Chapter 17 – BODHI #2
That’s why the police haven’t moved against him, even if they do know about the underground boxing and gambling, and potential step up into sex-trafficking.
“We don’t know.” The second prisoner speaks now, his voice hoarse. “Just a name. Mr. Black.”
Mr. Black. I file that away.
“The barmaid. Is she safe?” I’m going to have to give Kozlov something. I need a name, or a place, something concrete to convince him this problem has gone away.
They exchange a glance.
“She’s already in protection,” the first one says. “The moment we went dark, our handler pulled her out. She’s gone.”
Thank fuck. Because if Kozlov got his hands on her, she’d be a dead woman.
“Name.”
A pause.
“Natasha. But it won’t do you any good. She’s in wit sec. You’ll never find her.”
I hope they’re right.
“This is going to hurt,” I say quietly. “I’ll do my best to get you out of here.”
But I can’t promise. Not with Emma’s life on the line. Then I punch them both, hard enough to knock them out cold.
Their heads loll forward, crimson liquid falling from their cut and swollen faces, dripping onto the concrete, and I step back to survey my work. They look in worse shape than they are. To anyone watching by camera, you might even think they’re already dead.
The room looks like a slaughterhouse. Blood is everywhere, though most of it’s mine, strips of my own flesh scattered across the floor that hopefully, to the cameras, look like they were torn from the bodies of our prisoners.
My wounds are already healing, the skin knitting back together with unnatural speed, but there’s enough gore to sell the story.
I wipe my hands on the front of my jeans, put my shirt back on, then head for the door.
Kozlov is waiting inside his office, a glass of amber whiskey clutched in his hand. He’s regained some color, but his eyes are still haunted when they land on me. I have no doubt he’s been watching the feed from the room. If I were in his shoes, I would have.
“Well?”
Dimitri could easily go in and check on them, finishing them off before I can stop it. But any sign that I’m overly concerned about their welfare would be a massive red flag.
I keep my voice professional, even as my healing flesh itches beneath the drying blood. “Took some convincing, but they talked.”
The metallic stench of blood coats my hands, and my bear is furious because washing it off means washing off the scent of Emma’s arousal. He demands we return to her once we’re clean and find a way to coat ourselves in her scent again.
“And?”
Pursing my lips, pretending I don’t want to be the one to deliver bad news, I give him the barest of information.
“They had a contact working at your club. She spotted the woman you’ve been keeping in the east wing. Apparently, someone’s paying big money to get her back, and they’re here for the cash. Nothing more.”
Kozlov goes very still. “Who?”
I pause, pretending to be reluctant about sharing the intel, and sigh as Dimitri rounds the corner.
“Some barmaid named Natasha.”
Dimitri stops walking.
“Natasha,” Kozlov repeats, his voice dangerously soft. The calm before the storm.
“You know her?” I ask, but I already have an idea who she is. The busty brunette Dimitri was chatting up.
Kozlov doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns to Dimitri and unleashes a torrent of Russian.
I don’t catch all of it; my grasp of the language is limited, but I catch enough.
There’s a lot of swear words. Natasha. Dimitri’s name, repeated with increasing venom. The word for whore. Slang for a traitor. And a hand gesture that looks like he’s accusing him of having loose lips in front of his crush.
Dimitri’s face goes from pale to red to purple in the space of seconds. He fires back in Russian, his voice rising, gesturing wildly.
Whatever he’s saying, it’s not an apology.
Kozlov cuts him off with a snarl, jabbing a finger at his chest. More Russian, faster now, too fast for me to follow, but the meaning is clear enough.
You were fucking her. You told her things. This is your fault.
Dimitri turns on me, his eyes blazing with fury.
I step back, not submitting, but keen to make it look like I’m the calm one here, while Dimitri is turning into a loose cannon.
“You.” He spits. “You think you can come in here and cast doubt on my loyalty? On my ability to do my job? I’ve been with Kozlov for 15 years. 15 years. And you’ve been here, what, a few days?”
I hold his gaze, unflinching. “I just told him what they told me. Your name never passed my lips.”
For a moment, I think he might actually swing at me.
His fists clench at his sides, and his whole body is vibrating with rage.
But after what he witnessed me do inside, he seems to think better of it.
Instead, he turns and storms off down the corridor, slamming through a door hard enough that it rattles the frame, and a picture bounces on the wall.
I think it’s fair to say he’s pissed off.
Kozlov watches him go, his expression unreadable. When he turns back to me, some of the fury has faded, but not all.
“The men downstairs,” I say. “Do you want me to dispose of them? Quietly. In case someone comes looking for them.”
Kozlov’s eyes dart back toward the now dark TV screen. Oh yeah. He watched, alright. Then to the door Dimitri has just exited in a fit of rage.
I’m assuming this normally falls under his job description.
“Make sure nobody can find anything.” His eyes bore into mine. “Nothing that can be traced back to this house. Understood?”
I nod, my mind scrambling to figure out where the hell to hide them until this is over. “Understood.”
Kozlov waves a hand in dismissal and retreats into his office, already reaching for his phone. I hear him barking orders in Russian, then Natasha’s name as I head back down to the basement.
I pray to god the authorities have hidden her well.
The two prisoners are still unconscious when I return.
I work quickly, unhooking them from the chains and lowering them to the ground as gently as I can manage.
There are two tarps in the corner, prepared before tonight’s interrogation, and I drag them over, wrapping each man tightly but allowing room to breathe through small holes near their noses.
I lean close to the first one, the one who gave me the most information, and speak directly into his ear.
“I know you can hear me. Your breathing changed.” A pause.
The breathing stays steady, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders.
“I’m going to put you in the boot of a car and drive you out of here.
You don’t move. You don’t make a sound. If you fuck this up, they’ll kill you for real. Understood?”
There’s the tiniest nod, barely a movement at all.
“Good.”
I straighten and grab the edges of the tarps, dragging them toward the service entrance, my mind already racing ahead.
I need to get these men out of here, then I need to get back to Emma.
Closing my eyes, concentrating on the fledgling bond that feels stronger to me now after tonight, I’m confident she’s still peacefully asleep.
My bear rumbles in agreement, but he still doesn’t trust a single person in this house, and he won’t relax until we get back to our mate, back to keeping her safe.
I curse as I stand, wiping my brow and pretending they’re hard to move, when in reality, it’s easy for me. Where the fuck am I supposed to take them?
Then a lightbulb goes off. There’s only one person I can take them to, but they’re not going to be happy.
In fact, they’re going to be fucking furious.