41. Cupid
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CUPID
“Atlas, I have the traffickers,” I say, holding my cell to my ear.
There’s a dark chuckle on the other end of the line. “Kirill and Mikhail?”
“Yes,” I say, pacing the corridor of the bunkhouse. I’m excited to get this show on the road. “They’re going to die tonight. I’m not asking for permission, but I hope you have no objections.”
“We’ve taken out their operations in our territory.
With the Russians in your custody, they’re no longer a threat to our community.
Do with them as you wish. Really, I should thank you for taking out the trash.
My crew has wasted enough man-hours searching for them. We can return to business as usual.”
“Believe me. I’m looking forward to dealing with them.”
“I bet. Cipher texted earlier saying you were coming into Fort Collins to retrieve Vanessa’s ex and his sidepiece for questioning. Have you located Boden and Riley, too?”
“Not yet,” I say regretfully. “But we will. Turns out Kirill and Mikhail have been camping out at Boden’s since we burned down their storage facility.”
There’s a quiet pause on the other end of the line before Atlas speaks. “You’re telling me your woman’s ex was working with the Russians?”
“Yeah,” I say with a flare of fury coursing through me. “He was recruited to be a scout like Riley, finding women on campus to fill the orders of the Black Market Railroad.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Atlas growls on the other end of the phone.
“Exactly how I feel. I currently have two men—one for each apartment—doing a stakeout in the areas around their residences in case Boden and Riley return. Oh, and you should probably know that we made a mess of Boden’s apartment.
The police will get involved once someone reports the damage.
I can send our club’s cleaner there to deal with it if you’re okay with us heading back into town. ”
“Let me handle it,” Atlas says, unbothered. “I’ve got connections with Detective Quire at the Fort Collins police station. He owes me.”
“Thanks. It’s one less mess I need to worry about.”
“Yes, and I’m sure things will get messy tonight.”
It sure as hell will.
“Cupid, do me one favor?”
My lips turn down. Owing favors to a different MC is not something I want. “What is it?”
“When you find Boden, make it hurt.”
I grin, my smile clear in my voice as I say, “Count on it.” And then I disconnect the call.
Before I get too caught up in the torture portion of the night’s activities, I text Trigger and Hound in a chat.
Heads up, guys. The Mercy Ravens are aware you’re in Fort Collins, and they’re cool with it. Hound, don’t worry if they or the police show up at Boden’s—they have it under control.
“Cupid?” Oaks hollers for me at the other end of the corridor near the basement stairs. “We’re ready when you are.”
“Coming,” I say with a pep in my step as I follow him downstairs.
In the same cold, stone room where I killed Artem, Kirill and Mikhail hang by their wrists from the support beam above where they’re attached to a pulley system, their feet dangling. It’s fitting they will join their partner in death in the same place he died.
“Are we good with the Mercy Ravens?” Oaks asks when we step into the room, knowing I had been on the phone with Atlas seconds ago.
“Yup. We have their blessing to do whatever we want with them,” I say with a smirk, picking up a rusted pipe from the tools Crypt has laid out for me.
Kirill is hurling vile insults at my men while Mikhail is still not fully conscious, struggling to keep his eyes open. The vodka bottle to the head must have given him a nasty concussion.
Pity. I wanted him lucid for torture, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Hitting the palm of my hand with the pipe like a baseball player beating in his glove for a game, I approach Kirill and smile. “Welcome to my humble abode. Hope you like the accommodations. If not, it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here long enough to settle in.”
Kirill snarls through his teeth. “Fuck you, Cupid.”
“Is that any way to talk to your host?” I ask, ruffling his feathers some more. “Speaking of talks, you’re going to answer some questions for me.”
“I’m not answering shit.”
“Your disobedience will not be tolerated.” To drive my point home, I give him a generous love tap on his right busted kneecap with the pipe.
Kirill cries out a shriek of pain loud enough to wake Mikhail out of his stupor. The henchman’s eyes widen with terror when he registers he’s suspended from the ceiling and his boss is being tortured. Panicked, he shakes, rattling his chains and whispering frantic prayers.
“Oh, good! You’re awake. Didn’t want you to miss out on the fun,” I say sarcastically, making my men chuckle around us.
Mikhail hyperventilates, realizing he’s screwed. For a henchman, he’s weak.
Sensing Mikhail will break before Kirill, I pivot my interrogation onto him. “I was just telling your wrinkly-ass boss here that I want my questions answered. If not…”
I slam the pipe against Kirill’s other busted kneecap. His scream bounces off the stone walls, ringing in my ears.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want!” Mikhail shouts, tears flooding his eyes.
“Mikhail!” Kirill hollers through his pain. “Say nothing. Give them nothing.”
Drift punches the Russian boss in the gut, making him cough violently. “Unless you’re offering something, shut the fuck up, grandpa.”
My eyes hold Mikhail’s while I twist the pipe in my hands, ready to swing it like a baton.
“I’ll speak! I’ll speak!” Mikhail cries, swaying from the beam with how hard his body trembles.
“That’s the spirit,” I say, pleased as I rest the pipe on my shoulder. “Tell me about Boden Vaughn. Did he recommend you take his ex for the trade?”
His head bobs rapidly. “Yes! He wanted us to teach her a lesson for leaving him. Boden thought if we had our way with her, the experience would make her feel tainted. He wanted to play the white knight, taking her back while she assumed she’s used goods and could do no better.”
Rarely does anything surprise me, but my mouth is hanging open. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“No, I’m being truthful,” Mikhail says in a panicked tone, misunderstanding my question as me not believing him.
“That is so fucked up,” Oaks says, his tone bewildered.
“Shiiit,” Ruger drawls, shaking his head in disbelief. “Let me tell you. I’ve been pissed at many of my exes, but not enough to sell them to a flesh trade.”
“Right? It’s…it’s…” Scalpel can’t seem to find the words to express how awful it is, none of us can.
“Diabolical,” Crypt says with his face twisted in disgust, filling in the word that eludes us. If Crypt’s face is showing any emotion, you know shit is extreme.
“And you went along with this knowing his ex was my ole lady?”
“We didn’t know she was yours until today, when she came to campus wearing your property patch—none of us knew,” Mikhail says.
“What do you mean you didn’t know she was mine? Boden knew she was mine before the night you attacked her outside her apartment.”
Both Russians still, their chains clinking together as they sway from the beam. The two men look at each other with a mixture of shock and anger. They exchange heated words in Russian, clearly pissed with this revelation.
“He didn’t tell you?” I huff a laugh. “You got played by a fuckboy.”
Neither speaks, too baffled and infuriated.
With more questions brewing in my mind, I press for answers. “Why not take off after you realized I claimed her?”
“Leverage,” Mikhail explains tersely. “If we had her, we could barter for Artem’s safe return.”
I raise an eyebrow at our captive. “Safe return? Wait. Do you think Artem’s still alive? Ha! Your brother is dead.”
Mikhail goes white. “Dead?”
I nod, motioning around the space. “Bled out in this very room the same night you fled and left him behind with me.”
Guilt morphs Mikhail’s features into one of pain. “He bled out?”
“That usually happens when you castrate someone with no medical intervention,” Crypt says nonchalantly.
Overwhelmed by learning the fate of his brother, Mikhail vomits violently, covering the front of himself in bile.
Oaks wrinkles his nose. “Gah! I hate it when they vomit. It’s another layer of stench to deal with.”
“It’s okay if you step out into the hall, brother,” I say, not looking away from our captives as I warn my VP.
“Nah,” he says. “I’ll stay with you, Prez, all the way—even when it’s gross as hell.”
Scalpel hands Oaks a bucket. “Just in case. We don’t want to clean up any more mess than we need to.”
Oaks frowns, pushing the bucket back at our medic. “Fuck that. Give me one of those anti-nausea patches. I know you’ve got a damn pharmacy in your bag.”
While everyone focuses on Oaks and Scalpel discussing the best medications for stomach upset, I drop the pipe on the table of torture instruments, looking for a new toy to test out. My eyes land on a tall, pointed iron stake. It’s old and rusted in many places, but it looks oddly familiar.
My eyes lift to Crypt’s across the table. “Did you raid the historical cemetery again? This looks like a stake from the dilapidated fence.”
Crypt shrugs, not making eye contact and looking guilty. “Maybe.”
Normally, I would lecture him about taking shit from the cemetery.
The last time he did, he ripped off one of the bronze-plated vase holders from an old headstone and brought it back to the club to drink his beer out of it like a chalice.
Freaked a few of the brothers out, and I had to tell him to leave it in his room.
After being thoroughly chastised, I thought he had learned not to rob the cemetery again, but I guess not. And for once, I’m not upset.
Grabbing the tall stake in my hands, I hold it up for inspection with a sinister grin tugging at my lips. Kirill and Mikhail watch me with despairing interest.
Drift’s lips turn down. “The fuck are you going to do with that?”
“Have you ever heard of Vlad III Dracula?”
Crypt’s head snaps to mine, his face cracking into a faint smile. “I do, and it’s a brilliant idea.”