“She said you would pay his debt and that you’re good to her,” Dima says quietly, and I suddenly understand his discretion.
My heart cinches up so tight I fear it will pop. I can’t breathe, and it feels like my eyeballs are on fire.
“That was the last text?” I croak. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so broken.
“Yes.”
My brain stops. I can’t think my way out of the car, much less out of this situation.
Fortunately, Maxim still has a functioning cortex. “Then Zane will come to you if and when he can,” he reasons.
The thought brings me a small measure of relief. “Yes. He would come to me,” I agree.
“I’ll let Maykl know to be on the lookout,” Maxim says.
“All right, let’s dig into his locations,” Dima says. “How far back should I go?” He starts reading off locations.
“Hold on,” Maxim says. “What was that last one?”
Dima repeats it.
“That’s close to where we met the Devil Dawgs to buy the women,” Maxim says. “You think his drug dealers are the same assholes keeping slaves?”
“A coincidence, yes, but that would fit,” I say. “He said he had a deal going, but it went wrong. The Devil Dawgs would be the kind to go in heavy.”
“Since when is Zane a drug dealer?” Maxim asks. “I thought he was just a recreational coke user.”
“I imagine he was trying to clear his debt with us,” I grumble. I throw the Tesla into drive and pull back out. “I’m going to that warehouse. I know where it is.”
“Not without us, you’re not,” Ravil snaps with an authority he doesn’t often use.
When I don’t answer, Maxim says, “We’ll meet you there. Do not go in until we arrive.”
I still don’t answer because there’s no fucking way I will sit and wait outside a warehouse for backup if I think Chelle is inside suffering.
“Nikolai, I will bring cash to pay off the debt. No one has to die,” Maxim reasons. “If you go walking into their lair alone and get yourself killed, Chelle will be no better off.”
“I’ll wait,” I grudgingly agree. “Make it fast.”
“We’ve got your back. Just hold tight.”
20
Chelle
Turns out, Zane wasn’t in the van they threw me in, but he is in their warehouse. When the three guys from the van drag me and my aching head into some kind of warehouse, I see him curled up on the painted concrete floor. He has fresh bruising and blood all over his swollen face. His lip is cut, and it looks like the fingers of one hand have been broken.
The place is set up like a clubhouse. A makeshift bar stretches along one side. Empty beer bottles litter the tables. There’s a pool table and dart boards set up, but also giant motorcycles parked inside. They’re some kind of motorcycle club, I think.
Russian mafiya and motorcycle gangs. My brother really knows how to pick his business partners.
“We got the sister,” the guy who grabbed me outside my building announces.
With the three guys who brought me, there’s seven guys total. They’re dressed in leather vests and covered in facial hair and tattoos.
“You hear that, boy? We found your big sister.”
“You mean little sister,” another one snickers. “I’ll bet she’s real tight.”
“Don’t hurt her.” Zane struggles to his feet with great effort, wheezing at the pain. “I’ll get your money right now.”
“He will,” I promise, hope kindling the moment I think of Nikolai and his pledge to pay it off. “He can get it. Or I can get it. Let me go, and I’ll bring you everything he owes. How much is it?”
“Oh no, this one stays.” One of the guys wraps a thick arm around my waist and picks me up. I kick my legs, struggling to get free. “We’re going to have fun with her until you get back,” he says darkly.
“No!” both Zane and I yell.
I claw at the arm around me, send my elbow backward into a paunchy gut. “Get your hands off me,” I snarl. “Touch me, and you die.” I continue to thrash, and the guy throws me to the ground and gives me a hard kick in the gut with his steel-toed boot.
I yelp like a wounded dog and wrap my arms around my stomach, wheezing with pain. The moment I can breathe again, I stagger to my feet. No way I’m going to curl up in a ball and take this shit. If they try to rape me, I will gouge their eyes out and kick their balls blue.
“Stop! It’s true,” Zane wheedles. “Her boyfriend is in the Russian bratva. He will kill everyone here if anything happens to her. You’ve heard of, of…Nikolai?” When their faces remain blank, he tries again. “O-oleg? Maxim!”
One of the men sneers. “He knows some Russian names.”
Some others shrug.
“Yeah, we’re shaking in our boots,” another says.