Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I press a hand to my side, checking to ensure my concealed holster is still secure. Dean insisted I wait before going in, demanded I get backup. Stand down, Orion, he said over the phone, Don’t do this alone. Usually, I’d resist that kind of order, but after everything that’s happened with Briar, I’m trying not to let my temper lead me astray. So I wait.
Asher strides up to meet me, pushing through a small group of rowdy patrons out front. He’s newer to the team, but his reputation precedes him: capable, calm under pressure, and just the right amount of cautious. Dean sent him as soon as Asher’s mission wrapped up early, which is good, because every hour that passes is an hour Briar remains in danger.
“Orion,” Asher says, nodding in greeting. He’s a bit shorter than me, but his shoulders are broad, and there’s a quiet confidence in how he carries himself. “Heard you needed a partner.”
“Damn right I do,” I mutter, offering him a quick handshake. “Glad Dean got you here fast. Let’s do this.”
He glances at the neon sign overhead—Club Throwdown, flickering in a broken pattern—then he flicks his eyes back to me. “This Yuri Chekov guy. Sure he’s in there?”
“That’s what Huxley says,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “He’s got an ear to the ground. Said Yuri’s in town, overseeing some new ‘business interests.’ If this is anything like his usual, it’s illegal underground fighting.”
We exchange a quick look of understanding. Then we head for the door, the bass line of pounding music already rattling the pavement. The bouncers size us up, but once I drop Yuri’s name and wave a nondescript ID from Dean’s security firm, they step aside. Clearly, Yuri anticipates visitors and has prepped his crew to let certain people through.
Inside, the corridor is lit by dim blue bulbs that make everything feel claustrophobic. The air reeks of stale beer, sweat, and something metallic—blood, maybe. Asher’s jaw tightens, and I can see he’s on high alert. I mirror his tension, scanning every face, every alcove, for trouble. But no one stops us. They just stare, some in challenge, some in fear.
We pass a makeshift boxing ring surrounded by a rowdy crowd. Two fighters slug it out in the center, bare-fisted, blood dripping onto the stained mat. Yuri’s brand of entertainment is as brutal as I’d imagined. People are cheering, placing bets, ignoring the fact that one punch could knock a man unconscious.
Eventually, we push through the throng into a back hallway. A couple of Yuri’s men—big, broad-shouldered guys in black suits—stand like statues outside a door. I hold up my hands, palms out. “We’re here to see Yuri,” I say. “He’s expecting us.”
They exchange a look, then one nods, opening the door. Asher and I step inside.
It’s a cramped office, walls lined with file cabinets and half-filled liquor bottles. The light is mercifully brighter here, revealing a large desk strewn with papers. Behind that desk sits Yuri Chekov. He’s a hulking brute; big, messy, with slicked-back hair and an air of refined arrogance. When he glances up, his eyes spark with curiosity.
“Orion Locke, I assume?” he says, accent thick but words precise. He looks at Asher, tilting his head slightly. “And friend?”
“Asher,” my partner supplies, keeping his posture relaxed yet ready.
“Dean says hi,” I add, stepping forward. No point beating around the bush. “I heard you’re in town.”
Yuri reclines in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I move where business takes me. So what can I do for you, Locke?”
I grit my teeth, reminding myself to keep it civil. “I’m looking for someone—someone who might be connected to your operation.”
His face remains impassive. “I see.”
“Chester, a Yellow-naped Amazon parrot, was taken from a zoo. And a woman, Briar. She was also taken.” My voice trembles slightly when I say her name, and I hate that. “I’ve got reason to believe the Bratva is involved.”
Yuri’s mouth curls into a smirk. “The Bratva is a very large, very powerful network. You expect me to know about every small theft or kidnapping that happens?”
Asher steps in, crossing his arms. “We heard you might have orchestrated it. Or at least, your associates might have.”
Yuri exhales slowly, as though weary. “If you’re implying I had something to do with stealing a bird, I can assure you—I have better things to do. I run many clubs, many legitimate and less-legitimate businesses. But petty theft? Kidnapping a woman or… a bird? That’s not my style.”
“Then whose style is it?” I ask, voice low.
Yuri waves a hand dismissively. “My sons, perhaps. Vlad and Dimitri. They’ve always been screw-ups. I banished them from my sphere months ago. They don’t know how to keep their heads down, always cooking up stupid plans. If they’re involved, I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re desperate to prove themselves, even if it means going rogue.”