19. Match
19
MATCH
Stakeouts normally send me to sleep, but tonight I’m far from slumber.
A flapping bat is the only movement tonight in the parking lot, and it’s testing my last nerve. Apart from that, the coast is clear.
Lifesaver registered Alice’s very beat-up Mercedes-Benz into the ER parking lot because it’s safer and much more open. It doesn’t contain any hidden spots for Bratva assassins to lurk in.
So far, we’re all clear.
But that doesn’t mean I can untense my shoulders and anticipate an easy night. Those don’t exist for me anymore.
I wish they did.
But I’d be lying if I said I wish Alice and I had never met.
Things would definitely be easier.
Things certainly were before we met.
A roller coaster is how I’d describe the past six years, but not one of those up-and-down ones with surprise turns and hidden dips. I’m talking about a ride that takes you down. No surprises. No nothing. Just cruising through the air at altitude, kind of like flying, but not quite because aviation comes with a risk, and there was never really a risk riding with the Venom Vultures.
Until now.
Feelings have swooped in, said hello, and damned me forever.
Yesterday, Lifesaver told Peter that Alice knows. Tension earlier this morning when we all regrouped lingered stronger than the smell of horseshit after rainfall.
He thinks us telling his daughter the truth is overstepping?
Wait until he hears about our marriage.
That confession won’t be happening…ever.
My phone buzzes. Incoming call from Lifesaver.
“How are things?”
“Calm,” I say down the receiver. “For now. Have you heard anything from Peter?”
“Not since yesterday when he kicked me out the door.”
It was probably a weak-ass kick.
“She’s not moving in with Tammy, by the way,” I say.
“Well, Peter can still see the tracker on her phone.”
“Get Brander to disable it, then.”
“You wanna get us in even more shit?” he asks.
I scoff. “You want Alice back in that strip club?”
He goes silent. A snappy “Fair enough” leaves his lips.
And then he hangs up.
I pocket my phone.
A snapping branch bolts me upright. I assess the surroundings, relaxing slightly when I see a black and white cat stalking across the sidewalk.
A text pings through on my phone.
To my surprise, it’s Alice texting the group chat.
Alice: It’s still in.
Saucy minx. Things might be tense with Alice and her father, but that doesn’t mean I want to fuck her any less. She’s been wearing the butt plug out in public. Apparently it keeps turning her on. Visions of her bent over in the shower frequent my mind. They’re vivid now, especially since I have nothing to do but be on guard for any potential Russians.
Fuck. The urge to stroke my dick here and come for her hard is tempting. It’s dark. I’m away from the streetlights. Nobody will notice, and if they do, they can mind their own fucking business.
God, that woman. I filled her with my cum the other night. Watched it ooze out of her. She screams so loud. Shouts all of our names at the top of her lungs. Normally I can sleep with a woman once and lose interest, but the opposite seems to happen with Alice. It’s like I’m always thirsty. Like, no matter how much water I drink, I just can’t get enough. At one point, I saw her press her hard pink nipples to the tiled wall. Just watching her body edges me to climax.
I slip a hand beneath my waistband, where my dick is already hard. Rearranging myself on the motorcycle, I smooth it through my hands.
I imagine Alice circling her tongue over the tip. I’m opening her legs and buttering her in her own wetness.
God, she tastes divine.
A public jerk off could get me into trouble with the cops, but I don’t care. I close my eyes. Her puffy lips part around my dick as she takes it into her mouth. The beautiful, blushed shell between her legs oozes with wetness.
A branch snaps, so I look up again, expecting to see black and white fur.
Instead, I see a person.
“Crap!” I curse to myself. Slot my dick back into my pants before he releases the knife he probably has under that big black jacket and chops it off. He looks like the type. At least from this distance.
I straighten up on the bike and peel open my eyes. The dim lights offer very little visibility, but enough for me to know that the guy isn’t intending to pay the ER a visit. Those that do are either coughing up blood or walking funny, and this dude strides across the parking lot, turning his head around in circles like an owl.
He’s looking for something.
I swing a leg off the bike and creep closer, ducking behind a vehicle before his head swings my way again. Either he forgot which bay he parked in, or he’s up to mischief.
Observing through a car window, I wager the latter. Normal citizens in Vegas don’t wear black jackets twice their size unless they’re borrowing it from their friend. That would eliminate the above suspicion—the guy looks like he doesn’t have any friends.
He disappears behind a car.
Reappears.
Narrowing my eyes, I catch another look at him. What I thought was the back of a black head of hair actually turns out to be a balaclava.
And he’s not walking away.
But straight toward me.
I look to the left.
To the right.
My chest shudders.
Wasn’t it a red SUV that Alice was thrown in?
By Bratva?
Jesus fucking Christ, why do I have to be injured when this happens. I roll down the sleeve of my jacket, wincing. Thankfully, it’s not my dominant side, and I can still aim fine.
A Takeshi is the weapon I chose tonight.
Guns are easier—it makes life ten times easier being able to do damage from a distance, but those babies attract a whole lot of attention, and when there’s blue lights and sirens, it’s game over.
I come up into a crouched position, my back pressed up against the vehicle I’ve been hiding behind. Do I wait for him, or let him come to me? Decisions, decisions.
His body moves out from behind the neighboring vehicle.
Ah, I guess he chose for me.
A knife shines faintly from his pocket, the blade winking. Strange for a Bratva to expose a weapon. Surprise attacks tend to be their forte. Normally they keep their weapons tucked away to avoid preemption.
Still, he hasn’t tried anything.
Is he gonna?
Is he even Bratva?
It’s like we’re in a staring contest.
But I wouldn’t even call it that—the balaclava pulled over his face makes it difficult to see even his eyes. They’re there, open and watching, but the blank expression has me second-guessing, thinking I’ve somehow hallucinated the whole interaction.
Finally, after a painful minute of silence, he laughs. “Why were you hiding from me?”
“Why are you staring at me?” I counter.
“Because you look ridiculous.” Another laugh. “An old man like you shouldn’t be suited up in leather. You should be at home, sitting in your armchair. Calling for assistance because you can’t stand up to take yourself to the bathroom for a piss.”
Is he finished?
Besides, thirty-five is not fucking old.
Has this boy even graduated high school?
I stand up. “Respect your elders, boy. What are you doing snooping around here, hm? Who are you anyway? Vlad’s little pet?” Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Has he let you out for the night to piss? I suggest you take yourself over there”—I gesture to the red SUV parked across the lot—“to cock up your leg.”
He pushes me into a car, the metal banging.
I give credit where it’s due—for a sophomore, he’s strong.
But not strong enough.
I kick back. Consider slipping my knife to finish him off for being such a conceited little bitch, but questions need to be answered first before I start dicing.
“What do you want? I always knew you guys were sick, but I at least thought you’d have some courtesy and draw the line when it comes to forcing girls into hotel rooms. Fuck around with the person you actually hold a grudge toward. Not innocents.”
I expect another shove, but the guy keeps his feet firmly planted in the ground. “I got her out.” He takes a step closer. “I saved her before they had a chance to put their hands on her.”
“‘ Saved her ?’” I laugh. “Oh! Do you think yourself some kind of hero? Saving the pretty girl to later dump her in a strip club? Alice is harmless. Leave her be. She’s done nothing to you.”
“Alice?”
“Yes. That’s her name.” I roll my eyes. “Stupid of me to assume you know her name. But I guess you don’t share those kind of formalities, do you, when you first meet a person? You guys are more concerned with what they’re worth to you. How much money they can bring in.”
“Alice?”
Is he a fucking parrot? “Yes, Al?—”
“How do you know Alice?”
“I’m married to her. She’s my wife.”
“Your WHAT?!”
Emotional much?
Who knew Bratva members had so much going on inside. For a moment there, I thought monotone was the only voice these guys had. Clearly I’ve been proven wrong.
The man tenses his shoulders and his hands, dropped at his sides, begin to tremble.
“You alright there, man?” I ask.
“Married?” he asks again.
“Yes.”
He pounces on me. Pushes me back into the car. He can punch anywhere, break my nose and dislocate a shoulder as long as he stays clear of the left arm.
I kick back. Throw a punch at his face. Something snaps beneath the balaclava—probably his nose—but it’s not enough for him to pack in. His arm extends in regular intervals, almost robotically, like he’s been programmed to keep punching and punching until my spirit has left my body.
I slip out my phone instead of my knife.
Killing somebody here where there’s CCTV is too risky.
I expect him to divert a punch to my phone and shatter it to the ground, but he doesn’t. He’s lost his fucking mind. Punch after punch after punch. Even when I duck my head, his aim stays consistent. Fist panging against car metal instead of my head.
I ring Brander.
After a few rings—“Hello? …Match? You Okay?”
Blood spilling out of my mouth makes it a challenge to speak. I spit the excess away, and raise my voice so it’s audible over the crushing metal.
“Some assistance would be nice.”