Chapter 5 Sergei
SERGEI
“We have a problem.”
“It’s your job to take care of problems.”
“I know,” Jenson answered. “That’s why I’m here.”
Jenson was my tech man. He was my ghost in the wires.
He handled all the security and surveillance at the casino and at all our homes.
He was good at his job and managed to always stay one step ahead of anyone who tried to cross us.
He’d saved my ass more than once, and he’d done it without a weapon.
He’d done it with a fucking laptop and today was no different.
He motioned over to his computer screen as he announced, “I looked into Walker, that dealer Viktor caught stealing, and he’s been doing it for way longer than a couple of weeks like Viktor thought.”
I looked down at the video dated months ago and watched as he palmed a coin and slipped it into his pocket. Anger rushed through me when Jenson said, “He’s been at it for months. Racked up over six thousand dollars.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.” Jenson shot me a look. “I can rip up his check and fine him for the rest. But is that enough?”
I thought back to my conversation with Viktor. I couldn’t help but wonder if he might be right about making an example out of this guy. I wasn’t in the mood for playing nice, so I asked him, “Where is he?”
“Downstairs waiting on his last check.”
“Send him up, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“You got it.”
With that, he turned, and I watched as he walked out of the room. In this business, muscle was easy to find. I had it in every corner, but it was tough to find a man who went the extra mile. That was rare. Jenson was rare, and I would reward him for his efforts.
Twenty minutes later, he returned with Walker.
Jenson motioned him inside and said, “Good luck.”
Jenson walked out, closing the door behind him. Walker didn’t move. He just stood there with his hands shoved deep in his front pockets. He was trying to look unbothered, but I could see the fear in his eyes. I glared at him for a long moment, then said, “You’ve been stealing from me.”
“Yeah, I done told your brother that it was a one-time thing, and it wouldn’t happen again.”
“Only it wasn’t a one-time thing. You’ve been doing it for months,” I barked. “Do you know what that means?”
He started stammering excuses about being broke, and that I didn’t understand. Times were tough, and he’d pay me back. He was still yammering on when I started walking toward him, slow and deliberate. When I got closer, I hit him. It wasn’t a wild punch. It was calculated.
A fist to the gut and then another to the jaw.
He stumbled and heaved, trying to do what he could to block me. It was no use. I grabbed him by the collar and slammed his face against the wall so hard the drywall cracked. Blood spewed from the gnarled gash above his brow, but that didn’t slow me down.
I leaned in closer, my face just inches from his as I growled, “You clearly don’t know who you’re talking to.”
Blood continued to seep from his wound as I brought my hand up to his throat, squeezing firmly as I snarled, “I know every chip you pocketed, every dollar you thought would go unnoticed. I always notice.”
Back in the day, I would’ve killed a man for stealing a nickel from the family, much less thousands of dollars. I would slit their throats and leave them to bleed out in the filthy street, and my fingers itched to do the same to him. But I wasn’t back in the day.
I’d left those times behind me, and I had no intention of going back. I tightened my grip on his throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes bulge. “You’re done here.”
He whimpered as I dropped him to the floor like trash.
He scrambled to his feet, and his eyes were wide with terror as I told him, “You walk out that door, and you never set foot in this casino again. And if I so much as hear your name whispered in connection with me, I will come for you, and there will be no walking away.”
I dismissed him with a flick of my hand, and he bolted for the door, stumbling like a beaten dog. When the door slammed behind him, I let out a slow, deep breath, letting the tension roll off of me. I hadn’t slit the guy’s throat, but he would always wear the mark of his fuck-up above his brow.
Viktor would’ve been pleased, but I had no intention of telling Viktor or anyone else about my encounter with Walker.
It was done.
There was no reason to drag it out by talking about it.
I needed some air, so I walked out of the office and immediately spotted Preacher and Goose standing at the railing, quietly watching the crowd below, so I went over and joined them. “How’s it going?”
“Another busy one.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“It certainly is.” Preacher kept his eyes trained on the crowd below as he asked, “You take care of things with the dealer?”
“Yeah, it’s been handled.”
He gave me a slight nod, and that was that.
No questions. No pushing for more. He knew I’d taken care of it, and that’s all he needed to know.
I glanced down at my watch and was surprised to see that it was already after eight.
I hadn’t planned on being at the casino all damn night, but the hours had gotten away from me.
It happened on nights like these when things were going so well. The slots were slammed, and every table was full of eager gamblers just waiting to give away their money, and I was more than happy to take it. Hell, I’d take every last dime.
I leaned against the rail overlooking the pit and glanced over at Preacher. He had a cigarette burning low between his fingers, and like me, he seemed pleased with the night’s turnout. He was taking it all in when his attention was drawn to his phone.
It was buzzing with a call, so he picked it up and answered, “Yeah, you got Preacher.”
There was a momentary pause before he added, “Yes, I’ll accept the call.”
Preacher motioned his head over at Goose and chuckled, “It’s your boyfriend.”
“What?” A knowing smile slipped across his face when he realized who was at the other end of the call. “Poo-kie!”
Preach gave him a slight nod, then said, “How’s it going, Pook?”
Pookie was their inside contact at the state prison, and they’d had him keeping an eye on Detective Maddox. He’d caused the club some problems by leading people in the area to think they were involved in trafficking. And more than that, he’d done a number on Creed and his woman.
It was a complicated, convoluted story to follow, much less repeat. Regardless, Maddox had information the brothers wanted and hoped Pookie could get it for them.
Pookie. Damn.
These men, full of tattoos and leather, called each other names like Goose, Skid, Grim, and now, Pookie.
They were nothing like the Russian nicknames we used back at home.
Ours carried the weight of what you’d done.
They were earned in the street, not at a bar table, and they sounded nothing like cartoon characters or farm animals.
But Fury’s road names didn’t make them weak or clueless. These men were a force to be reckoned with, and they had no problem showing it. I was pulled from my thoughts when I noticed a shift in Preacher’s voice.
The humor was gone and had been replaced with a sharp edge. His back stiffened and his jaw clenched before he growled, “What the hell are you talking about?”
Goose immediately stepped closer and asked, “What’s going on?”
Preacher didn’t answer him. He simply lifted a hand, signaling to Goose that he needed a minute.
In that moment, the easy humor I’d seen in Preacher seconds before evaporated and was replaced by steel.
He was no longer just my partner or the man married to my mother.
He was Preacher, the president of Satan’s Fury MC.
He listened for another second, then pulled the phone away from his ear and shook his head with frustration. “Maddox is dead.”
His words hung heavy in the air. If he were dead, that meant the information they needed died with him. There was no missing the surprise in Goose’s voice when he asked, “How?”
Preacher’s reply was clipped, cold, and final. “Call Creed.”
And that was it.
No explanation. No debate. Just orders given and orders followed. I said nothing. I just sat back and watched as the pieces fell together. When Creed came up the steps moments later, Preacher stepped over to him and announced, “Maddox was taken out.”
“What the fuck?” He ran his hand through his hair with frustration. “How the hell did that happen?”
“Russians got a hold of him.”
Creed’s eyes skirted over to me, and I knew what he was thinking.
He was wondering if I knew who was behind Maddox’s death, but I didn’t have a clue.
I lost most of my connections when we left New York.
I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I just stared right back at him with a raised brow and a stern expression, letting him know that he could take his suspicions elsewhere.
After a moment, he turned his attention back to Preacher and asked, “What about Pookie? He was supposed to keep an eye on him.”
“He did what he could, but these guys were no match for him.”
“The Russians wouldn’t have killed him unless they had good reason.”
“Agreed. They had to have had something to do with all the trafficking, and they were afraid he’d talk.”
“It’s all starting to come together now.” This time, it was Goose who gave me a heavy look. “If Maddox was tied up with his Russians and if we’re tied up with our Russians, then that could be the connection Maddox was yapping about the night Creed gave him that beatdown.”
“Our Russians?” I scoffed.
“You know what I mean.”
“Afraid I don’t.”
“Well, most folks around here don’t buddy up with the Russian mafia. Hell, they usually do everything they can to steer clear.”
“I don’t know anything about the men he was dealing with, nor do I have any desire to.”
“But they could be trying to form a connection with you,” Preacher suggested. “Hell, they could be the ones who’ve been sniffing around the past few months.”