Page 17 of Property of Chux

I step back, my lungs crushing against my ribs as panic climbs inside me with every passing second.

My hands tremble as I dig into my pocket, grabbing my phone like a lifeline. I pull it up, pressing the screen?—

No signal.

The little zero bars mock me from the corner of the screen. No calls. No texts. No way out.

A single, broken sob escapes my throat.

Sliding down the door I get to the floor., my back hitting the cool steel of the door as I curl into myself, my fingers clenching the phone in my lap.

I don’t know how I’m getting out of this.

And for the first time, I have no idea who the Hell can help me..

But one thing is very, very clear. This isn’t just about a shipment gone wrong.

This is about me.

CHAPTER 7

DAMIAN

The night airis thick with humidity, pressing against my skin like a second layer. My Harley-Davidson growls beneath me as I take the last turn onto the narrow dirt road leading to her. The only light comes from the pale sliver of the moon, barely enough to cut through the darkness, but I don’t need it. I know exactly where I’m going.

And I know exactly what I’m about to walk into.

My rage burns low and steady, a slow-moving fire that’s been threatening to consume me ever since Alaina called in a panic. Ever since I heard that tremble in her voice, that slight crack when she realized what had been dropped at her back door I have been an inferno of rage inside.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

That was never supposed to happen.

What I do, what my club does, it doesn’t touch innocent people. Alaina Vasiliev is as naïve as they come. Konstantin wants it that way and for good reason. Well, that was what he said five years ago when he asked us to allow her to build her business in our building downtown. If he is keeping her away from his world, and she damn sure isn’t part of mine, how did she end up with the pallet?

I have so many questions plaguing me about this. Why anyone is fucking with her? Konstantin has spent years keeping his business world separated from his personal life. Even before moving to Freedom Falls, nothing from work came home with the Russian bastard, and he was a legitimate business owner back then. What started as a way to fund his wife’s care at a skilled nursing facility became a world he can’t walk away from despite how much he has tried to legitimize himself.

His brother is a pakhan in the Morozov Bratva. An organization his father began in Russia back in the thirties. The whole lot of them are ruthless bastards. I swear anyone in the Vasiliev family with a set of balls is willing to eat their damn young. I thought Konstantin was different. He left Russia to live the life of a law abiding citizen with his wife Sasha. In Florida they had a quiet life. When Sasha needed specific memory based care, he moved them to Freedom Falls to be closer to her facility. None of that comes cheap. Boris, being the big brother and boss back home swoops in and offers Konstantin the revenue necessary to cover Sasha’s care.

All he had to do was filter the dirty money through a legitimate business. That business being of Boris’ choosing brought The Velvet Hall to life. The more time passed, the more Boris asked of his brother. After Sasha passed and Konstantin wanted to simply own and operate his strip club without the felonies for money laundering, Boris declined his desire for change. From there, the pressure to move drugs, guns, and hell, even people fell on Konstantin. That’s when he came to me. I paid the buyout to Boris for the strip club. For years, things have been business as usual.

Lately though, some things about Konstantin have been different. He’s edgy, his books aren’t given in the same consistency and the numbers don’t align with past histories.More than that, the smug bastard carries himself much like a pakhan, a Bratva boss.

His changed demeanor makes me doubt everything and everyone. I don’t trust a damn soul right now. Not my own men, not my own system. Something slipped, and she got caught in it. In my world, nothing slips. This mistake, or intentional move touched someone pure. She’s paying the price for someone else’s crime.

Now, she’s locked in a box in the middle of the woods that no one knows about, thanks to Riot’s heavy-handed sense of damage control. I told him to secure her, keep her safe. I never thought he would take her here and lock her inside without an explanation.

Ledger “Riot” Masters, my only sibling. My baby brother who can be impulsive, hot-headed, and a jackass, but he’s as loyal to the club as they come. Whatever vibe he got from her, this was the path he thought we should take. Without hesitation, he walked right into this fire, or started it depending on how it’s viewed.

I need to go inside and talk Alaina down. I’m sure being tucked away here has her on edge and ready to climb the walls.

My jaw tightens as I kill the engine and swing off my bike, dust kicking up around my boots. I shove my gun into the saddlebag, leaving it behind, along with my phone and wallet.

I don’t need any distractions.

I don’t need anything but time to think and answers from her about what she knows. How deep is she embedded in things? Especially with her grandfather. Is she part of this and plays coy well? My gut tells me she’s on the up and up, but I need confirmation.

Riot is already waiting near the container door, arms crossed, his expression unreadable in the low light. His vest bears his name patch in bold letters, his rank beneath it.

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