Page 55 of Chief's Addiction

Foxy rolled her eyes, but did as I asked before coming over and dropping into the chair across from me. “Miss me, big brother?”

“Like a fucking rash,” I said, grinning. Despite her tendency to disappear without warning, my sister was one of the few people in this world I trusted completely.

She kicked her feet up onto my desk, tilting her head as she studied me. “You look different.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. Less... broody?” She eyed me closer. “You seem, almost… happy? You met someone.” She was fishing, but I wasn’t telling her shit. Not yet.

I leaned forward, shoving her boots off my desk. “None of your business.”

“Holy shit, you did!” She laughed. “Who is she? One of the Cherries? That new one with the pink hair has been eyeing you for weeks.”

Not a Cherry,” I said, lighting another cigarette to avoid meeting her eyes. “And that’s all you’re getting, so drop it.”

As she started to laugh, I caught a brief flicker of sadness in her eyes.

“You good, Cali?”

The shutters came down when I used her legal name and she forced a smile. “Peachy, big bro.”

Before I could dig into what was going on with her, her expression shifted, becoming more serious. “I picked up some intel while I was away.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up at her tone. “About?”

“The Russians.”

Fuck. I’d been hoping that had been a dead end. “Go on.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper even though we were alone. “I was in St. Louis handling a thing for the Bastards.”

My brows shot up. That was the last thing I was expecting her to say.

The Bastard Saints were newly patched-over. There were a handful of members that Denali expected to push back. The fact that my sister had already been called in had me thinking maybe the transition wasn’t going smoothly.

“While I was there,” she continued, “I ran into an old contact. A Russian guy named Viktor who sometimes feeds me information.” She paused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He says the Bratva is seriously pissed about someone fucking with their pipeline.”

My jaw clenched painfully. “How pissed?”

Her expression was grim. “What the hell have you gotten into, Mason?”

“Blood-feud pissed.” Her expression was grim. “What the hell have you gotten into, Mason?”

“Couldn’t leave those women in cages, sis.” I shook my head, remembering the vacant stares, the bruises, the hopelessness. We did our best to stay in our fucking lane but seeing those girls like that... No. I couldn’t do it. “Some lines you don’t cross.”

“They were worth millions, Chief. And the whispers on the streets are saying there was one woman in particular that was promised to someone high up.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, rubbing her temples. “Viktor says they’re sending their heavy hitter from New York to ‘assess the situation.’ Does the name Nikolai Sidorov sound familiar? It should. He’s the son of Ivan Sidorov.”

“The Devil of Doskoy,” I muttered, recognizing the name from old stories my father used to tell. Ivan Sidorov had been responsible for at least thirty confirmed kills in the late nineties, earning his nickname for his ruthless method of disposal. The bodies of those who crossed him were found in pieces, scattered across state lines. He was a real vicious fucker in the world of wet-work.

“The very same,” Foxy confirmed, her voice dropping even lower. “Junior’s supposed to be even worse than daddy dearest. Cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless. They say he cut a man’s eyes out for looking at his woman wrong. Made him eat them before killing him.”

My stomach lurched. I leaned back in my chair, letting the information sink in. This was bad. Really fucking bad. The Saints were a powerful club; we had charters all over the country, but we didn’t have the numbers or resources to take on the Russian mafia in a full-scale war. Nobody did.

“There’s more,” Foxy said, her voice dropping lower. “Viktor says Spike was more than just a business associate. He’s Sidorov’s cousin by marriage or some shit. He’s their family.”

Dread formed in the pit of my stomach, cold and heavy as a stone. “You’re fucking with me.”

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