Chapter Thirty-Three
J ust as the last of their war party roared into the parking garage two blocks from Liz’s clinic, Fang’s cell rang.
“Tessa, Fuega, where the fuck are you? Is Fae with you?” he asked, throwing a thunderous looking Hawk a speaking glance. “Shit! Let me put you on speaker, baby.” Flipping his phone, Fang held it up as the six of them—Fang, Hawk, Odin, Dragon, Wolf, and Trouble—gathered around the device. Grimm and Hound were going to be pissed as fuck that they were missing out, but they had club business elsewhere.
“Tell me again, baby, what the fuck is going on?”
Tessa’s voice came through the device, “Don’t take that tone with me, Javier , I’ll break my foot off in your ass, and it won’t feel good this time, either.”
Trouble coughed to cover his chuckle, not that the others bothered.
“Tessa, baby, focus,” Fang softly chastised, knowing the importance of them hearing whatever it was that Tessa had to report.
“Fine—we know that Liz is with the Russians. Danil Oblek has her at the clinic.”
Trouble stepped up to the phone. “We know. We’re two blocks away. How did you know?”
“She texted me and Fae, telling us that she was going to group call within the hour, but it wasn’t going to be a normal call, we’d just need to listen.”
“She called and put the phone in her pocket so you could listen in,” Hawk remarked, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s smart, but that doesn’t explain how you know it’s Danil Oblek.”
“We know because Liz is a crafty bitch; she’s calling out clues as she’s talking. She said his name, then she mentioned she was in her office, therefore she’s at the clinic,” Fae’s voice carried over the line. Hawk stiffened, then his shoulders drooped, relief in his entire being. He was glad that his own woman wasn’t neck deep, in the middle of danger…or was she?
“We’re still listening, but the sounds are too faint for you to hear it through your phone—I dropped my call to call you, but Fae’s phone is still connected. He…he wants her to call you, to lure you and Odin into a trap at The Den. I don’t think Oblek plans to be there, he seems…I don’t know…focused on Liz. Shit! He just threatened Erika!”
Fuck! Desperate terror suffocating him, Trouble spun to look at Wolf, who nodded once, slapped Dragon on the back, and the two off them took off. Without even speaking a word, the brothers knew Trouble wanted them at the school, protecting his little girl.
“Where are you two?” Trouble asked, terrified of the answer; those two would be right in the thick of things, given the chance.
“We’re in Fae’s gnome mobile, heading toward the clinic,” Tessa said, and Fae grumbled in the background, “It’s a Mini Cooper!”
“Turn around right now and head to my place,” Odin ordered. “We don’t need to be worrying about you on top of everything else. Besides, I need you to keep Skathi from arming herself to the teeth, and storming here with my son strapped to her back.”
Chuckles rounded, and Tessa and Fae giggled.
“You’re right,” Tessa concurred, “but if any of you get hurt, I’m beating your ass.”
Fang turned off the speaker feature, put the phone to his ear, and spoke in a flurry of Spanish. He grunted, then ended the call.
“They’ll keep Skathi company…and distracted,” Fang reported. “Tell us the plan.” His gaze slammed into Trouble’s, then slid to Odin’s.
It took several minutes to conclude that sneaking up to the clinic in broad daylight was impossible, but if they went in, guns blazing, they’d risk Liz’s life and being caught up in a gun battle on a public street. The Savage Raiders MC were badass motherfuckers who believed in serving their own justice through violence, but they never put innocent people in danger.
“I’m going in,” Trouble said, his tone brooking no argument. “He wants to talk to me, so I’m going in.”
“Fuck,” Fang cursed. “What are you going to tell him when he asks how the hell you knew he was there, or that he wanted to talk with you?”
Trouble shrugged. “I’ll tell him about the security system SPI installed in the clinic—all the tiny cameras with mics.”
“But there aren’t any cameras in there, not ours, anyway,” Hawk intoned.
“But he doesn’t know that, does he?” Trouble scoffed, making Odin narrow his eyes at him.
“So, you just walk up to the front door, tell the goons you want to speak with their boss, and hope they don’t just blow your head off right there?” Fang inquired, frustration in his voice.
“You’ve got to remember; they’re at the mercy of the public, too. Just like we can’t go in, guns blazing, they can’t risk shooting anyone out in the open like that. Canyon Street is a busy road, and it’s gonna be lunch soon, which means there’ll be more cars moving past. More eyes. More witnesses. The goons, at least, will take me inside. I’ll deal with whatever happens after that.” He made it sound so easy, so simple, but he was fucking terrified—not for himself, but for Liz. If he was wrong, if his plan put her in even more danger, he’d put a bullet in his own head.
“Right, well, I guess you have a plan,” Odin remarked, slapping Trouble on the back. “I can’t say I like it, but I trust you, brother. I know you’ll do what needs to be done. But…if you need us, we’ll be there.”
Trouble nodded. “Liz had a good idea, using the group call.”
“Right. Initiated a call to me, Fang, and Odin. We’ll listen in. If we feel like you need us….”
Hawk didn’t need to finish that statement, because Trouble felt the words to his bones. The Savage Raiders MC. Sons of the Gods. Brothers in battle and blood. Trouble knew his brothers would run into a burning building to save him, and he’d do the same for them.
Swallowing thickly, Trouble rasped, “I need to get; Liz’ll be calling me soon.” Actually, she should have already called.
What’s happening in there?
With fear, worry, and rage mounting, Trouble tucked his Sig Sauer into the waistband at his back.
And with chin lifts from men he would kill and die for, he hurried from the parking garage.
Just hold on a little longer, Skizzy….
His dick hard as fuck, throbbing, aching to slip into her mouth and fuck her throat until she choked on it, Danil watched as Liz tried, desperately, to think of a way to not have to call that fucking biker. At least she was loyal—Danil appreciated loyalty, when it worked in his favor. Being loyal to an old, weak, diseased bear like Leonid Medev was a losing proposition. He was losing his foothold in several cities, enemies were testing and then crossing boundaries, and men were dying needlessly. Danil would change that…once his plan fell into place. But for that, he needed the bitch in the chair to call the motherfucking biker!
“How…how am I supposed to get him to a place he knows is a Russian hang out? Hell, even I know that, and I’m not into…you know…criminal stuff,” Elizabeth babbled. It was cute, really, how her mind worked. But she had a point. Trouble had been digging into Danil since Danil had made an example of Dr. Simpson, so the man knew more about the Bratva presence in Vegas than even the cops did.
Nodding, he dragged his thumb over Elizbeth’s chin, and loved the look of disgust that slithered over her face. So what, she didn’t appreciate his attentions, he’d have her begging soon—for death or his cock, it didn’t matter, because either way, there’d be blood involved.
“Also, neither Trouble nor Odin are idiots; they’re going to know it’s a trap. More than likely, they won’t even show up.”
Cracking his neck, hating her reasoning and her refusal to just do what the fuck he wanted, he snarled, “I think that if he gives a shit about you, he’ll do whatever the fuck I want.” Pressing the phone to her cheek, hard, he leaned forward and growled, “Make. The. Fucking. Call.”
Her eyes, wide, blue, and terrified, made his cock jump. He nearly groaned.
Raising her trembling hand, she took the phone.
Leaning back, he dropped his hand from her face, and crossed his arms. He could feel the weight of his gun beneath the sleek sport coat he’d worn, and he could feel the weight of the hand-tooled leather sheath at his other side. Two weapons within reach, but…he didn’t want to scare her that much. Yet. In time, she’d be so scared, she’d do everything he wanted, but right now, he needed a softer touch.
“He’s not going to go, I’m telling you right now—”
At his glare, she shut up.
Finally, she’s getting the fucking picture —this wasn’t a tea party, where they were blabbing like babushkas , it was a fucking hostage situation, and she had no choice but to do what he said.
She nervously flicked her tongue out to wet her lips, and his dick thickened, making him ache all the more. He needed this plan to work—to take over the Medev Bratva and have Elizabeth Simpson in his bed…tied to it. Begging, crying, bleeding, covered in his cum….
Grabbing his cock, he squeezed it as Liz’s gaze dropped to his crotch, her eyes even wider, even more terrified than before. She gasped, her mouth in a perfect O.
Blyad!
“Make that call, moya yad , before I do something else with that mouth of yours,” he commanded, his voice husky with want…with need.
Recoiling, she curled her lip at him, fire and fierce anger erupting in her eyes.
“I’d bite it off, asshole,” she sneered, making him chuckle.
His laughter stopped, though, when his cell in Liz’s hand rang.
She turned it so he could see. Mischa. One of the men stationed at the front door.
Snatching the phone, he answered in Russian, “Why the fuck are you calling me?”
“Boss, there’s a man here, wanting to speak with you.”
Stunned, wary, apprehensive, he replied, “Who the fuck is it, what do they want?”
Mischa cleared his throat. “He says his name is Trouble.”
He was standing and turning toward the office doorway in a blink. How the fuck!
“Do not let him in!” he commanded, his mind whirling. How the hell did the asshole biker know he was there? Did he know Liz was there, too?
“Did he tell you what he wants?”
“He says you want to talk, so he’s here to talk.”
Tense, Danil glared into the hallway, his eyes barely taking in the smooth, mint green walls.
He began to tell Mischa to grab the biker cocksucker, and drag him into the nearest closet until he was ready to deal with him, but the shock and pain of something piercing his side made him cry out instead. Immediately, breathing was agony.
His mouth hanging open, he let the pain roll through him as he turned to look at the woman he’d turned his back on. And shouldn’t have.
His poison had bite.
She was standing beside the desk, her hands in the air, her face pale. He dropped his gaze to his side.
There was a scalpel lodged between his ribs, right where a skilled doctor would know where to put it.
“You fucking stabbed me,” he drawled, dragging in a wet-sounding breath against the pain. He loved pain—inflicting it. Not since he was a boy in the slums of Volgograd after his father threw him away, and then in the “training camps” of the Medev Bratva, had anyone inflicted pain on him.
And this bitch had literally stabbed him when his back was turned.
“I’m going to kill you!” he raged, ignoring the sounds of a scuffle down the hallway. A red haze descended over his gaze, and the desire— the need —to wrap his hands around her throat tore through him.
She screamed, backing into the wall behind her, and he lunged, forgetting about the scalpel still impaling him. She side-stepped, banging into a shelf holding framed diplomas and pictures.
A shot rang out, and he cursed, throwing a look over his shoulder.
Liz gasped, then cried out when motherfucking Trouble slid into sight, his chest heaving, his expression wild, his gun raised.
Trouble’s enraged gaze slid to Liz for a moment, taking in everything in a single glance, then he pinned his gaze on Danil.
Rage. Glorious wrath. Hatred. Retribution. Trouble’s green eyes turned cold, colder than a winter’s night in Yakutsk.
Danil didn’t have time to open his mouth, before the blast of a gun ended everything.