39. Cupid
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CUPID
Less than an hour after leaving Loveland, Drift pulls our unmarked van alongside the curb outside Boden’s apartment.
The complex is close to campus, near several rowdy bars.
It’s your typical college housing, only a grade above Vanessa’s rundown apartment.
If we’re in luck, the security will be as shitty as it was at her place.
Quick surveillance shows an active nightlife for the college community, with people walking in and out of the bars on the corners of the street. Their laughter and voices carry down the road to where we sit in the van.
It’s busier than I’d like. We don’t need any eyewitness to what is about to transpire. Frustrated, my teeth grind together.
Drift looks at me from the driver’s seat. “What do you think, Prez? Should we risk it?”
“Drive around to the back,” I say, not willing to throw in the towel just yet. “Let’s see if the rear lot is more private.”
Drift moves the van around the block, coming up behind the apartment building where there’s access to the complex’s parking.
Not a single lot light is functioning properly.
They’re burned out, dim as hell, or flickering sporadically.
It’s dark enough for us to do what we need to do without attracting attention to ourselves.
Perfect.
“Get as close to the building as possible.”
Drift kills the headlights and enters the lot, throwing the van in park near the back doors and giving us the ideal way to escape with Boden.
The prick’s apartment is on the ground level, making our job easier.
The street in the front may be active, but back here on the other side of the building, the lot is empty of people aside from us.
Only old beater cars and another van cover the asphalt.
My eyes home in on the other cargo van in the lot, setting my nerves on edge. At first glance, nothing about it stands out aside from a large dent in the rear fender, until I notice what it lacks.
There are hundreds of white utility vans in the city. However, this one is on campus where women have gone missing—where my woman was nearly abducted. And this one has no plates to identify it.
I motion to Drift and Oaks, pointing out the van. “You see what I see?”
“You think the Russians are lying low in the dickhead’s place?” Oaks asks, doubt coating his tone. “Seems stupid to stay in town, knowing they have a target on their backs.”
All true. Aside from us searching for Kirill and Mikhail, the Mercy Ravens are also combing the entire county for their whereabouts. Staying near campus would not be my first choice if trying to elude capture.
“Sometimes it’s best to hide in plain sight,” Drift counters.
“No one would expect them to stay here. Also, we can’t expect them to relinquish their cash cow when the area is ripe with young women to fill their inventory quotas.
If anything, they may still try to fill orders, rebuilding the business in this territory. ”
“Good point,” I say as I turn in my seat to face my brothers. “Best to be prepared for the worst. Whether Kirill and Mikhail are here, we go in packing. Keep the safety off your guns in case we need to use them.”
Without a word, we adjust our weapons, exiting the van in silence.
The building pulses with loud music playing somewhere inside. It’s a little early in the week for a party, but college kids live how they want—every day is a bash at CSU. It’s in our favor though. It could mask all the noise Boden makes if he doesn’t come willingly.
Hopefully, he doesn’t give us too much trouble. Although I’m less concerned with Boden. He’s no match for any of us. It’s the Russians we need to worry about. If Kirill and Mikhail are inside, they sure as hell will not cooperate. Things will get bloody.
Thinking about blood, my hands itch to beat the piss out of Boden for throwing my woman under the bus. That piece of shit is going to pay.
Not yet, I remind myself. We need answers first before I can cut the dick’s life short.
We hurry along the walk to the back entrance, keeping our heads lowered in case there are any street cameras pointed in our direction.
The door to the complex is locked, but it’s an easy enough fix.
Oaks uses the side of his fist to hit all the call buttons on the panel, avoiding leaving any prints behind.
Luck is with us tonight. Someone inside activates the door, probably thinking it was someone coming to the party. We file inside, hustling.
Boden’s apartment is the first door on our left. Oaks puts his ear to the door for a moment before pulling back. “If anyone’s inside, I can’t hear them over the thrumming of the bass.”
I cover the peephole before knocking, bracing myself for whoever opens the door. Several seconds go by before I see the knob turn, the door cracking open. A familiar face comes into view, but not the one I was hoping to see.
Mikhail stands in the threshold, his eyes widening when he recognizes us. The Russian henchman is unprepared for a confrontation, giving us the upper hand, but only if we seize the moment.
Before Mikhail can slam the door in our faces, Oaks shoves through the opening like a bull seeing red, plowing the thug into the opposite wall and busting the plaster.
My VP is one of the biggest men I know, but Mikhail and he are evenly matched in size and strength—it will come down to technique between the two. Oak’s life is not a risk I’m willing to take.
Drift and I rush into the apartment, ready to help our brother when a loud battle cry comes from the other end of the apartment.
Alarmed, I spin towards the noise. At the same moment, someone drives a shoulder into my torso, sending me flying backwards and landing on the ground with an audible oof, catching me off guard.
Kirill stands over me, drenched in what I hope is water and not baby oil, naked as the day he was born.
Seeing a wrinkled man in his late fifties wearing a leopard-print shower-cap and sporting a potbelly between scrawny chicken legs would normally have me doubling over with laughter.
However, from my position on the floor, I am at a disadvantage.
The trafficker looks at me with the most sinister, all-teeth smile on his weathered face, invoking a sense of dread deep inside.
For a moment, I see the monster Kirill’s trafficking victims must have seen.
Not cool. This creep has done hard time in Russian prisons. Lord knows what kind of twisted shit he might cook up for me in his sick head.
The Russian boss points a gnarled finger at me, spittle flying from his mouth as he laughs, believing he has the upper hand. “You die tonight.”
Fuck. That. Noise.
With the heels of my biker boots, I kick his bony knees as hard as I can.
There’s an audible crunch followed by Kirill shrieking in pain.
He drops to his knees, screaming harder on contact with the floor.
Thank fuck the music from the party covers Kirill’s agonized cries, as well as the banging from Mikhail and Oaks tearing through the apartment.
Pure hate radiates off Kirill as he watches me climb to my feet in front of him. “You broke my kneecaps, you motherfucker!”
Tired of this bastard’s disrespect, I pull my Glock out from the waistband of my jeans, pressing the barrel of the gun into the center of Kirill’s forehead. The asshole stills, swallowing hard as if he’s suddenly realizing he’s no longer in charge.
“Your knees are the least of your concerns. You should be more concerned with surviving the next hour.”
Like a scared, wounded beast, Kirill snarls at me, hurling what I assume are Russian slurs. He doesn’t get to say much before I pistol-whip his ugly face. Kirill’s eyes roll back in his head. He slumps over—lights out.
Across the room, Oaks is still tangoing with Mikhail.
The henchman may have survived in Russian prisons, but he’s losing ground against a former heavyweight boxer.
Oaks’ knuckles may be torn to shreds, but Mikhail’s battered face is the reason.
I’ve seen Oaks fight enough to know Mikhail should be knocked out by now.
My VP is toying with the bastard, enjoying how much pain he is causing.
Drift stands in the kitchen with his arms folded across his chest, looking bored out of his mind watching the two of them going at it.
Having seen enough, he grabs an empty vodka bottle from the counter and smashes it against Mikhail’s already bruised head.
The Russian trafficker goes down hard, hitting the floor with a hard thump where he lies unmoving.
Oaks spins on our brother. “Dammit, Drift! Why the hell do you have to ruin my fun?”
Our road captain rolls his eyes. “We have shit to do. The longer we stay here, the more likely we are to get caught. We need to transport this trash to Loveland for interrogation.”
“Not yet,” I say, heading down the hallway. “We need to search every inch of this apartment and see if Boden is hiding in here.”
“He’s not here,” Drift says behind me. “I already checked the bedroom and bathroom while you were rolling around on the floor.”
My ego bruised, I turn around to give my brother an earful. “Fuck you, Drift. I was not rolling around. The fucker took me by surprise. It could easily have been you wrestling with Kirill. And why the hell didn’t you help me out?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Stop whining. You handled the naked grandpa well enough. I thought it better to go search for Boden before he got the slip on us. Turns out he’s not even here.”
“Maybe he’s bunking at Riley’s,” Oaks says, getting to his feet after restraining Mikhail’s limbs behind his back.
“Wouldn’t that be ideal,” Drift says, flipping Kirill onto his stomach and hogtying his wrists and ankles together.
My cell vibrates in my back pocket. I pull it out, seeing Crypt’s name come across the screen. “We’re about to find out.”
I answer my cell, turning on the speaker for all of us to listen at once. “Crypt, tell me you have good news.”
There’s a brief pause before Crypt parrots, “You have good news.”
“What?” I shake my head. “No. I’m not asking you to repeat after me.”
“You said?—”
“I know what I said, but it’s not what I meant. Do you have good news about Riley? Did you find her?”
“Negative. She’s not here.”
“Fuck,” I curse, kicking Mikhail in the stomach in frustration. The henchman grunts, but remains unconscious.
“Yesterday’s mail is on the counter,” Crypt says.
“Meaning she was there recently. Have Hound keep watch on the location. If Riley returns alone, he can handle bringing her in. If she’s with Boden, tell him to call for backup.”
“Boden wasn’t at his apartment either?”
“No, but he had company staying here.”
“Do you want eyes kept on Boden’s place, too?”
With Kirill and Mikhail coming back with us to the clubhouse for questioning, I want my heavy hitters on-site to help me manage the pricks.
These aren’t your ordinary street thugs—they’re Russian felons.
If shit goes sideways, I want my strongest men with me as backup.
We can’t risk them escaping. I need to send someone else to do surveillance.
Someone seasoned enough to do the job without being told what to do, and large enough to handle Boden solo.
Mulling over my choices, our tail-gunner—Trigger—comes to mind. He’s big enough to handle Boden without backup and smart enough to do it without drawing attention to himself.
“Send Trigger. Tell him to monitor Boden’s complex from the road. No lurking near the building. We don’t want to alert Boden he’s being watched if he comes back.”
“Noted. Anything else?”
I look at the two scumbags lying on the floor, ready for transport. “Yeah. Leave the van with Hound in case he needs it to transport Riley and Boden. We’ll come get you and Ruger before heading back to the clubhouse. Be ready to go. We have some Russians to interrogate.”