Chapter Two
She was still out cold.
Chains sat in the folding chair, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. A sleeping angel. He’d been sitting next to her, lost in thought, for over an hour. He didn’t regret his choice to bring her here. It was for her own damn good. The world out there would eat her alive, and this was the only place he could keep her safe.
He’d never had much growing up. In the hierarchy of the orphanage and later the local Russian mafia, he only got the scraps. That was a long time ago. A lifetime he’d gladly forget. Now Chains had choices, made his own rules. And this little lamb was his prize. Only his, and nobody could ever take her from him.
In all his years since moving over from his motherland, he’d never taken an interest in a woman. They were good for one thing. Otherwise, they were in his way. He wasn’t sure what it was about this one—Lori Dean. Maybe it was the vulnerability in her eyes, the bruise, or something triggered from his past. All he knew for certain was he couldn’t walk away. Something deep inside him, in the dark recesses of his soul, demanded he protect her from herself, to keep her as his treasure.
Before he even left the diner, his plan was already in action. The voice in his head told him to take her, and he was in complete agreement. He knew Boss would never condone him kidnapping a young woman and chaining her in his basement, but nobody would know except him. Lori would be his dirty little secret.
Chains rolled out his shoulders. He still had time before she woke up, so he decided to get some of the wheels of his plan in motion. When his little houseguest woke up, she wouldn’t be happy, so he wanted to have something to offer her. A peace offering. Since he already wanted to gut the asshole who dared to put his hands on her, it was going to be a good move regardless.
He had enough intel from Maurice’s initial report on Lori to track down the local bad boy. He was twenty-nine, skinny, covered in ink. Apparently, he ruled the neighborhood with an iron fist, the cause of undue fear and suffering in the small community. It was all going to end very soon. Little shits like Carlton Riggs were small potatoes to anyone working for Killer of Kings, but Chains was going to enjoy this kill personally.
Chains stood up and stared down at Lori one more time. He’d taken the elastic from her hair and removed that polyester uniform top she’d been wearing. That’s when he noticed the extent of her bruising. It wasn’t just her eye, but most of her chest. What kind of lowlife prick picked on a woman? Just looking at her injuries made his muscles tense, violent thoughts clamoring in his head. He wanted answers. Why had Carlton put his hands on Lori in the first place?
He made his way upstairs, securing the basement door after him. His eyes adjusted to the brighter lighting as he slipped on one of his custom gun holsters. Boss ensured he always had the latest toys and gadgets for killing and recon. The past few years he’d been doing more driving and intel for the owner of Killer of Kings. Boss trusted him, and that said a lot. When heavy shit went down, Chains was one of the first men he called.
After strapping himself with heat, he pulled on a jacket. Unlike most of the crew he worked with, Chains wasn’t covered in ink, so he had the ability to slip in and out of a crowd without attracting too much attention. In fact, his skin was unmarred by a single tattoo. When he’d been recruited into his first low-ranking mafia after aging out of his orphanage, they’d branded him like a fucking dog with their insignia. He’d worked as a krysha, doing shakedowns and cheap hits in exchange for nothing more than meals. Being on the bottom of the food chain in a basement Russian mafia was a special kind of hell. It took a few years, but Chains ended up with more skills and balls than their leader and took out all the top players single-handedly before moving onto bigger leagues.
He’d cut that brand off with a pocket knife, and still had the gnarly scar on his shoulder to prove it. Until this day, he’d never allowed any ink on his body. His body was his own.
Chains drove out to Lori’s old stomping grounds. The neighborhood looked like shit, and “ghetto” would have been a compliment. Since joining Killer of Kings, Chains had learned to enjoy the finer things in life. Money, status, and firearms meant he had choices. He valued his freedom, his independence, and the fact he’d never be on the bottom again.
He pulled his car around to the rear of a community center. It was after hours, so he expected the unsavory crowd out back. Dark shadows lingered around the figures, only one lone light by the back door and a distant street light providing illumination. He rolled down his window, the slow crunch of gravel beneath his tires mingling with laughter and cursing.
A man in a hood approached the driver’s side.
“I’m looking for Carlton,” said Chains
“You buying?”
“Sure.”
“What do you need?”
Chains took a cleansing breath, his patience already wearing thin. “I said I wanted to deal with Carlton, not you.”
The man straightened up, then whistled towards one of the larger crowds. Weed was pungent in the air, the deep bass from a distant car another distraction to his benefit. When three men approached, he couldn’t make them out, just their silhouettes. He knew the one in the middle was Carlton, just from his arrogant stride.
“What is it?” asked Carlton.
“This guy’s looking to buy. He’ll only talk to you.”
Carlton rested his forearm on the hood on Chains’s car and leaned in close. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Get in. We have business we need to discuss,” said Chains, still looking straight out the windshield.
“I don’t know you.”
“Well, I hear you’re the one who calls the shots around here, so you’re the only man who matters.” Chains knew the big-headed prick would thrive off praise, and he was right.
“Jimmy, come with me.”
Carlton got in the passenger seat, and Jimmy sat in the backseat, both doors slamming shut simultaneously. Chains rolled up his window, pleased he had his prey securely in his web. Tonight would be a good night.
“Okay, what the fuck is all this about?” asked Carlton. “I don’t have all night.”