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Nodding, I slid into the cool back seat. “Let me know as soon as he finds anything.”
“Of course.”
The Sparrow was one of Aleksándr Volkov’s nightclubs. He was head of the Russians and one of the most ruthless bastards I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. The high-end strip club required exclusive membership to get in and had private rooms at the back that allowed for meetings to take place—among other things.
After parking on a side street that would allow for an easy getaway if needed, we made our way inside. The music was too loud, the patrons too drunk, and I longed for the quiet of Quinn’s apartment. And the peace her touch would bring. My skin was already feeling too tight, each accidental bump reinforcing the itch to hit something.
But instead of being with Quinn, I was in a back room of a strip club, shaking the hand of the head of the Russian mafia. Aleksándr had been at the top for as long as I could remember, and he wasn’t someone to underestimate. He looked like your typical brute: large arms, wide shoulders, shaved head, lots of tattoos. But he was cunning and smarter than people gave him credit for. We needed a solid ally on our side, and I hoped he would be it.
“Liam, good to see you.”
“You, too, Aleksándr.”
He waved at a waitress who had been waiting by the bar. She was carrying a tray filled with shots. “Let’s have a drink together.”
This meeting wasn’t so much business as a social call. We were going to be family soon, and I had to make sure everything went smoothly. I accepted the shot of vodka, and we clinked glasses. The liquid burned down my throat like rocket fuel.
I’d never understand the appeal of vodka. Nothing wrong with ouzo or beer.
Aleksándr watched me hold back the grimace. The fucker enjoyed seeing my discomfort. Signaling the waitress again, he nodded to the tray she was holding, this time filled with beer and wine. “How’s your father?”
Accepting a beer, I took a sip to get rid of the foul aftertaste the vodka had left. “He’s recovering. And the reason why I’m here.”
“You want my help.”
I held his stare, knowing he’d see it as a weakness if I looked away. In a lot of ways, we were all ego-driven psychopaths with a perpetual need to show our dominance. And many of us embraced our disturbing tendencies.
“Not only your help but your alliance. We’ll be family soon, after all.”
People underestimated Aleksándr. But I wouldn’t make the same mistake.
“Let’s talk.”
That was as much of a positive response as we’d ever get.
We spent an hour discussing how to best combine our resources before Aleksándr stood up. “I have business to attend to. But please, stay. You’re my honored guests.”
When the door opened, Gabriel, who’d stood back against the wall, tensed, his hand going inside his jacket. But it was only girls entering, their bodies painted gold, their small bikinis leaving little to the imagination.
Aleksándr walked out with a wink. The girls started dancing, one of them settling down on my lap.
I had to keep up appearances; leaving right away would be considered an insult. There were rules that had to be followed, no matter how outdated or ridiculous they seemed.
Gabriel was all too happy to enjoy the show, dancing with a giggling brunette. I wasn’t worried that she’d take his attention away from doing his job. Gabriel could hit his target blindfolded.
But letting a girl who wasn’t Quinn rub up on me felt like a betrayal. I wasn’t used to questioning my actions, and the thought of doing something that might hurt her left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I always did what was right for our family and the business. Instead of doing what I wanted, I did what was expected of me: sitting in a room that was too dark, in the company of women I wanted nothing to do with. When my phone rang, I couldn’t get it out of my pocket fast enough, grateful for the distraction.
When I saw my brother’s name on the display, I tensed, hoping he had good news.
“We found him.” Jude’s voice was muffled, his usual enthusiasm at getting to torture someone absent. For such a positive message, he sounded decidedly too depressed.
Standing up, I buttoned my jacket, ignoring the outraged squeak of the girl who’d been persistent in giving me a lap dance for the past ten minutes and had slid to the floor without warning. “Is he talking?”
“Hard to talk when your tongue has been cut out. And you don’t have a pulse.”
“Fucking shit,” I roared, frustrated that we’d hit another dead end. “Did you find anything else?”
