Chapter 38 Kellin
Kellin
The fire alarm’s been blaring for quite some time. Probably just a drill, but I worry about the hotel’s big wedding. Maeve invested her heart and soul into the planning, and even a minor setback could throw a wrench into things.
This wedding could be the event that raises the Cypress to iconic levels like Chateau Marmont. Then her dreams would become a reality.
Why the fuck am I worried about that? Who knows. I’ve got other things to worry about.
But if this is my time, and I die at the hands of Declan today or Finn tomorrow, I want to know Maeve’s okay.
This damn alarm though.
The shrieking is especially jarring on top of no sleep and the headache from my broken nose…along with all the other injuries Declan so tenderly bestowed.
At least I know that Maeve loves me and understands she’s mine. I saw the truth in her eyes, heard it in her words. I’ve never been more sure of anything.
Of course, I’m pretty certain Declan and Brody are clear on her feelings as well. The fact that I’m still breathing provides some strong evidence. But it’s more than that.
Because, while Brody might consider Maeve’s wishes, Declan sure as shit won’t.
Finn.
That’s gotta be the real reason. Declan must realize he’s outgunned by a landslide. And killing me would start World War III with the Irish Kings, which he can’t win.
Though Declan’s in possession of the accountant, and that hurts us, he remains at a disadvantage.
So what’s his plan? To leave me zip-tied in this place—what is this room?—forever, apparently.
I’m stuck in a fucking linen closet. Nothing in here but extra dishes and blankets and me.
Nothing major league about this shit. It’s laughable.
No wonder Declan can’t build up the West Coast.
The door clicks, and Brody charges through, bringing fresh air with him.
I wrinkle my nose when the acrid odor reaches me.
Shit, maybe the place is burning.
I hope he’s here to cut me loose, but so far, he hasn’t even acknowledged me. A phone’s tucked beneath his ear like he glued it there.
“Brody!”
He spins around.
“I smell smoke. A little help?”
“Understood.” He agrees with the person on the phone, not me. He repeats that same word a few more times before shutting off the device, slipping it into his pocket, and extracting a switchblade.
The blade shoots open, glistening in the shitty fluorescent lights.
Oh, yeah, been sitting under those all night too.
“Is the Cypress actually on fire?”
He cuts the ties securing me to the shelves bolted into the walls. I yanked on them until my arms ached, to no avail.
My hands remain secured behind me, but I can at least stand and stretch my legs. “Is Maeve’s hotel on fire, man? Is she okay?”
Brody jerks his head. “Let’s go. We’re getting out of here.”
I obey the guy only because I’m no good to Maeve dead, and if the place is ablaze, we all need to exit. I crush the anxiety blooming behind my ribs. She’s an intelligent, self-sufficient woman who thinks on her feet. I’ll find her outside.
Hopefully.
We head for the stairwell near the delivery area that leads to the main floor. “Stop ignoring me. Have you talked to your sister?”
He shakes his head, a sound akin to a laugh escaping him. “Worry about yourself. My sister’s fine. She’s a big girl.”
“Well, if this wedding is ruined because some asshole left a candle burning or shot a cigarette butt out the car window onto the grounds, she’s not going to be fine. The Cypress is her life. This is her career we’re talking about.”
“Are you for real? You have bigger problems than my sister’s wedding stress, man. Doyle is gone, for one.”
I stop walking. “What? How the hell did you lose him?”
He turns back, approaches, and tries to yank me forward, but I’m twice his size.
“Move, Brennan.”
I don’t. “So you admit you took Doyle, and now you misplaced him? Or did the snake just slither off to the highest bidder?”
“I wish it were that simple.”
“Brody, where the fuck is he?”
“Andrei Kruschev has him.”
Kruschev, Kruschev… Why do I recognize that name?
He must see my wheels spinning. “Rostov.” Brody connects the dots for me by spitting out the answer.
I would’ve gotten there eventually, but it’s been a long night.
Wait. Fuck. “Grigori Rostov, the Russian kingpin that makes your dad seem like the Gingerbread Man? That Rostov?”
“Turned one of my guys into roadkill outside the penthouse. The other barely survived.”
“Kruschev is his first lieutenant.” He’s a mean bastard, too, but I don’t bother stating the obvious. “What’s our play? He’s going to be close. Let’s—”
“We don’t have a play. There’s no ‘we.’ You’re my hostage.” He grabs my arm and drags me toward the exit.
I almost scoff. I can’t believe these idiots lost the accountant. “When Finn hears that Rostov snatched Doyle out from under Declan’s nose, he’s gonna drop a nuclear bomb on that Spanish villa your daddy calls home sweet home. He will fucking end him.”
Brody huffs. I know he’s considering my words though.
Good. He should be worried.
I jump out in front of the guy to lead the way. “And then you’ll wish we were a ‘we.’” Granted, I’m not sure how I plan to fire a gun and stop the Russian mob with both hands tied behind my back.
Bad enough when Declan, the black sheep, stole the man with all the Irish Kings intel, but Grigori Rostov? This special situation requires immediate action and reinforcements. Lots of them. If Brody will just listen, he’ll realize we’re on the same team. But to convince him in a matter of minutes…
“I need to use your phone.”
Brody jogs to keep up with my long strides. “Fuck you, Kellin.” He speaks to my back, keeping his voice low.
I push through the emergency exit to the back of the building.
A few dozen people hover out here, and I can hear the fire trucks out front. All kinds of commotion. No one notices my beat-up face or the fact that my hands are…unavailable to me.
People amaze me with their inability to see beyond their own noses.
I slow down so I’m walking beside Brody. “Finn needs to know about Rostov. Now.”
“We’ll handle it.”
“I don’t think so. You haven’t convinced me of much in the last twelve hours. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Declan’s not a ‘big picture’ guy. He’s an impulsive, egotistical, irrational live wire. And that’s why his empire isn’t where it should be. No. Other. Reason.”
Brody stops to stare at me. While he could never voice the truth out loud, his agreement shows in the pinching around his eyes and mouth.
He realizes his dad is a hotheaded, emotional shit show of a boss.
“Where’s your ride?” We need to get this party started if we hope to prevent Rostov from leaving LA with Doyle.
Brody points across the way, and we weave through the crowd.
I halt halfway across the back lot. “Do you think we should drive around front, just to get eyes on Maeve?”
Brody’s neck flushes with anger. “Your dick is really manning the machine, isn’t it? Un-fucking-believable. My sister can take care of—”
His phone rings. He answers as he continues striding toward his car.
I itch to know who’s on the other end of the line. What’s being said.
Brody gives me nothing to go on until his face pales, leeching so much color that his skin almost develops a green hue.
He clutches his chest in the universal symbol for “I can’t breathe.” Not good. I wouldn’t be surprised if this twentysomething mobster drops at my feet.
If he does, I’m not giving him mouth-to-mouth. I don’t care if he’s Maeve’s brother. He needs to pull his shit together. “What now? Who’s on the phone?”
He meets my gaze, his eyes warning me to shut the hell up.
I can’t hear anything over the drone of the hotel guests, staff, firefighters, and nosy nobodies. There must be a hundred people wandering these grounds.
I scan the crowd. The building. I don’t spot any fire. I no longer smell smoke either.
Brody finally replies with a question. “How far out is he?”
“Kruschev?” I raise a brow. “Once we have coordinates, he’s as good as ours.”
Brody raises a finger.
I want to break that digit off. But something tells me to give him a second.
Also, I don’t have use of my hands at the moment. A minor detail.
And then he’s off the phone and sprinting.
I follow suit, toward a sweet Escalade squealing out of the parking garage on two wheels.
Now I really need to be in the loop. Mob to mob, Maeve’s brother knows this. “Brody, talk to me.”
“Shut up a second. I’m thinking!”
He’s lucky I don’t pummel him.
When we reach his ride, he pivots to me, his cell limp in his hand. “They’ve got Maeve.”
No.
No, no, no!
I grunt as I wrestle with the zip ties. These must be some extra heavy-duty kind, because in the past, I’ve snapped regular ones in a heartbeat. The plastic digs in, cutting flesh until blood trickles over my skin. “Get these things off me.”
Brody flashes his knife. “Turn around.”
I obey, my mind reeling, red clouding my vision. I can’t believe those assholes.
How dare they?
As soon as I’m free, I whirl back around. “What are you doing? We have to go!”
He’s playing on his fucking phone while the Russian mob has Maeve.
“Here.” He passes the device to me. “It has directions. We think we know where she is, or at least where they’re taking her. You get Maeve, and we’ll get Doyle.”
My enemy unlocked his phone, which contains all his secrets, and placed it in the palm of my hand.
Damn. This is bad.
“I need a—”
“Derek, get out.” Brody gestures to his SUV.
I hop in and slam the door.
Dots of sweat blossom across Brody’s forehead as he grips the ledge of the open window. “Bring her back safe.”
I don’t hesitate, not even long enough to nod. He knows that goes without question, or he wouldn’t have left her life in my hands.
I punch the Escalade into reverse.
Babe, I’m coming.
Hopefully this vehicle can handle its new driver. The Russian mob’s not going to know what hit them.
I shift into drive, then screech to a stop.
Brody races to meet me. He pulls a Glock 19 from behind his back and stuffs the weapon into my hands. “Don’t make me regret this.”
I don’t bother with an answer.
I won’t miss.