Page 9 of White Rabbit
His lips compressed and he gave a half shake of his head before he caught himself.
“Sovetnik,” I warned, reminding him of his position and that he answered to me.
“All indications point to the call coming from in the house,” he murmured, using a bastardized movie quote and keeping his voice low against any who would listen in.
“A traitor in our ranks?” I grated.
“Tak,” he confirmed, nodding.
“Who?” I demanded, fury burning through me. If any of my men dared to betray the family this way… They’d be sorry they ever took their first breaths.
“I haven’t ferreted them out yet.”
“Use whatever resources you need to,” I said. Standing, I went over to the bar at the side of my office where fresh coffee waited, delivered by Zlata, my cook, just minutes before Aslan’s scheduled arrival.
He accepted the cup and saucer I handed him, and I saw a look on his face I didn’t like, the one that told me he had something to say I wouldn’t like. Of course, I was familiar with it since I knew him better than my brothers who were my blood.
“Tell me,” I said, lapsing into Ukrainian. We’d both been raised here in the States, both were bilingual, though in most instances people outside our circle wouldn’t know we weren’t straight up Americans, here for generations.
“I’ve been working with Symon and Maksym.”
I nodded, leaning against my desk to talk rather than putting the official barrier between us. Of course, he’d work with my brothers. As a lawyer, Symon had legal and not-so-legal access to information the rest of the world had difficulty getting their hands on. And as a top notch hacker, Maks could get anything else.
“They have more information on Ms. Winchell.”
I set down my cup and crossed my arms.
“What about Brecklyn?” And why hadn’t they brought that information directly to me?
Aslan swallowed, his only tell of discomfort, and set his own coffee on the table beside him. He leaned back in his seat, resting his arms lightly on the rests. His breath left him in a resigned stream.
“There’s nothing on her before a little over two years ago.” His eyes my mine, and he didn’t delay on the rest though I saw he didn’t want to relay the information. “The boyfriend isn’t so much a boyfriend as an…owner.”
“What?” I growled, my grasp on the edge on my desk tightening to the pain of pain running through my hands.
“We traced her to two years ago at the Rusty Spike.”
Bile raced up my throat. The Rusty Spike was a brothel barely veiled as a strip club owned by the Bernardis. Girls, usually down on their luck, went to the club for jobs and found themselves trapped into something they never wanted.
“She was only there for a few weeks—as a waitress. Jovanovic bought her and she’s been with him since then.”
“Fuck. And…”
Aslan shrugged. “Nothing as far as I’ve found. He hasn’t pimped her out as far as I can tell.”
“Then why…”
“To keep her, maybe. Who knows the shit she’s lived through with him. Just because it’s not public facing.”
“Right,” I replied through gritted teeth. As if her past wasn’t bad enough. And what had happened two years ago that led her to the Rusty Spike?
Chapter 8
Brecklyn
My head throbbed. My hand throbbed. I could hear my prince’s voice and he sounded agitated. Angry. But I felt his hand on my other hand, the grip gentle, possessive. I felt…
The weight of a blanket over me.
