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I stare at my phone. If another ring has reorganized enough to go after a pakhan’s daughter, a simple phone call won’t suffice. A job like this will offer double the reward with half the trouble of the senator’s.
Acting on instinct, I type quickly.
I want the job.
Why?
Because it’s the only way I can ensure no one else gets to her first.
The name sounds familiar.
Minx is no fool.
Cut the shit. I know you were with Gaheris in that Colombian prison. You’re biased, which compromises the job.
She’s right. I have no intentions of carrying out this hit. Having been both in front of the firing squad and behind the gun, I know the lengths a man will go to in order to protect his family. Blood or not, Niko Gaheris is family.
And Minx is pissing me off.
It is my job to separate business and friendship.
Her response is swift.
Please. You’re so connected to Gaheris and Chernova, you might as well be fucking them both.
She expects me to argue, so I leave the screen blank for a few strained moments.
Fine. But I’m putting our asses on the line for this. If you fuck up, we’re both dead.
Understood.
Good. I’ll be in contact with more info and a picture of the Gaheris girl.
I almost tell her I don’t need one. Then I remind myself when I left Miami, Zasha was a child. Now, that defiant five-year-old girl is a grown twenty-one-year-old woman.
I close the laptop. It’s a fifteen-hour drive from Washington, D.C. to Miami. The clock is ticking for my friend’s daughter.
Fifty million dollars.
Driving isn’t an option. Even fifteen hours could be too late.
Grabbing my backpack, I toss the keys onto the passenger’s seat and slam the door, leaving the rental behind. After a short walk to the main road, I hail a cab to Reagan National Airport to catch the next flight to Miami.
CHAPTER TWO
MIKHAIL
Miami, Florida
Life isn’t meant to be static. People come and go. Places evolve. Change is the only true constant. However, as I walk through the doors of Seventh Heaven, or Seven, as the locals call it, I realize here, it may be the exception to the rule. It’s as if the Devil himself had forbidden time from entering the building.
Seven operates as an upscale strip club, but that’s just the shiny wrapping designed to appease the local police and occasional federal agent. Those rare few who are brave enough to open the box and look inside get a view of the real Miami. The one whose streets are coated with so much blood, the red seeps through the cracks in the sidewalk.
As I approach the door, I check my gun in the holster underneath my jacket. A precaution. Niko may have saved my life in a Colombian prison, but I’m not stupid enough to think he wouldn’t hesitate to take it. Especially when he hears why I’ve returned.
I open the door, only making it a couple of steps before a muscular man with stringy black hair steps in front of me.
“Members only, buddy.”
