Chapter Eighteen
L ooking up from his desk at the knock on the door, Danil cursed under his breath in Russian, English, and French—the French he’d learned in the pretentious boarding school he’d been forced to attend when he was just a boy, because his father had high hopes for him.
Danil still snickered about that; his father was an absolute bastard, who only cared about honoring the family name, and upholding the family legacy. He ruled his family with a heart of ice, and an iron fist that he regularly used on his sons and his wife. In Russia, the Obleks were old money, their lineage going back to when men first crawled down from the Caucasus Mountains, whereas the newer oligarchs—frat boys on a power trip—earned their money in oil and precious gems. The Obleks were one of the first billionaire families, making their ill-gotten money from trade, landowning, slaves, and furs—back before trading in people and dead animal skins was considered immoral. The family dealt mostly in banking now, but they got their start in violence, trafficking, stealing, and then trying to polish their crimes by giving generously to charities.
It had only taken one mistake, at the age of thirteen, for his father to disown him, sending him out into the streets to scavenge and kill to survive. The hypocritical bastard wouldn’t tolerate his son using the housemaids as fuck toys and practice dummies for his knives. He screamed that he wouldn’t have a disgusting pervert and murderer in his home, like the asshole hadn’t been fucking the same maid Danil had played with just the night before.
After two years on the streets, it was Leonid who’d found him, realizing he could use Danil, and sending him for “training.”
When Danil had turned twenty-one and “graduated” from his Brata training, the first thing he did was side with Leonid Medev in a territory war against his own father, Igor Oblek. And when Leonid handed him the gun, Danil had shot his own father in the head, then watched him bleed out on his expensive, hand-stitched Persian rug. The estate, this business, and all the family money went to Danil’s brother, Mikhail, but Danil didn’t give a shit about greedily grasping his share of the family money, because now he was making his own way, on the precipice of having is very own empire—once Leonid was dead.
Jerking himself from his memories, he remembered about the knock at the door.
“Come,” he called, knowing who was standing outside the door.
Oleg opened the door and strolled in, another envelope in his hand. He tossed the envelope on Danil’s desk, his face pinched.
Blyad! What the fuck is wrong now?
Danil fought the urge to shoot the man in the face; for all of Oleg’s faults—his lack of personal hygiene, his predilection for fucking underage girls, and his addiction to beef jerky—the man was loyal, hardworking, and very fucking good at getting information.
Danil opened the envelope and scanned through the glossy 5 x 8s inside.
Pictures of Dr. Simpson, the VP of the Raiders, a tall, thick blonde bitch he recognized from other pictures one of his men had taken outside the compound, and a red-headed nurse littered his desk.
“That’s Misha, the nurse. She’s been very good about providing information.”
Danil sighed and leaned back in this high-backed leather desk chair. It was so well-oiled, it never made a noise.
“What information does she have?” he asked, pinning Oleg with an expectant glare.
“Trouble and the doctor are headed to his house, where he plans to put up the doc and the kid until the doc is fully recovered.”
Interesting. “Not the club compound?”
Oleg shook his head, smirking. “No. Apparently, the doc is uptight and doesn’t want her daughter hanging out around dirty bikers, so the VP is bringing them to his house.”
“Details,” Danil barked, suddenly eager to learn more. If the doctor wasn’t secured at the compound, then this just might be the opportunity he needed to reintroduce himself. Once he had the doc, he’d not only have a foothold in a lucrative laundering business, and unrestricted access to the doctor’s body, but he’d also have leverage over the Savage Raiders MC. That kind of power was just what he needed to make his final move against Leonid. With the Raiders in his pocket, it would be simple enough to loose them like the wild dogs they were, and sit back and watch the carnage. The MC would take out Leonid, then get taken out by the Bratva families in Russia, and Danil would ascend to his rightful position of Medev Bratva Pahkan…and the Savage Raiders would be nothing but a bloody memory, staining the desert sands.
“We sent Sonny and Moila to scope out the place,” Oleg offered, but the tension that seemed to roll from him told Danil that what came next wouldn’t make him happy. “The place is on an acre, fenced, no close neighbors, but there is a regular rotation of club members watching the house and the street. The only reason Sonny and Moila got as close as they did was because one prospect went around the corner to take a piss. Sonny got close enough to look over the fence at the back.”
So, the fucker VP had his place on lockdown, but that didn’t mean it was impenetrable. It just meant there’d be blood spilled when Ivan and his men retrieved the good doctor.
“Let me guess, large dogs?” Danil drawled, smirking. The Savage Raiders MC were dogs themselves, so they had no problem with using them as vicious guards. Danil used them himself. They were easy to train, loyal, and worked for raw meat. Then again, they were also easy to kill; bullet to the brain would put down any guard dog—and any Savage Raider.
Oleg shook his head. “No dogs—”
Danil couldn’t stop the smile curving his face.
“But there are cameras. Three of them. One pointing toward the yard, one pointing toward the back door, and the other pointing toward the side gate. No one could get in through the back without being seen. Sneaking in would be nearly impossible from there.”
Shit.
“Windows?”
“All the ground-floor windows look to be secured with locks only, but I wouldn’t doubt that the club VP would utilize security equipment from their own protection company to install alarms, motion sensors, and whatever else the VP orders.”
Savage Protection was one of the top security and protection companies in the US. They made a name for themselves by only employing former military, hiring highly skilled tech wizards, having top tier security systems and equipment, and having a reputation for being badasses. The MC made tens of millions a year from Savage Protection alone, which meant they were successful at securing and protecting their clients against all kinds of threats.
But they haven’t gone up against the Bratva….
Still, that meant that getting into the VPs house wouldn’t be as easy as Danil had first, so arrogantly, assumed.
Danil bit down on the inside of his cheek so hard, his own blood spilled onto his tongue.
He would not let a fucking biker, a bitch doctor, and her gutless business partner keep him from finally having everything he’d been working for—he would not let twenty years of ass kissing, boot licking, torture, and bloodletting mean nothing.
The doctor would come to him, the biker would come to heel, and Vegas would finally belong to him.
Swallowing down the tangy, warm blood, Danil shifted his gaze to Oleg.
“Keep watch. The doctor can’t stay inside forever; eventually she’ll need to return to work.”
Oleg hummed, leaning in as if to tell Danil something exciting.
“What about the kid? We grab her, the doctor mom and the biker dad will do whatever you want them to do.”
Danil had thought of that already, but he knew that taking the kid would only incite the MC faster and more ferociously than if he took the doctor. The doctor was under their protection, yes, but she had no other ties to the club. She and the VP—from what his spies had observed—barely spoke to one another. Yes, they’d want her returned, but they wouldn’t burn down the city to get her back. But the kid, being the VP’s spawn, taking her would be like throwing a match on petrol-soaked pile of rags—the explosion would be catastrophic to his plans.
No, he didn’t want things to get so loud that Leonid started looking a little closer. The less noise he made in Vegas, the more time Danil had to finish putting his plans into place. And the good doctor was a key piece.
She thought she was safe with the biker, but there were other ways for him to get to his prey.