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Opie poked around the room, opening closet doors and drawers. The third drawer he opened, he chuckled softly to himself and reached inside to pull out a large purple vibrator. With a look of disgust, he dropped it on the floor.
“Who the fuck are you people?” Drinkwater moaned, either u
“Quiet,” Jax said. He stepped forward and bumped the gun barrel against Drinkwater’s forehead, just to remind him of its weight. “One question.”
The man blinked. He was thin and olive-ski
Not so, Louis Drinkwater. The decor alone told Jax what kind of prick he was dealing with. He had no good feelings for this guy.
Opie laughed softly, and Jax glanced over to see that he’d produced a massive black latex dildo from the drawer.
“What?” Drinkwater asked. “What do you want to know?”
“You’re helping some Russians stay out of sight,” Jax said. “Tell me where.”
Drinkwater flinched, wet his lips with his tongue, and gave a nervous laugh. “Russian? You think you’re living in some spy movie?”
Opie stepped forward, swung hard, and cracked the ski
Jax crouched beside him. “I’m not a patient man. You tell me where you’ve got the Russians stashed, and we’ll make it look like your place was broken into. My friend here is go
Drinkwater tried to rise, put his hand on the bed to lever himself up. Opie brought the massive dildo down on his forearm nearly hard enough to break bone. The guy crumpled to the ground again, tears springing to his eyes.
“You’re a businessman, Louis,” Jax said. “You can do the math here even better than we can.” He shook the gun in his hand to draw the Realtor’s attention to it. “I could count to ten if you need some drama or whatever.”
Clutching his bruised forearm, blood trickling from his nose, the man stared at Jax and Opie with an expression of such horror that it stripped all the pretense away from him. Even the world’s biggest asshole had been a kid once, and Jax figured he was seeing the stripped-down face of young Louis.
Opie let the heavy latex cock dangle in his hand. “Ugly way to die, Louis,” Opie said. “Skull caved in with your own damn dildo.”
Drinkwater looked at Opie. “When you duct-tape me… I have a deviated septum. If you cover my mouth completely, I won’t be able to get enough air. You’ll suffocate me.”
Opie shrugged. “I’ll use an old-school gag. A rag or something. You can breathe around it, but it should keep you quiet for a while.”
The little man nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, okay.” He rose slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. “They’re at the Wonderland Hotel. Place is abandoned, up for sale. I’ll give you the address, but you’ve gotta promise to let me use the toilet before you duct-tape me. Could be my daughter who finds me—she comes by for lunch sometimes. I don’t want to piss my pants.”
Jax hesitated, thinking the guy might make a break for it or try to get to his phone. But Opie would be keeping an eye on him.
“Address,” he said.
Drinkwater gave it up. Opie dropped the dildo, wiping his right hand on his jeans, then gestured for the Realtor to walk ahead of him to the bathroom.
Jax went into the kitchen, pulled out a chair, then waited until Drinkwater emerged and told him where to find the duct tape. Every house had a roll, even moderately wealthy shitheads. Opie taped the guy to the chair, wrists and ankles bound tightly enough that he could not possibly escape, and then went back into the bedroom for a minute.
“What was that about?” Jax asked when he came out.
Opie shrugged. “Guy’s daughter might come by. I put his dick collection back in the drawer.”
Jax shook his head, stifling a laugh. Opie gagged Drinkwater, and they left, the Realtor sighing sadly before slumping in the chair as much as the duct tape would allow.
They left the stucco castle by the back door. Joyce and Chibs waited there with their two Russian babysitters. The two Bratva pricks had wanted to come inside, but Jax had refused to allow it. Drinkwater would be more reluctant to give up the location if he knew for sure that he was sentencing his Russian buddies to death. At least that was what Jax had told them, and with the tension between the Kawasaki Russians and Jax’s guys, they wisely declined to argue.
“Well?” blue-eyed Ustin demanded when Jax and Opie came out the back door.
Jax bumped shoulders with the Russian as he walked by, heading for the bikes. Chibs and Joyce were already there, waiting with Lagoshin’s other thug, Luka. Ustin caught up to Jax and Opie as they were climbing onto their bikes.
“Where are they?” Ustin demanded, lowering his voice an octave and attempting to intimidate them.
Jax strapped on his helmet. “I told Lagoshin the plan. I’m going in after my sister. When we get there, you won’t need to ask the address. He promised me an hour, and that hour starts ticking the second you call him. Just follow me. You can call him when you see the place.”
Luka sniffed imperiously, as if he’d smelled something revolting. “You don’t trust Lagoshin?”
Jax winced at the bruises on his face and the way every breath hurt, thanks to the kicks he’d taken to the chest.
“You’re joking, right?”
He kick-started his Harley and twisted the throttle, tearing out of the parking lot. Chibs, Opie, and Joyce had been ready and followed him out. It took the Kawasaki Russians a few seconds to get themselves together, but they caught up fast enough. Jax had no intention of trying to lose them—not when they could prove valuable to him.
Dawn was still many hours away, but Jax could practically feel it creeping up. Too many pieces were in motion, not just Lagoshin’s and Sokolov’s crews, but SAMNOV and the cop, Izzo, not to mention Carney and Drinkwater, whose daughter would find him in the next ten to twelve hours, if not sooner. The night air grew heavy around him. Normally, riding was freedom, but in the small hours of that night it felt claustrophobic to him. Caution could only take him so far.
Two miles from Drinkwater’s house, on an access road that led along the property line of a dried-up ranch and back toward the beltway, Jax pulled off onto the shoulder. Dust swirled up around his Harley. He pulled off his helmet and dismounted. One by one, the others followed suit, ending with Ustin and Luka. The Kawasaki Russians looked pissed when they ripped off their helmets, although the difference between joy and fury would be hard to discern on those unforgiving faces.
“What you doing, man?” Ustin demanded, marching up to Jax, hand drifting behind his back, trying to decide if he should pull his gun. “You try an’ cut Lagoshin out, you know what’s go
His accent was Russia by way of LA gang-speak, like he’d learned English from watching bad cop shows.
Jax held his hands out at his sides. “Don’t be stupid. My sister’s in the middle of all this. You really think I’m go