Tangled Vows

Chapter One

Leonid

Dusty beams of sunlight filtered through the grimy windows near the ceiling in the warehouse. My men and I tread carefully through the vast space, guns drawn, eyes scanning for any movement.

The tip we received was clear.

The Armenians have been storing smuggled goods here before transporting them to be sold on the black market. Arms, drugs, trafficked items. All these cut into the Bratva’s business. We want the entire pie for ourselves. There’s no room for competition.

I signal to my co-captain, Ivan, with two quick hand gestures. He nods and takes his own team to sweep left while my team heads right. The muted thud of our boots on the concrete floor echoes against the metal shelves. There are tall stacks of unmarked crates and boxes on either side.

My instincts are on high alert. I keep my eyes peeled for anything unusual. Something feels off about this place. It’s quiet; too quiet. I can’t hear any sounds coming from outside. No traffic noises. No honking. No tires screeching. It seems someone went to a lot of trouble to soundproof it.

We continue clearing each row, finding nothing but what looks like stolen merchandise.

Electronics? Check. Cell phones, tablets and even a few laptops line quite a few of those rows. All of them are in their boxes, brand-new.

Designer clothes? Check. Dresses, women’s shoes, men’s shirts are in separate boxes, their labels bringing smiles to my men’s faces. On one of those boxes, someone has written: Heart Medicine. Its contents? Thongs and garters. Yeah, that was heart medicine alright. The ideal medicine to give some old dude a heart attack.

Firearms? Check. Guns and magazines are abundant. I find nine-mil and thirty-eight-mil handguns in a number of boxes, labeled “survival kits.” I guess whoever wrote that didn’t have such a great sense of humor.

Regardless of that, one thing is certain. This warehouse is a trafficking jackpot. The ones who run it must be making hundreds of thousands every week.

As we approach the rear of the building, I spot a locked metal door tucked away in a back corner. The lone door stands out from the rest of the open shelving units. I signal to my tech security expert, Malachi, to inspect the door.

He holsters his gun and pulls out a set of lock picks, then kneels in front of the heavy deadbolt. I like this guy’s patience, but it’s not his most striking skill. That would have to be his precision. He knows exactly where to place his tools to get the result he wants. And that conclusion is confirmed just thirty seconds later. The sound of the lock clicking open brings an air of satisfaction to me.

I grab the handle of the door, nodding at my men to ready their weapons. In one swift movement I yank open the door, aiming my gun into the dark room.

“Please!” a woman’s panicked voice cries. “Don’t shoot!”

I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting within the small room. My gaze sweeps the emptiness up ahead, the shapes of half a dozen young women huddled together coming into focus. I swallow hard, watching them shift back, holding each other like little kids clutching their mom’s hand.

I lower my gun and raise my hand in the air. The last thing I want to do is put more fear in them. “It’s alright. We’re here to help you.”

With my men watching the doorways, I take some time to check out the women. All seem to be in their late teens or early 20s. For some reason, they all have on fancy designer clothes. To make things even weirder, those clothes are torn and dirty. They all have long hair, though messy and dull. Bruises mar their arms and one of them has a split lip. The bastards who took them haven’t been gentle. Far from it. Looks like they dragged the women through the dirt.

I lock my gaze on the dark-haired woman who spoke. She’s standing between two blondes with her arms around their shoulders. “Your name, girl,” I demand, causing her to step back in surprise.

“Clare,” she replies, after a short pause. “I’m Clare Jensen.”

Her green eyes shine in the room’s dim light. She has delicate features with porcelain skin. She’s like a living doll. Yet, there’s something fierce that hints at an inner strength.

I give Clare a reassuring look before addressing the group. “You’re safe now. We’re going to get you out of here.”

The women sigh in relief. Clare’s shoulders sag just the slightest bit as she lets out a breath. She gives me a faint smile. Despite her obvious ordeal, I have to admit she’s one gorgeous lady. She’s looked better, sure, but even after being abducted by a bunch of good-for-nothing pricks, Clare could turn heads.

“Let’s move!” I order my men.

Ivan appears and helps guide the women out into the warehouse. His brows furrow together as he takes in their condition, his jaw tightening. I can understand his confusion. Hell, I feel the same way myself. We came looking for contraband. We found it, but we also came across a group of terrified trafficked victims.

In minutes, we have them outside, loading them into SUVs while some of my men guard the place. Just as the last woman is about to step into the vehicle, though, I realize this isn’t going to be a picnic. Shouting erupts from the front of the warehouse, followed by a burst of automatic gunfire. My senses go into overdrive in a split second.

The women scream in panic. My men shut the car doors and step around them to shield them with their bodies.

“Stay down! Don’t move!” I yell. Drawing my weapon, I sprint towards the front, Ivan following right behind me. We skid around a corner and take cover behind a shelving unit. Peering through a narrow gap, I spot five heavily armed and tattooed Armenian thugs. They stand close to one another, firing at my men. Aleksei and Petrov return fire while Malachi and the others have taken cover. They are pinned down about thirty yards away. There’s no way for them to break out without exposing themselves to a fucking hail of bullets.

“Ivan, circle around the right with Dmitri and Yuri,” I order. “I’ll flank left with Aleksei. On my signal, hit them from the side.”

Ivan nods and signals our two men. They take off, slipping into the shadows of the warehouse. I lock eyes with Aleksei. He grins, gun at the ready. We begin to creep along the perimeter of the large room, using the tall shelves for cover. I can tell the Armenians haven’t spotted us yet. Their wild firing at my pinned down men is more than enough proof of that. What a bunch of amateurs. They must have seen scenes like this in the movies and dreamt of being in one for real because it looked cool.

As we reach the halfway point, I spot Ivan and our men sneaking into position about twenty yards from the enemy’s side. I catch his eye and hold up three fingers, then make a fist. He nods.

I start my countdown. Three... Two... One...

“Now!” I roar, springing from cover and firing at the Armenians.

Ivan and his team do the same, catching them in deadly crossfire.

Two go down immediately, their bodies tumbling to the floor with a thud. The remaining three whip around. Letting fear get the best of them, they make the mistake of scattering instead of staying in a tight group. In a matter of seconds, we pick them off, one by one. The echoes of the guns popping linger in the air when the final one draws his last breath. Blood dripping from his lips, he lays flat on his back, eyes still open but no longer seeing.

Silence falls on the warehouse, my ringing ears reminding me what just happened. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, smoke still rising from the barrels of our weapons. Watchful for any other threats, Ivan and I sweep the area. It doesn’t take long to reach a conclusion. These five seemed to be the only armed guard present.

“Clear!” Ivan calls out from my left, his weapon still drawn, barrel pointing upward. I give the all-clear signal and my men emerge from their cover. A sense of relief washes over me. None of them is hurt, apart from a few cuts and bruises along their forearms.

“Guess our intel was good,” Aleksei remarks as they reach us, nudging a dead Armenian with his boot.

“What about the girls?” Ivan asks, his urgent tone showing his worry.

I turn to him. “Back to the SUVs, now!” I command, my voice bouncing off the walls of the warehouse.

We rush outside. I’m relieved to see my drivers are still standing guard by the vehicles full of our unexpected cargo. The young women have stayed hidden, although I can see shadows shifting behind tinted windows. I bet they’re nervous; I know I would be if I were in their shoes.

I jerk open the rear door. Wide, frightened eyes flash to mine but instantly calm when they recognize me. I offer my most reassuring smile before gesturing for Clare to step out. She hesitates only a second, then hops out of the SUV, tugging on the hem of her torn dress.

Up close, her beauty hits me like a goddamn smack in the face. The dress she’s wearing, or what remains of it, must have cost a bundle. Her daddy must be loaded. Someone must have paid top dollar to have her kidnapped. She’s a prize. A trophy in the eyes of some twisted fuck who thought he could steal her from her family. Rage surges through me as this thought enters my mind.

“Are you alright?” I ask, keeping that notion to myself. She’s got enough troubles; I’m not going to burden her with a horrifying scenario of slavery. Her delicate face makes her appear younger, but I can tell she’s closer to her twenties than teens, like some of the other girls.

She runs a hand through her long dark hair and parts her lips. “Yeah, I think so. Just shaken up, and uh...” she glances down at her torn, filthy dress. “Feeling a little exposed at the moment.”

I frown and shrug off my leather jacket before throwing it over her bare shoulders. That oversized coat makes her look tiny and fragile. I’m sure one more Clare would fit under my jacket.

Moments of silence pass between us, and in those, an urge rises within me. It’s completely new, but I can’t ignore it, even if I wanted to. I want to shield and protect this woman. And that instinct must show on my face, judging by the eyebrow Ivan arches at me. That son of a bitch knows me too well. Of all the people in the world, he’s the one I can’t hide from.

Clearing my throat, I address our group. “We need to move fast. The shooting means this place will be crawling with cops in no time. Yuri,” I pin my coldest stare at my driver. “Get them to the safe house. Now.”

He nods, his expression stiff. “Yes, sir.”

Yuri may be young, but he’s one of our best drivers and can navigate Miami streets like a seasoned native.

The rest of my crew begin loading back into the vehicles. I turn back to Clare as she tugs on my jacket, her gaze down to the floor.

“You’ll all be safe soon,” I murmur. An impulse drives me to brush a strand of silken hair from Clare’s cheek.

Her eyes hold mine just for a brief moment. That rare shade of green is fixed on my face, and I lose my will to offer her more words of comfort. Something passes between us before Ivan steps up and opens the SUV’s rear door for her.

She smiles up at me and then ducks into the vehicle. The sharp closing of that door snaps me out of my daze not a moment too soon. We need to go now. I can’t afford to gaze at anybody, no matter how hot they look.

But still, I’m not the kind of guy who stares like some lovestruck moron. I’ve been with my fair share of women. What the hell was that? I give myself a mental ass-kicking before gesturing to my men.

“Move out!”

The SUV engines roar to life and the vehicles veer towards the road, slipping away just as I hear the telltale sirens in the distance. Their wailing grows louder in my ears. The cops will be on-scene in two minutes. No time for the cleanup crew. Ivan and I share a glance. We sprint off, heading for our cars. It’s time for us to make our own, hasty exit. I slide in, adrenaline and emotions still pumping through my veins as I turn the key in the ignition.

Tires squealing, my mind is playing tricks on me. It keeps straying back to the sight of Clare wrapped in my coat. How tightly she clung to my jacket, even in the safety of the SUV. She looked like she enjoyed having something of mine on her. Maybe she caught my scent and wanted to...

Oh, shut the fuck up, idiot!

Something is definitely wrong with me. This is the second mental ass-kicking I give to myself in what? Five minutes? It must be the tension. It has to be the adrenaline that’s still pouring through my system. Nothing else makes sense...