Yakov
The Albanian bleeds out on the warehouse floor, but I'm not getting the answers I need.
"Last chance," I say in Serbian. Close enough to his language that he understands every word. "Where is Zajmi keeping the girls?"
He spits blood at my feet. Defiant to the end. Stupid, but I respect the commitment.
I put a bullet between his eyes.
The sound echoes in the empty space then fades to nothing. Just me, the corpse, and the smell of gunpowder mixing with the Vegas heat seeping through the walls.
My phone buzzes. Adrik.
"Da?"
"Tell me you got something." My brother's voice is tight with the kind of controlled fury that means he's been dealing with the fucking Albanians all day. Or the city council. Or both.
"He didn't talk." I step over the body, heading for the industrial sink in the corner. There’s blood on my hands, my shirt. Nothing I haven't dealt with before. "But I know where they're moving product tonight. I'll have eyes on it."
"How many of our girls are still missing?"
"Two that we know of from our place." I scrub my hands clean, watching pink-tinged water spiral down the drain. "Macy and Faith. Both cocktail waitresses. Both last seen leaving the casino alone after their shifts."
"And the other girl? The one from the other casino? And the ones before that?"
"Same pattern. I think Zajmi's expanding. Testing how far he can push before we push back."
"Then push back." Adrik's tone is flat, final. "I want him to know what happens when he hunts in our territory. Make it clear."
"I always do."
I hang up and finish cleaning up, stripping off my shirt and tossing it towards the dead man. The Albanian's body will disappear by morning, my guys know the drill. Out in the desert, far enough that the coyotes and vultures do most of the work. Nothing left to find.
That's why they call me the Wolf.
Not just because I hunt. Because I'm thorough.
By the time I leave the warehouse, the sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
I grab a shirt from the trunk and shrug it on while I watch the darkness of the night consume the Strip in the distance.
That’s how Las Vegas comes to life, with neon flashes of light and an undercurrent of sin.
People have no idea what happens in the spaces between the lights.
My phone buzzes again. Kaiden, one of my best men.
"Boss, we got movement on the Albanian’s outside the club. Two cars just pulled up, looks like they're loading something."
"Girls?"
"Can't tell from here. Could be product, could be people. You want us to move?"
"They’ve proven to not be all that stupid…they’ll make you within a couple of blocks. Is there any way you can get a tracking device onto the vehicles?"
"No."
"Fuck. I’m on my way to you." I hang up.
The Albanians have been operating in Vegas for three months now.
Small at first, just muscle for hire, doing enforcement work for the cartels.
Then they started branching out. Girls went missing.
Not enough to make headlines, but enough that casino management started whispering.
Enough that Adrik noticed when two of ours disappeared.
Enough that it became my problem.
I don't mind. Hunting is what I'm good at.
Another buzz. This time it's a text from Luka, my second, with a photo attached: security footage from the Korolyov Casino, timestamped thirty minutes ago.
A blonde woman walking through the casino floor like she knows exactly where she is going.
Disappearing behind the cashier cage. Then another shot of her in the hallway, heading toward the casino managers office.
And another of her leaving, something pressed into her hand by one of the cocktail waitresses.
I zoom in on her face. Pretty. Very pretty. Sharp cheekbones, determined mouth, eyes that look like they haven't slept in days. She's wearing jeans and a jacket despite the heat, and there's something about the way she holds herself, all tense and coiled, ready to either fight or run.
I text him back: Find out who this is and what she wants.
Minutes later, my phone rings.
"Her name's Laney Parker," Luka says. "Flew in from Sacramento this morning. She's looking for her sister."
Something cold slides down my spine. "Who’s her sister?"
"Laurie Parker. Cocktail waitress. Worked three shifts at the Korolyov last week, then stopped showing up. Madison Bennett says Laurie mentioned going home after her last shift on Sunday, but never heard from her or seen her since. Phone's been going to voicemail for a week."
Fuck.
"Laney went to the apartment on Oakey," Luka continues. "Talked to the building manager. Now she's in an Uber heading back toward the Strip. Torres said Madison mentioned they’d had plans to go to a club that night, Vine and Crimson…"
Double fuck.
Vine and Crimson is exactly where Kaiden just told me the Albanians are moving from.
I get behind the wheel and start the engine. "Tell Kaiden I'm en route."
I disconnect and pull into traffic, heading toward the Strip. My mind is already working through the angles.
Laney Parker is looking for her sister. Her sister is likely one of Zajmi's missing girls, I'd bet my life on it. Which means Laney is walking straight into Albanian territory, asking questions, drawing attention.
She's going to get herself killed.
Or worse.
The Wolf in me recognizes the scent of prey. But there's something else too, something that fisted in my chest when I saw her photo. The way she looked so fucking determined despite the exhaustion in her eyes. The way she walked like she owned space she had no business being in.
Brave. Stupid.
Mine.
The thought comes unbidden, primal, and I shove it aside. I don't have time for distractions. I have a job to do.
But I'm still driving toward Vine and Crimson. Still thinking about sharp cheekbones and determined mouths. Still wondering what she'll smell like when I get close enough to find out.