Ignite (The Disciples 4)

The Russians showing up tonight is all-around fucked up. I watch as they walk straight up the stairs. Their greed and arrogance are a dangerous combination. Blade and I have been trying to decide if we want to back away from them.

Fosters has been talking with the Irish, but they’re fucking crazy as well. It’s a basic pick your poison. As of now, we’ve been staying with the Russians.

“I need to get up there.” My eyes scan the monitors as I watch Blade and David greet them. Ryder stays back to watch.

“That Russian motherfucker knew we’d be coming in tonight. Look at him going straight to Blade. You need to find out who tipped him off,” I snarl.

“If someone talked, I’ll know by the end of the night.” Snipe says all this as he works on his phone.

Andre’s large body is next to mine as he watches the screens. We call him Andre as in Andre the Giant since he’s six seven and 350 pounds of solid muscle.

“Fucking Russians.”

I turn to look at him, and if I wasn’t hungover, I’d laugh at his dry but calculating manner.

“Fucking Russians. Someone talked. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Yeah, neither do I.”

He cracks his neck, then sits at Derrick’s desk. “I’ll start watching the last three hours of footage today and go from there.”

Snipe glances up. His brown eyes narrow as he speaks into his earpiece, his expensive black suit and white shirt a stark contrast to his naturally olive skin. He and Andre have been in charge of all my security. I trust them, and I trust very few people.

Snipe served with Blade in the SEALs. He was with us in Afghanistan. War has a habit of creating a bond.

I reach into my pocket for my smokes. “Pull up all the footage from eleven a.m. on, Andre.” I light up.

“And listen to all phone conversations. Blade didn’t decide we were all coming into the Pussycat before eleven this morning.”

Andre types on the main computer. “I don’t know why people always want to underestimate us,” he says, deadpan. “But, we need their stupidity to keep us on our toes.”

That’s why I pay these guys to run all my security. I spin my lighter as I watch Blade motion for Vlad and Dimitri to sit at their booth. Another table is being set up to the side for Ox and Fosters.

“Come get me if you find anything.” I take one last deep inhale and put the cigarette out. “Also, find Crystal and tell her to send up more girls and lots of vodka. I want them sloppy.”

Snipe nods and talks into his earpiece again. “You need me to come with you?”

“No, just get Crystal to do her job.” I hesitate, wondering why I feel so unsettled. “And keep an eye out. No surprises.”

They both look up from what they were doing. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fucking tired and pissed,” I say, not waiting for a response as I thread my way through the throngs of people to the velvet red rope leading to the VIP area.

Darrell stands at the bottom with his phone out, checking names. No one who hasn’t made a reservation gets up these stairs unless Darrell decides you can. He gets a percentage of whatever the VIP area makes every night. All the girls, bartenders, and house give him 10 percent.

He nods at me. “Boss.”

“You know about everything, right?” I step in and he latches the rope again.

“I’ve got extra guys on tonight.” I nod at him.

“That’s what I like to hear,” I say over my shoulder. Taking the stairs two at a time, I’m greeted by the massive amount of smoke coming out of our fog machines.

Beautiful women and men of all ages are talking, dancing. It’s been awhile since I’ve been at the Pussycat at night. Derrick has a reason to be proud—he’s made it exclusive and hip.

“Send over a bottle of Stoli and some bread and shit,” I bark at Tiffany, one of our best bartenders. At close to six feet, she’s our gorgeous Amazon.

Derrick has been trying to get into her pants for years. She flashes me a full smile. Her large gold hoop earrings make her look like Jasmine from Aladdin.

“Ahhh… Axel, I nearly creamed my panties when I heard you were taking over for Derrick.” She tosses her raven straight hair over a shoulder and throws me a saucy stare.

“Don’t play with my fragile heart, darlin’.” I wink at her and make my way over to Blade’s table.

“Vladimir, Dimitri, what are the odds?” I slide into the booth.

Vlad looks over at me and smiles, his hands outstretched.

“I was telling my very good friend Blade here the same thing.”

Blade leans back, ignoring Vlad completely as he watches the talent on the stage.

“If I didn’t know him better”—Vlad smiles, revealing his two gold front teeth—“I’d say none of you cowboys are happy to see us.”