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“She’ll be all right here?” Jax asked.
Oleg smiled, turning his grim features boyishly charming for a moment. Jax could see, then, the ordinary guy beneath the Bratva strongman.
“We will be busy killing all those who could threaten her,” Oleg said. “None of them will be alive to cause her trouble.”
“All right, then,” Jax said.
Clutching the assault rifle in his left hand, he reached out with his right. Oleg took his hand, and they shook, a pact not unlike the one Jax had made with Kirill, but more personal.
“Let’s see what other toys you guys picked up from Temple,” Jax said. “Then we’ll go give Lagoshin his morning wake-up call.”
* * *
Rollie was in his bar, wolfing down a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, when Thor came trudging out from the kitchen.
Rollie turned, figuring he was ready to leave, but he spotted the cell phone in Thor’s hand and froze.
“Tell me this isn’t more bad news, bud.”
Thor shrugged. “Well, it ain’t good news. The old guy Izzo put Jax onto—John Carney—is dead.”
Rollie swore and smashed a fist down on the bar. The fork he’d been using bounced off the wood and spun to the floor at his feet.
A dark thought swept through him. “You were with them when they talked to Carney?”
Thor nodded. “You know I was. It all seemed fine. Not to mention that Carney had kept information back from the cops that might’ve put them onto Trinity. I know what you’re thinking, but Jax had no reason to go back and hurt this old man.”
“All right. Go track down an address for the real estate guy Carney gave up to Jax. What the hell was his—”
“Drinkwater.”
“Him.” Rollie nodded. “Meet me out back. We’ll let the others search for Jax or some Russians. You and me are go
Rollie took one last bite of his toast and then rubbed a finger over his teeth. He shoved back the stool he’d been sitting in and headed for the back hall.
“What if Drinkwater’s already dead?” Thor asked.
Rollie paused, glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, I’m expecting to find him dead. Seems to be the theme of the morning. But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn anything from him.”
16
Jax sat in the passenger seat of a black Audi, the interior of which smelled like cigarette smoke and body odor. No new-car smell for Ilia, the Russian behind the wheel. In the backseat, Oleg kept a gun jammed up against Luka’s rib cage and snapped questions at him in Russian that Jax figured amounted to “right or left?” Luka was their human GPS this morning.
The air conditioner buzzed, turned all the way up, but for Jax all it did was chill the smoky, dank interior of the car. The Audi should have fit all four of them comfortably, but he felt claustrophobic. He’d hated having to leave the Harley behind. Worse than that, he despised having to sit idly in the passenger seat while Ilia did the driving. He didn’t know the Russian, had no idea how Ilia would respond if things went to hell. Oleg wouldn’t have put him behind the wheel if he hadn’t been a capable driver, but Jax kept opening and closing his hands, wishing for the grips on his Harley and the comforting freedom that came along with it.
He said nothing.
Whatever fate awaited him and Trinity today, he’d committed to it. No way to back out now. The assault rifle Oleg had given him waited in the trunk of the car.
A loud engine roared beside the Audi, and he glanced right to see Opie riding alongside. Opie peered in the window, just making sure the Russians hadn’t decided to put a bullet in Jax’s head now that they had him in the car. Jax nodded once and Opie dropped back behind the Audi to ride side by side with Chibs. The stitches Rollie had put in Opie’s side seemed to be doing the job, keeping the graze along his ribs closed, and his color had improved. He’d be in pain, but he’d manage.
“Your men look out for you,” Oleg said.
“Not my men,” Jax corrected. “They’re my brothers.”
Ilia glanced at him but then returned his focus to the road ahead. Jax thought he could practically hear Oleg thinking in the backseat.
“I understand,” Oleg said at last. “It is the same with us.”
Luka scoffed and started to say something. Oleg struck him in the head with the butt of his pistol, and Luka grunted, almost whining, then fell silent.
The Audi’s tires seemed strangely loud on the road. The morning sun blazed down, baking the hood of the car and the tinted glass windshield, and Jax knew the day would be a scorcher. Why a girl from Belfast would think she could find happiness in Nevada, he had no idea.
In his pocket, his cell phone buzzed. As he reached to retrieve it, he realized it wasn’t his phone at all. He carried his in another pocket; this one belonged to Luka.
The text message came from someone called VK. Two words: Check in.
“Your friend Krupin wants you to check in,” Jax said.
They kept driving. Oleg forced directions out of Luka, but there were hesitations that concerned Jax. They moved past a ranch and through a tract-housing development until they reached the outskirts of Las Vegas proper. Hotels and casinos loomed in the distance, silhouetted by stark sunlight.
“No way is Lagoshin camping out on the Strip,” Jax said, glancing over his shoulder at Luka. “What are you up to, asshole?”
“Go left,” Luka replied in English.
Ilia complied, and moments later they were rolling through a neighborhood of faded office buildings and auto body shops. Luka’s cell buzzed again. Another text from VK: Call in now. We’re moving.
The breath caught in Jax’s throat. He drew his gun as he turned on the seat. Oleg glanced up in alarm and Ilia twitched at the steering wheel, but by then Jax already had his gun aimed at Luka.
“What are you doing, Jax?” Oleg asked warily.
Jax ignored him, focused on Luka. “Krupin says they’re ‘moving.’ Where would they be moving?”
Luka smiled thinly, pure arrogance in his eyes.
Jax aimed the gun at his chest. Oleg jammed his gun in Luka’s side.
“Talk to me, asshole,” Jax said. “I don’t need you the way these guys do.”
At that, Luka’s smile broadened, but still he said nothing.
Jax stiffened, thinking hard. Trying to figure out a way that this did not mean what he feared it meant. He slid back into his seat, dropped Luka’s phone, and dug out his own.
“Who are you calling?” Oleg demanded, his own suspicion rising.
Jax found the contact he sought on his phone and hit CALL.
“Krupin says they’re moving. What if Lagoshin got a line on where you’ve been holed up? Trinity’s back there alone. I’m calling in some protection.”
Many Russians were pale complexioned by nature. Oleg grew paler.
“She is your sister,” he said. “You’re not going to demand we turn around?”
Jax tightened his grip on his gun. “Would you do it?”
Oleg pressed his lips into a thin line. He loved her, but there was nothing he could do, and nothing he could say.
The phone kept ringing. Jax listened, praying that it would be picked up.
* * *
Drinkwater had been duct-taped to a chair. His arms, legs, and torso had been taped down in three different colors, and an old-fashioned paisley necktie had been used to gag him. It wouldn’t have kept him from screaming, and, given time, he would’ve been able to get his mouth free—shout for help—so it seemed strange that whoever had done the very thorough duct-taping had chosen the tie.
Rollie stood in Drinkwater’s bedroom and stared at the two bullet holes in the man’s face, one in the forehead and one where his left eye ought to have been. The bullets had blown out the back of his skull.
Messy, he thought. Why be so meticulous about binding him… why bother with a gag at all… if this was how it was going to end?