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We all draw our weapons, even though Vova—the club’s new manager—is waiting for us inside. Then, as a group, we enter through the club’s useless doors. Light floods across the minefield of shattered glass from the windows, and we pick our way carefully over to the glass-free carpet.
As soon as my eyes adjust, my stomach turns at the sight before me. Fighting to keep down my breakfast, I shift my gaze from the catwalk to find the club in utter ruins. Not a table or chair has been left intact. The bar’s been smashed, top-shelf alcohol blending with the house liquor on the floor.
Steeling myself, I force my eyes back to the catwalk and the seven bodies there. Naked women who have been tortured and brutalized in unspeakable ways have been hung from the stage lights like puppets. I can’t imagine the amount of pain those girls endured before their deaths. And not a shadow of doubt remains in my mind that they’re dead. Because, to a girl, they’re all missing their heads.
Something flutters beneath the toes of the center girl, and Pyotr’s jaw works as he picks his way across the graveyard of chairs to see what it is. I follow closely, raising my gun and sweeping the room for any sign of a threat. Any trap that might have been laid.
Gleb joins me, his face a rigid mask of fury. Val watches from afar, taking up sentinel because he won’t be as useful if quick movement is required. Pyotr reaches for the folded paper as soon as we’re within reach. But I don’t trust it.
Gripping his arm, I stop him mid-motion and study the way it’s tied to the girl’s foot. Following her body up toward the ceiling, I check for anything that might come crashing down on us if we take the note.
When I don’t see anything, I exchange my gun for my flip knife and quickly cut the rope. Taking care to inspect the paper, I only hand it over after I’m sure it won’t hurt Pyotr. Then we move away from the bodies, ready to put space between us and them.
White with fury, Pyotr unfolds the note and reads the Cyrillic. “This is your one and only warning,” he reads. “This is what happens when you mess with the Zhivoder. It didn’t bring me nearly as much pleasure to watch every one of my men rape your club girls as it will to watch them do the same thing to your wife and daughter. Just know, this is the fate they face if you fuck with my business again.”
Heart hammering in my chest, I glance up from the letter to see Pyotr’s face. Even his lips are pale as they press into a thin line. His eyes are haunted, and as they slowly lift from the paper, they look right through me as he peers up at the strippers’ defiled bodies.
I can’t bring myself to look at them again. Not knowing those girls were our responsibility to protect. And we failed them.
“I failed them,” Gleb murmurs, echoing my thoughts.
When I turn to look at him, his hands are fisted, and his body is shaking with rage. He looks utterly destroyed for having failed to find them in time. Though, I don’t doubt they’ve been on death’s door for a while if what the letter says is true. I’m not sure they would have survived even if he’d found them before they were beheaded.
“I will avenge them,” he assures Pyotr, his voice deadly and adamant.
For once, I’m grateful I’m not on the receiving end of that anger. Rarely do I find a person I would think twice about fighting. But the murder in Gleb’s eyes tells me the men responsible are going to die a very slow, painful death. And I’m not sure even I could stop him.
“No,” Pyotr growls, his eyes casting back down to the threatening note. “Fuck. Silvia was right. Retaliation only made Mikhail escalate. If we continue down this path, it will lead to an all-out war. And we can’t afford that. We don’t have the men, and Mikhail’s proven he’s willing to sink lower than I thought humanly possible. We need a new plan of action.”
“One of two things is certain. Either he’s lying about what he did to those girls, or he was planning this long before we blew up that fucking club,” Gleb says, his eyes shifting back to the girls’ bodies. “I’m inclined to believe the latter based on the state they’re in.”
Pyotr’s jaw works furiously, and he looks up at the girls again, assessing Gleb’s statement. I steel myself to look again as well, this time trying to see past the agonizing pain and horror they must have suffered to see his point.
Their molten flesh would indicate they’ve been suffering since the moment they were taken. Some bruises are ugly black-and-blue monstrosities that would indicate they were beaten recently. But several of their bodies have yellowish-green bruises that would indicate they’ve been healing. So in that regard, at least, Gleb’s right.
They were likely going to die one way or another.
However, I can’t believe Mikhail would threaten to do such a thing to a three-year-old child. That, more than anything, makes me understand Pyotr’s choice to reevaluate our strategy moving forward.
I wouldn’t want to see this pain brought on Silvia ever. The thought alone brings bile to my throat. But Isla? It’s unthinkable.
“No one moves without my explicit instructions,” Pyotr says, solidifying his command as he meets Gleb’s gaze with fiery determination.
Gleb tips his head in a respectful nod, silently conceding to Pyotr’s orders.
“Get their bodies down from there,” my pakhan commands. “And where the fuck is Vova?”
“Here, gospodin,” Vova says. He steps cautiously from the back hallway. He has a ladder on one shoulder and a large kitchen knife in the other hand.
Several others follow him, men under Gleb’s command that he must have called to the club. They head straight for the stage and catwalk, setting up to help lower the girls one by one.
“We’ll have to shut down the club,” Pyotr says, casting his eyes around the room as we watch sullenly as the first girl is cut loose.
He’s right. Not only is everything completely destroyed, but there’s no way the girls who still work here are going to come back after they find out about this. And this is big enough that they’re sure to find out.
“I have several guys moving product from the back already. Once it’s clear, we’ll light her up,” Gleb says.
Pyotr nods. Better that and collect the insurance money than let the police get involved. Too many things point in our direction, and the last thing we want is the law crawling up our ass in the middle of this conflict.
