Page 8 of Fractured Ties

“Kapitan is in the bar,” the man said, clearly referring to Ivan.

Kolya didn’t bother to acknowledge or respond to the guy. Instead, he stepped through the door and moving forward with his brother and Kaz close on his heels. Another corridor, although slightly less dark this time, led them to a second set of doors.

This time, Kolya did need to knock.

A slate on the door was opened just long enough for the man to see who was waiting behind it before it was slammed shut, and the trio was ushered in right after. Into the bar section of the warehouse, that was. If someone wanted to call the dirt-floored section a bar. Frankly, the only liquor Ivan was known to keep on hand was vodka and spirits. He might occasionally bring in a bottle of wine if someone was bringing a woman of any importance, but even that was a rarity.

Women didn’t tend to look kindly upon animals being made to fight to either survive or die.

A couple of old pool tables—although in better condition than the chairs and tables—sat along the far side of the large room. The bare bulbs hanging overhead kept the room just dim enough that someone might be able to pretend they were somewhere else.

With a flick of his wrist in the direction of the pool tables, he sent Konstantin and Kaz off to be on their own. Harmless in their corner as they shot the shit or played a bit of billiards. Kolya knew at least ninety-five percent of his brother’s attention would be on him, and he’d be ready to step in when needed.

Regardless of whether Konstantin was pissed off or not.

Some shit never changed.

Kolya found the man of the hour—probably his last hour, too—sitting at the far end of the bar talking to another man he recognized. Anatoly and Ivan were what looked to be three-quarters of the way deep into a bottle of vodka, and a discussion they didn’t want other people overhearing.

One in Russian, too.

Kolya kept his footsteps light as he approached.

“And what do you plan to do with that fucking thing?” Anatoly asked. “You can’t keep it here, comrade.”

“Can’t get rid of it, either,” Ivan muttered, his Russian slurred a bit from his drink. “Do you know how much money it brings when we take it out of the cage? I’d be fucking stupid to—”

“You recognize then when you’re being stupid, no?” Kolya asked, sliding into the stool beside Ivan’s. “Hard to believe, all things considered.”

The man swung around on his stool to face Kolya with a drunken gaze. At the same time, Kolya waved two fingers over his shoulder for whoever was down the bar to bring him a drink. Or come take a fucking order for one.

Behind Ivan, Anatoly gave a subtle nod.

“Kolya,” Ivan greeted, “since when do you make your way to my part of town?”

“Since tonight.” Kolya drummed his leather-clad fingertips to the worn bar and gave Ivan a look from the side. “Seems I’m needed down this way, unfortunately.”

“Thought you weren’t the type to—”

“Could I get you something?”

Kolya stiffened.

That voice.

Soft, and sweet, yet bubbly and friendly.

Not at all what he expected to greet him when the bartender made his—no, shit, apparently her—way down to serve him. It was something about the fact there was a woman here … a woman with the softest, sweetest tone he had ever heard … that made him hesitate.

And tense.

A knot of stress pulled his shoulder blades together.

Still, he looked at the woman.

Pixie-like in her features, the top of her head would barely reach his chest. He could probably use her fucking head as an arm rest when he was standing beside her. Her tiny button nose accentuated the rest of her dainty features. She had small lips, pink and uncolored by makeup or stain, that smiled even though he found hesitance and uncertainty in her blue eyes.

And blue.