Chapter Six
~ Vladski ~
Soren
I step into the neon glow of Mr. Vladski’s strip club, the heavy bass from inside already vibrating.
The sign above the door flickers with cheap pink and purple lights, spelling out “Velvet Eclipse” in cursive that tries too hard.
Ray and Armen flank me as we push through the entrance without waiting for the bouncer to react.
The moment Vladski spots me from across the main floor, his entire body language shifts. His fake smile freezes, eyes widening for half a second before he starts clapping his hands sharply. “Alright, girls… break! Everyone out, now. Private meeting. Move it!”
Dancers in barely-there outfits scatter like startled birds, grabbing robes and heels as they hurry toward the back rooms. The few lingering customers are ushered out just as quickly.
Vladski tries to play it cool, smoothing down his shiny shirt and forcing a broad, welcoming grin as he approaches. “Mr. Sinclair! My friend. Always a pleasure. You should’ve called ahead… I would have cleared the place properly.”
I don’t answer. I just stand here, dark eyes locked on him, watching…
not blinking and not smiling. Letting the silence stretch until the air grows thick with it.
I can see the beads of sweat already forming at his hairline, and the way his throat bobs when he swallows. Good, he should be uncomfortable.
Armen stands to my right with that cocky, shit-eating grin plastered across his face, clearly enjoying this far too much. Ray remains stone-faced on my left, arms loose but ready, the perfect picture of quiet menace.
Vladski is shorter than me by a good five or six inches, so I do him the small favour of lowering myself into one of the large leather armchairs near the stage. I lean back, legs spread, one inked forearm resting on the armrest, and continue staring. No wasted words, no pleasantries.
“My shipment,” I say finally, voice flat. “The gear container from this morning… was empty.”
Vladski exhales in a rush, shoulders sagging with visible relief. A nervous little laugh bubbles out of him. “Come on, you think I’d touch your stuff? I heard about it, sure, but I swear on my mother’s grave… I had nothing to do with it.”
His laugh is too quick, light, and relieved. I’ve dealt with this idiot enough times over the years to know exactly what his lying face looks like, and this isn’t it. He’s genuinely surprised I’m even asking him. Which means he’s not the one who emptied my crate.
Still, I don’t move. I keep my gaze pinned on him, letting the silence drag on again while sweat continues to roll down the side of his neck. Armen’s grin widens beside me, clearly hoping for more drama. Ray stays perfectly still, waiting for my next move.
I lick my teeth slowly, the metallic taste of violence already sitting on my tongue, then lift my hand and point one finger directly at Vladski’s sweating face. “Who did you hear it from?”
Vladski stills like a rabbit in headlights. His fingers twitch up to pull at his collar, loosening it as if the room has suddenly grown too hot. That little nervous tug at the fabric is one of his oldest tells… he’s lying or at least trying to hide something. I’ve seen it too many times to miss it.
“Wh-what… did I say that?” he stammers, eyes darting between me and the empty stage.
I narrow my eyes, letting the silence press down on him like a weight.
Armen steps in smoothly, slinging a strong arm around Vladski’s shoulders like they’re old drinking buddies. His grin is wide and friendly, voice light. “Ah, come on, man. We’re just having a friendly chat here. You don’t wanna piss off Mr. Sinclair of all people, huh?”
The silenced Smith blood is something I wear like a trophy. I smile slowly, letting it drip down my cheek as I hold Vladski’s terrified eyes.
“Maybe next time, you won’t lose your other ear, if you just… listen.”
Vladski clutches the bloody side of his head, whimpering and groaning behind the napkins. I straighten up, towering over him once more, and watch as he stumbles backward through the curtain into the back rooms, leaving a trail of red droplets on the floor.
Ray’s already tapping away at his tablet, voice steady. “The brothers are out of state for a week, but their members are keeping an eye on things.”
I crack my knuckles, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. “Well then… won’t it be a nice welcome home to find them all dead.”
With that, I turn and walk out the front door without a backward glance, the blood still wet and warm on my face. No shame, no rush to wipe it away… let the whole fucking street see who really runs this city.
I climb straight into the back of the SUV, the leather cool against my inked arms. As the door slams shut and the engine purrs to life, a small, satisfied grin tugs at the corner of my mouth.
The raw anger that had been simmering since breakfast is finally starting to settle, cooling into something sharper and more focused.
Kit can wait a little longer. Right now, I have a message to send.
◆◆◆
The SUV hums smoothly through the afternoon traffic, tinted windows hiding the blood still drying on the side of my face. I sit in the back, legs spread, one arm draped along the seat as the city blurs past.
I glance at Ray in the front passenger seat. “Send some men to the Vanderburns’ home.”
Ray turns slightly, brow raised. “You know where it is?”
I reach forward and take the tablet from his hands without asking. My fingers move quickly across the screen as I type in the exact address, then hand it back. “You think I don’t have Sam and Luke locate every scum’s address in this city?”
Armen, lounging in the seat beside me, lets out a pleased laugh, his grin sharp and eager. He always enjoys this part far too much.
“Tell the men it’ll likely be guarded,” I continue, “but I’m betting there are some illegal women in there.”
Ray nods once. “This could be a learning opportunity for Aria, boss.”
I grunt in approval and give a short nod. The girl has potential. She’s still green, but she learns fast.
Armen leans forward, still grinning. “And she’ll be a comfort for the women. She’s a good egg.”
“Good eggs don’t last long in my house,” I mutter, staring out the window at the passing buildings.
Armen’s grin only widens. “You’re the one who recruited her.”
I grunt again, unimpressed. “She watches reality TV.”
Armen stares at me for a beat, then bursts out laughing, the sound loud and genuine in the confined space. Even Ray cracks a grin, shaking his head.
“Oh my god, boss,” Armen wheezes, still laughing. “Ray stole your cereal the other day, but you’re bothered about what Aria watches in one of your many sitting rooms?”
I turn my head slowly toward Ray, eyes narrowing. “You did what?”
Ray laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lorraine said I could try them!”
A low, displeased growl rumbles from my chest. I don’t share my breakfast.
Armen is still grinning like an idiot. “This is great… don’t steal the king’s breakfast, Ray, or he might chop your balls off.”
Ray narrows his eyes at him. “It’s just food, dickbag.”
Armen winks at him, completely unbothered.
“Enough,” I cut in, voice flat. “This is childish.”
Armen nudges my shoulder with his elbow, still smiling. “What are friends for, boss?”
I grunt and don’t answer, turning my gaze back to the window. I’ve never once admitted out loud that I quite like their company. They’re complete opposites in most ways, Armen loud and cocky, Ray steady and precise, but both of them make me feel strangely… normal.
You’d never guess what we actually argue about behind closed doors.
I once walked in on one of the most respected families in the city mid-spat, their youngest daughter was throwing a tantrum over a specific brand of lemon-and-lime sparkling water.
The second they saw me they straightened up like soldiers, pretending the ridiculous family drama had never happened.
We’re all just normal people at the end of the day, with an enjoyment for… less legal activities. It doesn’t mean we don’t eat, drink, laugh, or bicker over stupid shit like cereal and reality television.
The thought pulls a faint, private grin to my mouth as the SUV turns onto the street leading to the Vanderburns’ front garage. The familiar rundown building comes into view… faded signage, chain-link fence, the faint smell of oil and rust even from here.
I crack my neck once, the grin fading back into the cold mask I wear for the world.