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“Babe, I love you and I know you are more than capable of standing your ground. I was so fucking wrong when I said there were things you couldn’t do. I’m a fucking idiot. You are brave and clever and such a fucking little badass. I was scared and I said some fucked up shit. I should have had your back. I’m sorry, baby, and I will make it up to you, but I need you to go with them. I can’t settle, knowing that you might be in danger.” I look at her big whiskey-coloured eyes, holding her gaze, pleading with her to go. She clenches her jaw and breaks contact, stepping back from me. She looks toward the door and watches as Gus gets the last of the women out before he looks back at her, gives her a wink, and runs out behind them.
“Times up. They’re here. Fan out, stay alert” “
Tuesday
I’m really glad that Rhodie apologized, but I’m still hurt and if we’re honest, now is not really the time for a heart-to-heart. We have shit to do. I melt into the background, going into stalker mode, so I can watch and gauge everything. Rhodie’s eyes following me the whole time.
Marx is standing in the middle of the warehouse, Rhodie on one side, Rider on the other, when the warehouse door opens and a guy, I’m guessing is Kovalev comes strolling into the room. He stops abruptly when he sees them.
“Who the fuck are you?” his accented voice booms out. His men, of which I count 7, stand behind him, hands on their guns.
“We’re the people you pissed off.”
“I piss off many people. You’re going to have to narrow that down a little.”
“Ok, well, how about you just know us as the MC that is going to put a stop to your little business here.”
Kovalev chuckles for a moment before looking around and noticing the empty cages
“Who the fuck do you think you are, motorcycle scum? I’ve been running these auctions all over the world for years, bringing in bitches and selling them to men with all kinds of, shall we say, unique tastes. I will not stop just because you seem to have taken my girls for yourself.”
“Unlike you, you sick bastard, we don’t trade in women. We’ve sent them home to their families. Kind of like what we’re going to do to you, but you’ll be going home in a box.” Marx smirks at Kovalev, and I’m getting worried that Kovalev is looking unnaturally angry, before his face blanks completely and he smiles.
“So you don’t sell girls? Maybe you want to join me in this lucrative trade? You bring the girls I need and I’ll pay you handsomely,” he smiles again, but that’s short-lived as I watch a knife whir past my head and embed itself in Kovalev’s thigh, causing him to scream and his men to pull their guns. They shout in Russian, waving their weapons around, yelling instructions at Marx, who is yelling right back.
I can hear clapping, which is really freaking weird given that this has turned into a bi-lingual yelling match.
“Bravo, what a show you both are putting on. Allow me to introduce myself if you don’t already know me. I’m Roman Bartashev, Pakhan of the Bartashev Bratva.” Roman wanders in like he owns the place, going so far as to push one of Kovalev’s men’s guns out of the way as he moves through the room, Sasha at his back, coming to a stop in the middle of the two arguing sides. It’s weird to see him like this. The Roman I’ve gotten to know over the past week is admittedly stuffy, but amenable nonetheless. This Roman reeks of danger.
“So Kovalev, I have had an interest in your work for a while now. However, I became very interested in you in recent times.” I watch as Kovalev puffs his chest out.
“Is that right, Pakhan? And what were you interested in the most?”
Roman looks down at his hands, picking at his fingernails a little like he has all the time in the world and that he hasn’t just stepped in the middle of what could easily spiral into a gunfight.
“Well, let’s just say I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when I saw my daughter’s name on your list. Oh, and she’s not just my daughter, she’s Ushakov’s heir. I’m sure she will be very interested in meeting with you. She would like assurances to, you know, make sure this egregious error doesn’t happen again?” He shrugs and Kovalev’s face is completely blank. However, the look in his eye is downright evil.
“That cannot be right. Kraykowski surely had his information wrong. What would I want with Ushakov’s heir?” A slow smirk forms over his face, then disappears. Roman eyes him for a moment, before grinning widely again.
“Well, we’ll never know. Kraykowski is painfully engaged elsewhere. So, my daughter and I have a flight to Russia in a few days to meet with Anton Sorokin. Are you acquainted with him?” Kovalev pales slightly before composing himself.
“Why yes, we are, how would you say, old business associates? How is his health?”
“Thriving, from what I hear.” Watching these two men is like watching sharks circling each other. All the while, Marx has remained sentinel, watching, waiting.
Roman raises his brow, eyes hard and voice cold, looking every bit the powerful Pakhan
“When I told him of the trouble that my daughter had been having, he was most displeased. I, on the other hand, assured him it was most likely a harmless mix-up of some sort. Why don’t you accompany me -”
“-What the fuck Roman!?” Marx barks out. Lightning quick, Roman is in front of him, staring him down. Marx grits his teeth and whatever unspoken conversation they have, Marx nods his head once, then steps back.
“- After a quick consultation, my MC friends have agreed to let you walk out of here. Accompany me for a drink. As you can see, there is nothing for you here or in any Devil’s Rose territory.” I watch Roman stare Kovalev down, his jaw clenching, before his eyes dart down Kovalev’s body, then back up.
“You might want to remove that knife in your leg as well.” Kovalev squints his eyes at Roman before shaking his outstretched hand. I don’t think any of us really know what game Roman is currently playing, whoever this Anton Sorokin is, or what business Roman may want with Kovalev, but it’s something I will definitely keep my eye on.
Roman slaps his hand on Kovalev’s shoulder and guides him towards the door, not before Kovalev leans in to say something to one of his men, looking back over his shoulder and smirking at us as he exits with Roman, Sasha at their backs. Kovalev’s men close ranks and the man he spoke to opens fire on Marx, Rhodie, and Rider. I watch my new family dive for cover as I come out from my hiding place just in time to shoot one guy who has his gun aimed directly at Marx’s back. Marx spins around wide-eyed, then gives me a nod and goes back to dodging bullets. I take out two of Kovalev’s men in quick succession and turn to take another shot when a large body flies in front of me.
I watch in horror as Rhodie jerks and then lands at my feet. I’m frozen as I look down at him. The burnt acrid smell of guns firing burns my nostrils. The metallic scent of blood mixed in with the leftover smells of women who had been kept against their will surround me like a cloak. I can hear grunting and yelling, bangs from guns, metal clanging from bullets that are ricocheting off the cages. The whirring of knives being thrown, dull thuds where I can hear Rider hitting someone, and the rushing of blood in my ears. All the distractions disappear when I see dark red blooming across Rhodie’s chest. I drop to my knees covering the wound, putting pressure on it while I stare at the soft rise and very slow fall of his breathing.
