The Bookie (Chicago Bratva 6)

The man who took me points a pistol at Zane. “Better run, boy. Bring those Russians back while there’s something left of her to save.” He grabs my upper arm and drags me backward against his body, bringing one hand to paw my breast.

Zane’s eyes are wild and terrified. He’s as scared out of his mind as I am. He backs toward the door, holding my gaze. I read his apology in his eyes. His promise to do everything he can.

And because he’s my little brother and I’m supposed to be the one taking care of him, I call out, “I’m fine. Just get Nikolai!”

Nikolai

I cruise down the street a block behind the warehouse, not wanting to pull right in and announce myself. Of course, there’s nowhere in this neighborhood where parking a brand new Tesla would be inconspicuous. I end up angling it behind a dumpster.

I pull a spare pistol and clip out of the glove box and check both weapons for ammo. Then I get out, a pistol in each hand, and march toward the building.

When I see a figure emerge, I hold my gun straight out and point it at his head, still walking swiftly toward him.

The guy is half-running, half-limping, looking behind him like he’s being chased.

Fuck.

“Zane.”

“Nikolai. Oh thank God, you’re here.” He run-limps toward me, desperation and relief pouring from him. He looks horrible—much worse than when we worked him over. “How did you find us?”

Us. Thank fuck. “Where is she?”

Zane whirls and points wildly at the warehouse. “She’s in there. We have to go back now. They were going to… they—”

I let out a string of Russian expletives and run toward the warehouse. I hear Zane’s footfalls behind me.

I may have thought my days of violent crime were mostly in my past, but I was wrong.

I don’t give a fuck about my soul. I will blast every last motherfucker in there.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Zane pants behind me. “There’s a lot of them. Seven, I think. You gotta wait. Where’s Oleg?”

I turn. “You know how to shoot a gun?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Sort of.” I hand him one of the pistols. “Shoot to kill,” I advise. “Chest or head.”

He draws in a breath and nods resolutely.

I stride up to the warehouse. “Which door?” I demand.

“Straight ahead,” Zane says from behind me, and I march to it. Kick it open with my foot.

I hear Chelle screaming and white hot rage explodes inside me. Three men are bent over her, struggling to keep her down as she fights like a wildcat.

I take aim and fire. One. Two. Three dead.

Someone closer to me draws a weapon, and I gun him down too.

A guy with a shotgun fires at me and misses. I take him out at the same time another weapon fires.

Two bodies drop.

Zane’s shell-shocked face tells me he just made his first kill.

Something hard hits my head and glass splinters around my face. I whirl and fire my gun.

Seven dead.

I scan the place for anyone else breathing as I jog toward Chelle.

“Watch my back,” I tell Zane as I tuck the pistol in my waistband and lunge to free her from the bodies.

“It’s okay, Chelle. I’ve got you.” I throw them off her and haul her to her feet and against my body. She sobs, but struggles against me, so I release her. She looks at Zane, gun still in hand. Both of them wear the same horrified expressions. She looks at me. Then at the bodies strewn around the room.

“Don’t look.” I glance at Zane. “Take her out of here.” I need to make sure things are buttoned up.

Still sobbing, she staggers for the door.

“Chelle!” Zane calls after her, following.

I hear the sound of tires on asphalt outside. “Wait, Chelle!” I pull my gun and jog after them, but it’s just my brothers.

I hear Maxim’s voice calling, “Chelle? Are you all right? Nikolai sent us. —Oh.” He sees me. “What’s the status?”

“Ready for clean up.” I should have said it in Russian because Chelle whirls to face me, her expression even more shocked. She’s pale, making a bruise on her cheek stand out. I want to kill the fuckers all over again for doing that to her. I want to burn the place down. Which is probably what Adrian will do with it. Arson is his preferred method of destruction.

She looks at the gun in my hand, and I hastily put it away.

“Talk to me, zayka. What do you need?” This time I’m smart enough not to touch her. I give her space but stay close.

She swallows. Her teeth chatter. “I need to be away from… all this.” She flaps her hand at the warehouse. “From you.”

I stand very still, trying to catch up to her thoughts. “Chelle, I had nothing to do with that. Those guys were sex traffickers and drug dealers. They took you because Zane owed them from a drug deal gone wrong.”