messing around with the fucking bratva for?”
“It’s a long story, but there’s this girl…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Clover rolled her eyes. “You find some mafia chick to stick your dick in, and this becomes work for me somehow? I’m gonna send you a personalized bill for this job, dillweed, this isn’t official Crow business.”
“Jesus Christ, Clover, get your mind out of the gutter.” A gutter my mind just so happened to slip into more often than I’d like to admit when it came to the sexy psycho living in my clubhouse. But that’s beside the point… “There’s a girl we came across that escaped a really bad situation. She…performed a service for the club, and we were in her debt, so we’ve been doing what we can to help her start a new life in repayment for the debt.” I’m leaving a hell of a lot out, I know, but Clover doesn’t need the nitty-gritty to pull up the information I require.
“Long story short, I need as much information on the Petrov family as you can get. Members and their rankings, personal details, financials, business dealings, real estate, everything. Give Mikhail, Cara Callahan Petrov, and Riordan extra-special attention.”
Clover rolled her eyes. “Ah, so a CIA-level dossier on the Petrov bratva as well as a detailed report on the three most influential members of the family. ”
I rolled my eyes in response to her bratty tone. “Please and thank you.”
“Sure. I’ll get right on that, boss.”
“Good, bec—”
“Right after I find out what allegedly happened to Carole Baskin’s husband.” I glared daggers at Clover’s snickering face. “Oh, come on, that was blatant sarcasm. Like you’d ever be qualified enough in anything to be my boss.”
I growled under my breath in frustration. “Clover! Please, it’s important.”
“Alright, alright… calm your tits, Priest. I’ll get your intel.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it. The sooner you can get it, the better.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get it. Have I ever failed you before?”
I shook my head. She was the absolute best hacker I’d ever come across, and I knew if she said she’d do something, she did it. “You’ll get it when you get it. Now, smooches. Tigers await.” The call disconnected, and I was left staring at my reflection in the glass of my now-dark phone screen.
Clover enjoyed being a royal pain in the ass, but she had a heart of gold, and if she knew the intel needed was to help someone who’d seen the kinds of things she’d witnessed, she’d get it as soon as possible. I just hoped that whatever we found could help Indigo in some way, help her decide if she wanted to let them into her life. I’d never experienced life without family and friends surrounding me, so I could only imagine how seductive the promise of a family would be to Indi. She deserved to have it if she wanted it. I just wanted to make sure it was in her best interests.
Fuck. When did I start giving a shit about Indigo’s best interests? We had a mere few days before we left for the Alvarez job and instead of making sure everyone was prepared and ready to go, I was in my office obsessing over a girl. Granted, she wasn’t just any girl. She was Indi, and she was a unique and special kind of crazy that was charming and terrifying all at the same time.
For the first time since watching the 2020 documentary that Clover was finally getting around to binge-watching, I started to understand why people would get obsessed with the idea of living with big cats. Big cats like tigers, lions, and panthers were power incarnate. They could purr and roll onto their bellies for pets…or they could maul your fucking face off. Living in proximity to exotic and deadly animals like that gives you a seductive thrill. Every day you’re flirting with death, but in a moment, things could change and that very same predator will do something cute like play with a laser pointer or bell toy. Its adorableness didn’t ever negate its lethality.
Indigo sort of reminded me of a big cat. She held a wildness in her. It was that inherent danger that set off alarms for me when we first encountered her. Well…some of it was due to my personal baggage, but it didn’t take me long to understand how dangerous she could be. Watching my fallen angel grin while she beat the ever-loving shit out of Pyro clued me in on that one. Not to mention how she took being tied up and tortured in the confessional like it was just another boring Tuesday.
However, she also held manic charm and powerful magnetism that I was only now even beginning to understand. I wanted to get closer to her…but I also didn’t want to get my arm ripped off. Since the night of my branding, I’d been trying to come to terms with how I felt about Indigo and why. Introspection wasn’t exactly one of my strong suits, but I was fucking trying. I knew that Indigo was dangerous, but I couldn’t help wanting to get close enough to touch.
Indigo
When I first escaped the basement, my entire focus was on survival and remaining hidden. Eventually, I was able to leave the constant “fight or flight” phase of my escape, and I found myself extremely traumatized with nowhere to go. I’d tried women’s shelters but found them to be overwhelming, and I didn’t know how to answer the questions they asked me. Surviving in crowded spaces was a difficulty I didn’t consider before my escape. I woke up screaming from nightmares more often than not, which upset the other women and children sleeping on the cots and bunk beds near me. I mean, to be fair, I was grumpy about waking up screaming too. It wasn’t like I was trying to be the world’s most hysterical alarm clock. I wished I could just live in a private trash can like Oscar the Grouch, then no one would care if I screamed at night or talked to myself or had a worm as a best friend.
It wasn’t until I found my way to Chicago that things started looking up for me. I thought it was funny that I loved living in Chicago so much when I had spent the least amount of time out and about in the city than I had in any other place I’d visited. Before I found Los Cuervos, I typically lived on the streets and dodged in and out of shelters when I needed to. In Chicago, I only spent a few hours a day outside, at most. This was due to the Harold Washington Public Library: the largest public library in the world, and the best place to squat in the city. I went full-on Belle minus the Stockholm syndrome and bestiality up in that library.
One day shortly after I got to town, when I was in the library to warm up, I noticed a loose duct cover on a wall near a women’s restroom. It was one of those big, square air return ducts that sneak thieves like to crawl into in movies. I had barely tugged on it at all for about twenty minutes when the duct cover just so happened to fall off, revealing a space perfectly suited for hiding. And the amenities! Not only would I be warm with a private sleeping area, but I’d also be near a bathroom! After having to hunt for privacy to relieve myself for weeks on end, I’d never take a toilet for granted again, that’s for damn sure. Briefly, I wondered if Oscar’s trash can had a toilet in it?
Hmm… anyway. I lived, hidden within the library for weeks having the best time of my life. I read as many books as I could and used the library computers during the day to learn about PTSD and living with trauma. I wasn’t a real shrink, but I had figured out a few things to help myself cope with the snarly dark thoughts in my head. I’d learned to compartmentalize like a pro all by myself, after all.
A nice assistant librarian helped me learn how to use a computer while I was there. I thanked her by leaving little origami surprises on her desk that I made in the Maker Lab on the third floor after they had a free class on paper folding. Also, when Craig the Digital Librarian called Maura (the nice assistant librarian) a pathetic fat ass after she declined his offer for a date, I took it upon myself to defend Maura’s honor. After hours I wrote Craig the DICKital Librarian on his office door in big, bold letters with different colored Sharpies. I felt like the pop of color really highlighted Craig’s dickishness. Watching Craig turn beet red and scramble to get the custodian to scrub his Technicolored shame off his door was absolutely sublime. 10/10, definitely recommend.
Once Maura taught me how to use the internet, the world was my oyster. I absorbed as much information as possible after living in the knowledge desert of Uncle Roark’s basement. If it wasn’t about death, destruction, or suffering, Uncle Roark wasn’t interested in teaching it. One of the things I’d had to force myself to learn about was s-e-x . I still didn’t understand why sex was such an important part of most people’s lives, but I did know the mechanics of how it was supposed to work.
However, the nuance of the act eluded me. Honestly, after all the pain and fear I’d experienced surrounding sex, I assumed I was just broken, and sex would never be a significant part of my life. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to understand it, though. Why it was something that people would die for, kill for, write poems about, and sing songs about how great it is at a particular time of day, even? Questions like these prompted me to go to my friends for answers.
“Who was that girl all over you tonight, Cricket?” I asked nonchalantly as I steered Sheila onto the highway. Cricket, Lennon, and I left Crow’s Landing after our shift ended. Lennon caught a ride with us, having indulged in one too many tequila sunrises after her cosmetology classes today, leaving her car safely in the lot.
“Some women don’t take rejection well, love. Nikki and I hooked up a while back, and she was looking for a repeat. I wasn’t.” He shrugged and leaned between the front seats to prop his chin on the passenger seat where Lennon sat scrolling on her phone.
“Why didn’t you take her up on her offer, Cricket? I don’t remember you being particularly picky. It’s not like you to turn down a good time,” Lennon snarked.
Cricket flicked Lennon’s earlobe. “I’ll have you know I’m a connoisseur. You can’t judge fine wine if you haven’t sampled a variety. Why should women be any different? ”
“Ew, while I may support the sentiment in theory that was such a douchey analogy.”
Cricket grinned and wagged his eyebrows at Lennon who was giving Cricket her “ick” face.
“Why didn’t you want a repeat, though?” I asked. I flicked on Sheila’s blinker and turned out of Sagebrush and toward home. “Did she do it wrong or was she bad at it?” I suddenly felt kind of irritated on this Nikki girl's behalf. Maybe she just wasn’t as experienced as Cricket was used to. If she was bad at it, maybe he should have taken the time to teach her how to do it better! Men!
“She wasn’t bad per se, it was more like…artistic differences caused it to be less of a success for me. Nikki is lovely, I’m sure, just not someone I’d like to shag again.” I deflated a bit. If someone normal like Nikki couldn’t get sex right, what chance did I have?
“Artistic differences?” Lennon snorted. She was full-on giggling at Cricket now.
“I was trying to be a gentleman! ‘Artistic differences’ is a vague term that covers a range of issues such as inability to hold a position, appropriate vocal decibel levels, quality of dirty talk, and willingness to do anal. Obviously.” Cricket shrugged like these were all common things to critique so I made mental notes that I’d need to transcribe into a notebook or something later.
Lennon turned in her seat. “Now it’s getting good, give me the hot goz. I can’t stand Nikki, she’s in two of my classes and the bitch gets on my last nerve.”
“She nearly blew my eardrum out with her screaming. I don’t mind kink, but permanent hearing loss doesn’t do it for me. The other issues, well… I’m a gentleman, so I feel honor bound not to kiss and tell.”
Lennon huffed in annoyance, I guess the goz wasn’t as steaming hot as she had hoped. I was concerned for Nikki for a different reason now, though.
“Cricket, why was she screaming? Did you hurt her?” I prayed to Bob he’d say no . I’d have to reconsider my relationship with him if he replied in any other way than a completely honest and emphatic no .
Lennon giggled even more, and Cricket smiled, smugly. When he noticed my concerned expression in the rearview mirror, the smug look on Cricket’s face dimmed a bit.
“No, love. Trust me, her screams were of the ecstatic variety. I gave Nikki many, many O’s, and she wobbled home on baby deer legs completely unharmed.” I didn’t understand a word of Cricket’s explanation and turned to my bestie, hoping she could clarify.
Lennon blushed a bit. “He’s saying she screamed because she orgasmed. It was a good scream, Indi.” Now I was really confused.
“Wait… women can orgasm?” A choked sound came from behind me, and the next thing I knew, Cricket’s face was thrust between the gap in the front captain seats.
“Excuse me? Indigo Bernice Evans, are you implying that you have never had an orgasm?” Now Lennon and I were both blushing, her face a pretty scarlet, while I was sure mine resembled a neon-red supernova at this point. Lennon threw her elbow back, catching Cricket in the forehead and knocking him back into his seat.
“Thanks, bestie,” I mumbled.
The last few minutes of our commute were spent in awkward silence. I parked Sheila and turned to face Cricket. “I’m…” I took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “I’m not a virgin, and I’m not completely ignorant. I know the basics about how sex works.” I chewed on my bottom lip, embarrassed but feeling compelled to finally understand what I hadn’t seemed to be able to grasp on my own. “I’ve never had consensual sex.” Cricket’s eyebrows drew down, and a savage look flitted across his eyes, but he didn’t interrupt my labored explanation. “I’ve never been able to understand why sex is such an important thing… why people enjoy it. Well, I mean I guess I could tell men enjoyed it. But for me…maybe I’m just broken or something. I’ve never liked it. It never felt comfortable, let alone good enough to give me happy screams.” I looked down at my lap, embarrassed to be admitting such a thing out loud.
Lennon’s hand crept into my field of vision as she took my hand in hers. Her voice came out tight, like she was having feelings. “You’ve never had sex, Indi. You’ve been raped. There’s a difference. ”
Cricket’s large hand enveloped my free one. “Lennon’s right. When a partner takes the time and effort to make it good for you, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Just know that no one here would ever force you.”
Trying to salvage the good mood we’d left Sagebrush with, Lennon let go of my hand and reapplied her lipstick in the tiny mirror in Sheila’s visor. “Until you’re ready to experiment with a real-life dick, we can get you one of the battery-operated varieties.” She snapped the visor shut and gave me a wink.
“Aannnddd that’s my cue to bugger off. I’ve had enough bloody girl talk for one day.” Cricket beat a hasty retreat from Sheila and grumbled under his breath about “hens clucking,” which made no sense to me because Crows don’t cluck, they caw. Right?
I made to leave as well, but Lennon’s hand on my arm caused me to pause. Lennon’s blush was back in full force. “Seriously, though. There’s nothing wrong with exploring what you like and what works for you by yourself before you try involving another person. I don’t have a lot of experience with men, but I do know my way around the Personal Pleasure catalog if you know what I mean. If you need any recommendations, I’m your girl.”
“Oh, so you and Bones have never…?” I quirked my eyebrow up in question.
Lennon’s face turned a violent shade of magenta and she spluttered, “WH-WHAT? Me and BONES?” She nervously shifted in her seat. “No, definitely not. He’s… I mean, I had a huge crush on him when I was a kid, but he’s never seen me that way.” She slid out of the passenger door, and I scrambled out of my seat to walk with her into the clubhouse.
“Sorry if I was off base. It just seems like there’s tension between the two of you sometimes.” We walked into the clubhouse and turned to see Cricket at a booth with Priest and Bones. Bones hit us with a smoldering look that I assumed was mostly directed at Lennon, and I could only guess that Cricket was airing his grievances at being included in “girl talk.” Lennon let out a shrill wolf whistle, catching the attention of everyone in the clubhouse. “Hey, Cricket, snitches get stitches.” Lennon mimed slitting her throat, and my rascally conscience gave her a cheeky wink .
Priest and Bones didn’t join in the chuckles that spread throughout the club at Lennon’s antics, though. No, not at all. Lennon flipped her hair over her shoulder and strode through the saloon doors and deeper into the clubhouse, hips swaying. Bones immediately left the booth and stalked after her. Cricket was still talking Priest’s ear off, but Priest’s gaze was locked onto me. Why, I wasn’t quite sure, but his attention made me feel squirmy and hot. I turned on my heel but made sure to walk casually so it didn’t look like I was running away to my room. Even though I kind of was. I didn’t look back to see if Priest’s icy-blue eyes followed my escape, but I could feel them on me all the same.