Page 13 of Torn Souls

“I don’t like meetings in restaurants. There are too many variables,” Baker’s voice is serious, something which goes against his normal personality.

But when it comes to safety, he doesn’t play around.

“Should we call in Wolfe and his team for backup?” Even though I know what the answer will be, I know I need to ask the question anyway.

Maxim scoffs and Baker stands taller, his chest puffing up, indignation flowing from him. I almost smirk but keep my face neutral as I take in his reaction.

Wolfe, one of the mercenaries on our payroll who have been running down the remnants of Morozov’s organization who have been just waiting in the shadows for any opportunity to take the power in this city back, is Baker’s brother. While Wolfe joined the military, Baker stayed with us and found his footing as the protector of the Volkov name.

Baker and Wolfe are close, being brothers, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a little competition between them. Or a lot.

At least Wolfe never looked down on his brother because he chose to stay with us, forming our own inner circle, instead of going the same route as Wolfe did. There could have been a great deal of judgement there, especially with all the rumors about the Volkov family, but Wolfe never did that to his brother.

The man earned my respect from that alone.

Then for him and his team to take jobs around the world using the skills they gained while serving our country to find abduction and trafficking victims only made them a more valuable asset to have in our back pocket. It helps to have allies.

When we took down Morozov and took over in Seattle, we didn’t use his team. However, when we found out Anatoly’s son, Mikhail, was trying to gain a foothold in the city, we knew we needed backup. We can’t be everywhere at once and there are far too many stones to turn over in a city like this. The power structure here is tenuous at best. We have allies, strong ones, in the Devil’s Saints MC and with the Italian mob who has Angelo Amato at the helm, but we still need to keep hold and not lose ground.

Never fucking again.

“The mercs are busy running down some leads on the rats trying to hide in our city,” Kirill sneers.

“We can manage a middle-aged man,” Maxim assures with a wave of his hand. He levels me with a look and points out, “He’s walking into this meeting on a wing and a prayer.”

“And a daughter to barter with,” Baker snarks.

Disgust at the thought of what a daughter born to a man like Chambers, with the connections he had no problem brokering, fills me. I can only hope she’s not at this meeting.

But my gut is telling me I should have dug deeper into her. There wasn’t much to find, and I left it alone, but now I’m regretting my decision.

If Mikhail wants to plant someone, I doubt he would choose a woman. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree when it comes to that family and Anatoly didn’t put any stock into women and their abilities. No, he only saw value in them on the auction block and to be an outlet for his rage.

Not a good look on a man, if you can even call him one, but he’s dead. Now, we’re left to deal with his son. I have no doubt that he’ll be coming out of the shadows soon.

Everything in due time.

Kirill looks at us and gives a curt nod. “Are we ready for this farce of a meeting?”

I huff out a chuckle and smirk. Farce is fucking right.

There is no way that I trust Chambers. Why would he want this meeting? He was in bed with the enemy for so fucking long. Now he wants to switch his loyalties?

It wouldn’t surprise me because he’s a man with no morals, if he was in business with Morozov. He cared about the money. Now it has dried up.

I’m expecting him to be desperate which means he’s dangerous and unpredictable. Just what we need right now. As if dealing with Mikhail trying to undermine Kirill isn’t enough.

The drive to the restaurant, one we own, even though it’s not public knowledge, is quiet. Baker’s entire body is tense, and his eyes are constantly assessing everything as we move through the city. If I only saw him in this mode, I would think he’s the serious and stoic one of our group.

It’s the last thing he is unless he’s in work mode.

When he’s not? He’s the first one to find the silver lining in a bad situation, crack a joke, or pull a prank. The way he can switch that side of him off and become the serious, focused man that we need is kind of amazing.

When we pull up to White Stone, my stomach rumbles. I’m not alone either. We know how good the food here is. The chefis from Russia and everything on the menu is authentic. It was something Kirill insisted on, even though the only people who know who the real owners are is the manager and the chef.

It’s better that way because then the business stands on its own without the Volkov name. What should draw people is the food and the service, not rumors which may or may not be flying around the city.

Kirill steps into the restaurant first and the manager is standing there and waiting for us. “Mr. Volkov,” he greets with a respectful nod toward the rest of us as well, “we have your private room set up.”

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