Page 18 of Cruel Russian Monster
“And there's no fucking way I'm going into hiding because of this,” Avit said firmly. “If those fuckers thought we'd put our tails between our legs and hide, they have another think coming.”
“Timur and the others are already on it,” Lev said. “We can't keep taking fucking hits like this. We need more eyes and ears on the ground. We also need men to infiltrate Artyom’s crew, or at least bribe some of his men for intel so we can stop his attacks before they happen.”
Lev inhaled deeply, meeting each of our gazes. “At least we'll be able to control his movements from our end. The ghost enemy, we can't. This shit is making us lose money and credibility outside the U.S., too. If we can't keep shit undercontrol in our own damn faction, how the fuck can we be trusted to handle business deals?”
“I can help get inside intel from Artyom,” Pyotr added. “I know a few girls sleeping with some of Artyom’s security details. I'll get them to talk.”
My eyes narrowed. “Can you trust them to give you accurate information?”
His green eyes blazed.
Pyotr continued, “This ain't about trust. If they fuck me over, I’ll fuck them up. It’s as simple as that.”
“I’m sick and tired of this bullshit. Always looking over our shoulders. Ninel and Mariya are fucking scared, but they'll never admit it. Not with the way they were raised. They know we'll worry about them, and to them, that's a distraction. One that could get us killed.”
I watched his hands clench in his lap. Out of all of us, Pyotr always seemed the least concerned about anything. A playboy who loved to party, but never careless, never stupid, and definitely not harmless.
He sat forward and looked around the room, eyes hardening.
“I know how all of you think of me. I’m more than just a fucking playboy. I’m a fucking Safin, and I’ll do what I need to protect my own…the only way I fucking know how. The Bratva way—through fucking blood and sacrifice.”
Lev spoke. “Is that how you really think we look at you? As just a playboy? Because none of us sees that. As your older brothers, we might be a bit worried about the number of women you've slept with, but that doesn't take away from who you are. Got it?”
Pyotr nodded once.
We all knew we had our work cut out for us. Shit was far from over, the stakes rising more every damn day.
Over the next two hours, we worked on the situation from every angle. After we wrapped up, I was just about to leave the office when another notification pinged on my screen.
Another order from Vera.
When she moved in, I gave her a phone, a laptop, and a credit card, all of it bugged and tapped, needing to keep tabs on her. Her phone was modified to only be able to contact two people, me and Tomas.
I didn’t mind her buying things. Hell, I liked it. It made me feel good that I could provide anything she desired. I knew pulling her away from everything was hard, as it had been for Katya when Lev had done the same to her. And maybe Vera was bored, especially being so close to Kira but unable to see or talk to her.
Still…some of the orders were odd: a single bar stool, a neon sign with the time half past eight, a blue miniature SUV, and a locust figurine.
Tonight? She ordered a red baseball cap and a red-and-white baseball shirt with the number forty-two.
Something pricked at the back of my neck. And an uneasy feeling coiled in my stomach, one I couldn't shake.
I veered back into my office, pulled up every order Vera had made since moving in, printed them, and laid them across the desk.
After thirty minutes of staring at them, the pattern clicked.
“Son of a bitch…”
Vera wasn’t just shopping. She was sending coded messages, setting up a fucking meeting…tonight, at a bar.
I sent Tomas home, grabbed one of the standby cars from the office garage, and drove to the bar.
It didn’t take long to find him. He was seated at the bar, wearing the red cap and that damn forty-two shirt. He was a scrawny guy with glasses and the worst case of acne I'd ever seen. Couldn't have been older than thirty.
I dropped onto the stool next to him and slipped my gun against his side.
I growled low enough that only he could hear, and dangerous enough to let him know I wasn’t one to be fucked with. “If you move, you die. If you try to kill me, you die. If you don’t answer my questions, you die. Got it?”
The guy’s eyes widened, and he nodded quickly.
