"I'm telling you this because you're the kind of man who's going to draw his attention, and, Czar, you don't want his attention. You have a thing about your old lady. Alena's beautiful, and he'll want her. He wants a woman in the club, she's his. He doesn't care if she's an old lady or one of the club whores. He'll take her, and he's rough. Mean. The women don't come back the same. Sometimes they don't come back at all. He's been in Europe, so we haven't had the problem here, but if he's coming for real, and it looks as if he is, Alena will be on his radar."
Viktor stared at Habit without blinking. "Man tries to take my woman, he's dead, Habit. You know that. I made that perfectly clear. Same goes for Lana. Not that either of them need protection. You haven't seen them in action, but they're good old ladies. They don't talk about club business, and they can and will defend us."
"That won't matter to Evan." Habit looked agitated, sweeping a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "I'm telling you, you can't reason with him. He uses the women for drug running and sex. That's it. Period. As far as he's concerned, they don't have very many other uses. As your friend, I'm telling you to stash the two women somewhere, just until he's gone. He won't stay long. He's already asked for our club to scout this Deveau character out, not touch him, but find a place the club can hole up until Evan shows. He wants to kill the fucker himself, and then he'll disappear again. He's never around more than a day or two."
Viktor almost felt sorry for the man. Almost. Habit ran the chapter by the rules Evan laid down, and that meant they enslaved young girls and even some boys. Viktor had hit their own chapter once, but couldn't do it more than that or it would draw suspicion on his crew. He'd waited until he had been sent on a particularly dangerous mission and he'd taken several of his crew with him. They'd carried out the assassinations in record time and hit the mobile whorehouse hard, taking out as many of the men as they could and freeing the women.
Habit had gone crazy, roaring with rage at the loss of his men and demanding Viktor and the others help him build up the stables fast so Evan wouldn't turn his spotlight on them. Viktor had just looked at him with cool eyes and slowly shaken his head. He would do any other kind of work for Habit, but not that. Habit had stormed out, but he left Viktor and the others alone because they were too valuable to him, especially when a good number of his members had died.
"Why don't you just kill him?" Viktor asked, as if it were normal to kill anyone you didn't like--and for him, it was. Killing had become too easy. Too routine. That should bother him. It didn't.
"He's got some kind of weird . . ." Habit trailed off and looked around again as if Evan might have eyes and ears on them right there in the motel room.
Viktor didn't change expression but he felt the way the adrenaline tried to rush through his veins. At last. The one thing he couldn't find out about. Evan Shackler-Gratsos had some kind of psychic talent. His brother, Stavros Gratsos, the deceased shipping magnate, certainly had a strong psychic talent. Viktor believed most people did, they just weren't really aware of it or didn't believe in it. They paid no attention to the fact that they were aware the phone was going to ring, or they had a bad feeling a child was in trouble.
People didn't believe in psychic talent, so it didn't exist. He knew it did. Each of his fellow students at the school he'd attended in Russia had possessed a talent in some form, large or small. They'd worked on those talents night and day to strengthen them, not where the school's vicious instructors could see, but when they were locked up in the dark basement and would have gone mad without keeping their minds occupied and strong.
Viktor waited patiently, not tipping his hand or appearing eager. Habit wanted to share. He was afraid of Evan, and even more afraid that he might lose Viktor to Evan. Viktor had become important to him.
"He's scary with the things he can do. I've seen him make people do things they wouldn't ever do, just by staring at them. He can do things to people, make them believe things. One of the men made him angry and the next thing, the poor fucker was tearing off his own skin thinking spiders were crawling all over him. They weren't, but he wouldn't believe it. In the end, Evan just shot him, laughing the entire time."
"What's he got against Deveau? Why come all the way to the United States for a sheriff's deputy? Just hire a hit. Hell. I could do it myself."
"He's had a hard-on for Deveau for years. He got drunk once and ranted and raved about him and his old man. How the old man didn't want Evan and his whore of a mother. I swear, that's what he called her. A whore. Said she was worthless, just wanted Deveau and wouldn't even stay clean for her son when Deveau wouldn't keep her. He hated her. I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me he'd killed her. I think she drowned. Maybe she threw herself in the lake to get away from him. For all I know he was whoring her out for the club and then blamed her. I wouldn't put it past him. He's sick, Czar, seriously, certifiably insane. His half brother died and left him a shit ton of money, more than most countries have, so he's untouchable."
Viktor shrugged casually. "No one's untouchable. Still, you say stash my woman, I will, and I'll give Ice the heads-up as well. He wouldn't appreciate anyone touching his old lady any more than I would."
"I have to admit, when we have a blowout, those two can cook."
The two women could do a lot more than cook, but Viktor wasn't about to clue Habit in. If Evan managed to get his hands on either of them, he'd be in for the shock of his life.
"Evan asked me to pick seven of my best men to scout out Sea Haven and find a place to stay. He wants all the details on Deveau and his wife, Elle."
Viktor managed to look bored because he was. "We went over that. I chose seven men to ride with me. I was careful not to take anyone involved in our main business. I know you need them." Human trafficking. Sometimes the rage welled up so strong he wanted to burn the club to the ground. The problem was, it was so big, cutting off the head only meant it would grow another one. That didn't mean he wasn't ambitious enough to try to take it all down. He was doing that, just using another means.
He'd made a few mistakes in the beginning, thinking to get close to Evan, kill him and get back to his wife. It hadn't been that easy. Evan was so paranoid, it was impossible to track him. Investigating him showed no law enforcement agency had gone untouched by him. He owned far too many cops, everyone from Interpol to officers in various countries. Evan Shackler-Gratsos the shipping magnate did, not Evan Shackler-Gratsos the international president of the notorious and feared Swords motorcycle club.
He couldn't bring down the shipping magnate, but there was a very good possibility that he could get the international president of the club. The chapters, all over the world, brought in tremendous amounts of money. Each kept their own books, but they answered to Evan. That meant he had books.
Evan had enough money to have the best in software to keep out hackers, but most hackers weren't Luca "Code" Litvin, another one of his schoolmates, a brother whose skills were extremely important. He had a little psychic ability of his own. Data flowed from machines to his mind. Code was always low-key and stayed off the radar, but he was the Torpedo Ink treasurer for a reason. For the last four years he had been on the trail of the Swords' money, going from computer to computer. They needed irrefutable evidence, so much so that no law enforcement agency could ignore it. Viktor would kill Evan, and Code would bring down his private army--the Swords.
Code was close. He was moving through the Swords club, chapter by chapter, getting information from the real books, not the ones given to the feds every time they tried to take the club down. He had compiled a great deal of information, concentrating on the human trafficking component, but encompassing all of their activities.
"Thanks, Czar," Habit said. "We're nowhere near bringing in what Evan insists on. The club is giving up its take just to satisfy him. He doesn't care about the trouble just so long as the money keeps pouring in. I've stepped up the drug trade to bankroll us again. He pulled us out of Louisiana, how the hell does he think
I can build the business back up again? I got men there, overseeing things, but they can't exactly go recruit."
Recruiting was a joke of a word. They used every means possible to get young girls. Luring them on the Internet, at bus stations and airports, kidnapping them from malls and using drugs and any other scheme they could think of. It wasn't that difficult. If any member had teenage daughters, they set up friends to be brought in, and some of the daughters themselves had been used.
"Things will get back to normal fast when we're done with this," Viktor assured. "You said yourself he never stays in one place more than a couple of days. I'll scope things out, make my report, back his play when he takes out the cop, and we'll be free to go home."
He'd be free to go home. His wife was home. Blythe Daniels Prakenskii. He missed her with every breath he drew. She'd been so unexpected. He couldn't think of a better word. He had been tracking a notorious pedophile, a man who had set up an international organization for other pedophiles to post pictures, share children and buy and sell. The man used women as cover, was charming, rich, and moved in social circles. He had targeted Blythe's mother for his cover in the United States. He'd courted and married her, as he often did. He was a widower for a reason.
Blythe was Viktor's in. He'd arranged a casual meeting and swept her off her feet. He was good with women. He knew exactly how to read them and what they wanted and needed. He was good at providing. Blythe turned the tables on him. She was genuine. Sweet. Protective. Nurturing. Everything he'd never had and didn't know he needed or wanted. It was impossible not to love her.
He hadn't known that kind of love existed. Not that fierce, driving need that was so deep, so intense, it shook him every time he looked at her. There was no stepping out of his role, he had a job to do and it was an important one, so he gave her as much of the real man as he could. Every second in her company was sheer paradise.
He'd taken her one night to a Russian Orthodox church where a friend of his was visiting. He'd married her, using his real name, Viktor Prakenskii, not the one she knew him as. He had deliberately given her a glimpse of the paperwork, although it was in Russian, but his name was there. He had put his mark on her, the one Prakenskii men had been branding their women with for centuries.
Her name was branded on him. His chest, right over his heart. He had insisted they both get tattoos. She'd been reluctant. His little innocent. He had loved corrupting her, teaching her wicked, sinful things, watching her eyes go wide with shock as her body came apart for him. He thought of her night and day. Dreamed of her when he wasn't having nightmares. She gave him respite from the horrors of his memories. He touched his chest, the spot right over his heart where he'd tattooed the lock. She had the key, and she always would.
"When we join you in a few days, Czar, keep a low profile. You always do, but I don't want him noticing you. Right now he thinks he's funny sending my enforcer on a shit detail. Finding us a camp? Following Jackson for a few days to get his routine? We could send a prospect for that. He's jacking with me."
Viktor shrugged. "It won't matter."
"He's showing he has no respect for me--or for you."
"You can't take things personally, Habit. If he's as loony as you say he is, you just get through it, hope he goes back to whatever hole he crawled out of fast and get back to business."
Grinning, Habit clapped him on the back. "You always put things in perspective. I've never seen you shaken up. Not ever. We've got some business we have to do right now. Right here. The chapter that just got hit has product coming in and no one to receive it, guard it or get it moving along the pipeline. They've asked for our help. That's your specialty, so you pick your brothers and get it done. You'll have to get the details from Speed."
Viktor shook his head. "What are you doing, man? We can't run product here. This territory is taken by another club. We're riding naked, without our colors, in order to get to Sea Haven without war with them. And we wouldn't win. They're strong here, we're not. Even with two chapters on the move, we don't have enough manpower to win in a fight."
Habit nodded. "I know that. Their club is nearly as strong as ours is."
"Or stronger. They were the first international club. You don't want to fuck with them or disrespect them. War isn't fun. We're already losing too many members to whoever is after our whore business."
"It's not my call. Their chapter president had some product coming through this route and his men were going to make certain it made its way out back east. I don't know why they're using this route or how often they do it, but they have men down and they've asked for help."
Viktor knew that tone. Habit lived by their laws. You helped your brothers. You didn't turn your back on them no matter how nasty or dangerous the job. Viktor respected that. He lived by the same code, but his loyalty and his brothers were those members of Torpedo Ink, not the Swords.
He cursed silently even as he kept his features expressionless. He had no choice. If he was going to cut off the head of the snake, bring down the man responsible for the biggest human trafficking ring in the world, then he was going to have to see this through--and so were his men.
They detested drugs nearly as much as they did pedophiles and with good reason. He couldn't save the world and he couldn't stop the rage burning inside his brothers any more than he could stop it in his own belly. It was always there, coloring their lives, keeping them apart from every other human being.
Reaper was right. Viktor hated that he was right. He wanted to fit into normal like his birth brothers had. They lived with their women on a huge farm in Sea Haven. He supposed it was all relative. Their normal probably wasn't exactly the normal others lived in their homes. Behind their fences. Comfortable in their jobs and with their neighbors.
"Czar?"
"I'll get their product through, Habit."
Habit grinned at him again, but this time it was strained. He didn't want to lose his number-one enforcer. Viktor had brought too much to the table. He was efficient at killing. When he did a job it got done, and fast. More and more over the last five years, Habit had relied heavily on him. In addition, Viktor had brought in the others, men he'd called friends. He'd vouched for them and they'd turned out to be equally as lethal and every bit as ruthless and reliable as the man Habit knew as Czar. If their loyalty leaned a little toward Viktor, Habit overlooked it--or didn't see it. Viktor found that Habit saw what he wanted to see.
Habit, now that he thought they were in sync, grabbed a handful of peanuts out of the can sitting on the table. "You leaving first thing in the morning for the coast?"
"Yeah. I figure it will take a few days to find us a good camp and to scout out Deveau. If Evan is really going to make an appearance, I'll want to be able to ensure his safety. We have to get in and get out before the other club knows we're in the area."
Habit nodded. "That makes sense. And Evan isn't going to ride with us." There was a sneer in his voice. "He's too good for that now. He'll come in a helicopter or private plane."
That was good. He'd have to use the Little River Airport if he didn't want a three-hour drive from one of the main airports--San Francisco or Oakland. It might not be a bad place to hit him. Viktor tucked that thought away. For now, he had to meet whoever was bringing product into another club's territory. Product or not, it was so damn disrespectful he could barely tolerate the thought. If a man lived free by a certain code, he kept to the code as much as possible. Even undercover, he was part of a brotherhood, and you just didn't screw with that.
Viktor gave his famous casual shrug. "It doesn't much matter. He'll wear the colors when he makes the kill and we'll watch his back. He'll leave and we can all go home. Just another couple of weeks, Habit, and you'll see your old lady."
Now he knew why Habit hadn't brought his woman with him. Of course, he hadn't said anything to Viktor about Alena, or Ice about Lana. Now they'd have to worry again about the two women. Lana could be left with the rest of the boys. She was a little spitfire.
They affectionately called her "Widow," not because she was one, but because she made them so frequently.
He debated about taking Alena or leaving her behind. She had certain skills that could be useful, and if they all were going to stay alive, they might need them.
"Seriously, Czar, I'm sorry about the product thing. I had no idea the other chapter might route something through this territory. We wouldn't have known, probably ever, but they got hit hard and they're too many men down."
"They shouldn't have tried bringing the women with them."
"It was business as usual. Evan made that very clear. He made their entire chapter ride. We only had about half come."
And most of those were Viktor's Torpedo Ink brothers. That had worked out nicely. Habit had left the men running their trafficking business home. That suited Viktor just fine; in fact, he'd counted on it. Habit's chapter had only been hit once, and they hadn't lost as many members. That had been a calculated move on Viktor's part. They had to get hit, or it would look suspicious, but they couldn't lose too many men or Habit would insist that Viktor and the others help with the whore business. That was never going to happen. He could stomach only so much for a job.
Viktor glanced at his watch. "I'll go get the details from Speed and take care of this so we can get moving. My crew will be riding early tomorrow morning."
3
THERE was nothing in the world Viktor loved more than riding his Harley for hours on the open road. It was the only time he ever felt truly free. For a man like him, caged and shackled most of his life, freedom was everything. The wind in his face, the roar of his bike, his brothers at his back--all of it made life good. Worth living.
He'd taken this assignment and in some ways, it turned out to be one of the best and yet the worst he'd ever taken. He'd spent five years with men who were mostly scum. In his world, he would have cut them down, one by one, and in fact, he was actually doing just that. There were few men he'd met in the Swords club who were worthwhile. Drugs, gun running, using their own women as prostitutes and drug runners. The worst was human trafficking. It was the club's biggest moneymaker, and no one seemed to object.