"I've already made deals with him, Jack."
He damned near jerked the wheel and only barely managed to stay inside his lane. "What?" His gaze jumped from the windshield to her face and back again. There were too many shadows for him to see her clearly. "Abby, what kind of deals?"
"When Granddad was alive, he had a long-running deal with Afrim Barisha, Besian's old boss. He would send his clients to our shop to make payments when they didn't have cash. They brought in merchandise to be pawned and took their cash to the loan shark. Granddad sold the merchandise to recoup the loaned money they weren’t going to repay and Afrim would settle up with a five percent kickback."
"Jesus, Abby!" He couldn't believe Mr. K had done such crooked dealings. "Does anyone else know?"
"No."
"Not even Dan?"
"No, not even Dan. If he had, don't you think he would have used that information to force me to give him money for whatever trouble his son is in or to force my hand on a partnership percentage?"
She had a point.
"Well. Actually, I guess Eric knows. He thought the attempted break-in a few weeks ago and this new one might have been connected. He worried it was tied to Besian. Like, maybe he was trying to intimidate me."
"Is he?" Jack wouldn't put it past the bastard.
"No. We have an understanding."
Remembering the warning Detective Santos had given him, Jack decided he wanted the truth. "Are you still taking payments?"
"No. It stopped the day I realized what had been going on, right around the time Granddad had that last heart attack and Besian's boss was stuffed in that trunk. We had a sit-down and agreed the partnership had only existed between those two men so we would have to negotiate a new deal to move forward. I didn't want a new deal, and Besian let me walk."
"Just like that?" Jack didn't believe it for a second.
She hesitated. "I promised him that I wouldn't allow any other crews to operate out of my store and that I wouldn’t pay protection money to anyone else."
"Do you pay him a protection tax now?"
"No, but he took care of that thing with the brick."
Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. The thought of Abby going to a fucking mobster behind his back slashed at him. "Did you go to him for help?"
"No, he came to me. He visited the shop yesterday to tell me that he had taken care of it. The 1-8-7 crew won't bother me again."
"And what did he want in return for this favor?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit. Besian Beciraj doesn't do nice things for anyone without expecting something in return."
"He didn't ask me for anything, Jack. Honestly, I think this was more about strengthening his position than anything. Now that John Hagen has left the sharking business, it's up to Besian to capture the market share from Hagen's successor. Besian's outfit has been growing, and their territory is expanding. It makes sense that he would want the 1-8-7 gang off my block. It's a bigger buffer for him and his interests."
"I don't like it."
"Neither do I, Jack, but we're in a precarious position here." She picked up the camera and placed it on her lap. "If Finn is right and the guy killed in this video was tied in with Romero Valero, that's really bad. His reputation is terrifying. Like—I've heard he carries a machete!"
Jack had heard the stories too. Kelly was friends with Vivian, Romero's daughter who had married mob boss Nikolai Kalasnikov. That was a tangled mess of a family tree if he'd ever seen one! But Kelly had told him the rumors of her father—and they weren't very encouraging. If that video was evidence of one of his men being killed, Romero would want it and he would do anything to get his hands on it.
Then there was the hitman who had made the mistake of showing his face on the video. There were two possibilities there. One, Flea had realized after fencing the stolen goods to Dan what he had given away so he had broken into the shop hoping to get it back and save himself. Two, drug-addled Flea had run his mouth to the wrong person and now the word was on the street about the video. Jack leaned toward scenario number two because Flea wasn't smooth enough to break into Abby's shop, steal the electronics and get out without leaving evidence.
But who was smooth enough? The assassin? Sure. One of Romero Valero's men? Definitely. The person who had hired the assassin? Absolutely.
The tightness in Jack's chest spread as he realized how many people could be looking for that video camera. All of them would easily put a bullet in Abby or Mattie to get it back. For the assassin, especially, it was important to silence the few people who had seen his face.
Considering the trouble they were about to bring to Besian's front door, Jack questioned whether the man would even be willing to help them at all. He didn't need the added heat of a cartel and a gun-running ex-felon with an outlaw motorcycle gang on his payroll. It could get messy very fast.
When they pulled into the parking lot of the high-end strip club that the Albanian owned, Jack heard Abby giggle and glanced at her with confusion. "What's so funny?"
"This is the first place you've ever taken me," she said, unlatching her seatbelt. "Our first public foray—and we're headed to a strip club."
Jack cringed. He hated the idea of taking Abby into the place but he wasn't about to leave her outside in the truck. "When this all blows over, I swear I'll take you out on the town, Abby. I'll wear a suit. We'll go to a nice restaurant. I'll rent a suite in a downtown hotel. Flowers, wine, chocolate—whatever you want."
"Does that include jewelry?" she asked with a playful smile.
Smiling, he leaned over to kiss her. "I happen to know a girl who can get me a forty percent discount on some really nice diamonds."
Abby's mouth curved with amusement. "Forty percent? Don't push your luck."
Glad to have this moment of levity in their stressful situation, Jack laughed and pressed his lips to hers. She slid her hand along his arm and up to the back of his head. He stabbed his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, and made sure to push all the passion and love he held for her into their kiss. He bit down gently on her lower lip, plumping it up with the nip of his teeth, and marking her just enough for her to remember that she was his.
Caressing his cheek, she said, "Let me do the talking at first. Besian likes me. He'll help me."
Jack nodded stiffly. "If that's what you want."
"I trust that you'll know when to step in," she added before pecking his cheek. "You have good instincts."
Praying those instincts would guide them out of this successfully, he slid out of the truck and walked around to Abby's door. He used those old skills to scope out the area, taking note of the vehicles surrounding theirs in the parking lot and the traffic on the street. Not for the first time, he wished he had one of his pistols on him. The one Finn had packed for him was locked away in Abby's closet. God help them if someone decided to open fire.
When they made it to the front entrance of the club, the bouncers barred them from entering. A sour-faced man shorter than Jack by half a foot shook his head. "We have a dress code."
Smiling sweetly, Abby stepped forward. "Can you please tell Mr. Beciraj that Abby Kirkwood is here? I'm sure he'll make an exception. It's a business issue."
The bouncer studied her for a moment. "Wait here."
Jack grasped Abby's elbow and gently guided her into a well-protected spot, using the building and cars to shield her from anyone who might be following them. He slid into a guarding position that covered her exposed side, using his own body to block any bullets that might come flying their way. He didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to open fire at the front door of the Albanian mafia, but the people potentially after the video camera tucked into Abby's backpack were probably desperate enough to try.
When the short bouncer returned, he flicked his fingers. "Mr. Beciraj will see you. Follow me."
With his hand between her shoulder blades, Jack followed Abby into the club. He could tell by her wide eyes that she had never been in a pl
ace like this. When she glanced at him and frowned, he sensed she could tell that he had. It wasn't his scene anymore, but as a young Marine between tours, he had frequented such joints. Well—not places as nice as this one. Whatever his feelings toward the mobster, Jack had to admit the club was lavish and upscale and every bit the gentleman's club it claimed to be.
They were led across the bustling main floor to a door hidden by purple crushed velvet drapes. The short bouncer took them down a hall lined with doors, most of them dressing rooms and employee lounge spaces to a suite of offices at the rear. He motioned toward a door and left them.
Abby rapped her knuckles against the door, and Jack instantly took note of the solid sound it created. Clearly Besian expected trouble if he had a door like that one separating him from the rest of the club.
"Yes?"
Almost timid now, Abby pushed the door open and peeked inside. "Besian?"
"Abby! Come in!" The mobster's warm greeting was quite unlike the reception Jack and his brothers were used to receiving. Though it twisted his gut to seek help from a man so mired in the seedy underworld of Houston, Jack was nonetheless encouraged by the mobster's apparent happiness at seeing Abby.
Following close on her heels, Jack swept his practiced gaze around the interior of the office. He immediately noticed the second man leaning against the wall behind Besian's desk. He recognized the man with that ice cold gaze as Kostya, one of the associates of Nikolai Kalasnikov. The Russian had helped Kelly a few weeks back when his youngest brother had been looking for the jackass extorting Bee over those graphic photos of her brother.
Bolting out of his chair, Besian rushed around the desk. "What the hell happened to your face?" The mobster glared at him. "Did he hit you?"
Jack put a hand on Besian's chest, stopping the man before he could touch her. "I've never hit a woman in my life. Can you say the same?"
Besian's eyes narrowed. "Bruising the merchandise wouldn't be good for business."
The cold answer fit Jack's estimation of the man. Before the situation could get even tenser, Abby explained her slightly swollen cheek. "A girl in the self-defense class whacked me with her elbow."
Never one to pass up the chance to insult him, Besian remarked, "It sounds as if you need a better teacher."
"Besian," Abby said in a slightly pleading tone. "Please. Can we not do this tonight?"
"Fine." The strip club owner returned to his chair and leaned back, sliding both hands behind his head. "So, Jack, how are you?"
Jack leveled a chilly stare at the mobster. "Peachy. You?"
Besian laughed. "Business is fantastic. I can't complain."
"Happy for you."
Clearly wanting to head off a confrontation, Abby stepped in front of him. She gripped her backpack tightly in both hands. Though Jack couldn't see her sweet face, he easily read the concern that immediately darkened Besian's expression. The bulldogging was forgotten, and he dropped his hands to the desk. "Abby, why are you here?"
"I need your help." Her voice cracked, and Jack could only imagine how hard it was for her to come in here and ask for the mobster's protection. Not that it was any easier for him…
"Did those little punks come back? I swear to God—I'll put every last one of them into hospital if—"
"It's not the 1-8-7 crew. It's this." She placed her backpack on his desk and unzipped it. With shaking hands, she removed the camera and passed it over. "I think this was what the person who broke into my shop wanted."
Besian's dark eyebrows arched as he accepted the camera from her. "I don’t understand."
"There's a video on it. Only one video," she added. "And it's gruesome."
"Gruesome?" The Russian interjected himself in the conversation. "Death?"
Abby's head bobbed. "A murder."
Turning on the camera, Besian found the video and hit play. With the Russian glancing over his shoulder, the Albanian mafia boss watched the brutal hit without even the slightest bit of shock or horror showing on his face. His emotionless coal-black eyes didn't flicker away from the screen for even an instant.
In that moment, Jack realized Besian Beciraj was even more dangerous than he had ever thought. Any man who could watch that violent slaying without displaying any feelings of remorse or disgust was a man capable of unspeakable acts. One quick look at Kostya, and Jack understood that these two men had earned their reputations through ruthless viciousness. The Russian seemed to be critiquing the crime playing out in front of him, his judgmental expression at times approving and at others disapproving.
When the sound of crinkling plastic filled the air, Besian shut the screen and glanced at his Russian counterpart. An unspoken discussion occurred between the two men, one that Jack simply couldn't decipher. Unsettled, he went rigid and tried to read their body language. Had this been a massive mistake? Were they in even more danger now?
Finally, Besian looked at Abby. "Who else has seen this?"
"Just me and Jack."
Keeping his face a mask, Jack didn't let on that she had lied. While he thought it might be a bad move, he understood her desire to protect Finn from the fallout of the camera's discovery.
"The girl in this video worked at one of our strip clubs. At Sugar's," Besian said. "Tawny has been missing for two weeks. We thought she had run off with her old man." He tapped the video camera. "This guy. His name is—was—Mando Fernandez. He was the sergeant-at-arms for the Calaveras motorcycle crew that runs protection and guns for Romero Valero. He's probably the closest thing Romero had to a best friend."
Jesus. It was just as bad as they had thought. "The hitman? He's from a rival gang? A cartel?"
Besian held his gaze. "He's freelance and a former spec ops guy. Fuck. You probably worked with him when you were playing soldier over there."
Jack let the dig slide. "Delta? Rangers? SEAL?"
The mobster shrugged. "I couldn't tell you. He's a myth. Fantazmë. A ghost," he translated from his mother tongue. "You contact him through a handler. You make the payment. He makes the hit. End of story."
"Except now we know what he looks like." Kostya said what they were all thinking. "That's not good for business."
"No," Besian agreed quietly.
"Please, Besian," Abby whispered pleadingly. "Tell me what to do."
"Nothing." Besian handed over the video camcorder to the Russian. "This isn't something a nice girl like you handles. I'll take care of this. You stick close to Jack. If there's one thing these Connolly men do well, it's protect their own."
Jack locked eyes with the mobster. Whatever animosity existed between them, it was clear that Besian would set that aside to ensure Abby's safety. For some reason, Besian felt intensely protective toward her. Jack doubted he would ever respect the gangster, but he could stomach to work with him on this.
"Abby, step outside for a minute. I need to speak to Jack alone."
She glanced back at him, unsure whether to follow the order or not. Jack didn't like the idea of being separated from her. The Russian stepped forward. "I'll guard her. She'll be safe with me."
Jack decided the devil he knew was better than sending her out into the hall alone where anyone could get at her. He nodded at Abby who reluctantly gathered up her backpack and left with Kostya close behind her. Alone with Besian, he waited for the other man to speak.
"There's no love lost between us, Jack, but I need you to understand that is all in the past for me. Abby's grandfather was a good partner with my predecessor, and she lives in my territory. Whatever you might think of me, I believe in loyalty above all things."
"Even money?" Jack couldn't help himself.
Besian cracked a smile. "Even money."
Gesturing to the camera Kostya had put on the corner of the desk, Jack asked, "How bad is this? And don't bullshit me, Besian."
"It's bad. Ever since Romero Valero killed that witness against his old cartel, he's been making moves south of the border and building up his business. There's friction between Ro
mero and Lorenzo Guzman."
"The drug lord?"
"Yes. We've tried to keep Houston quiet—"
"We?"
"My associates and I," Besian said, refusing to name names. "We've managed to keep a lid on the problems here but that?" He pointed to the camera. "That could set off a fucking war. It might be personal, but only the council can green light a kill between rivals within the city. If that wasn't a personal issue, it was a cartel sanctioned hit that broke the rules—and that's a problem for all of us."
Sucking in a noisy breath, Besian rose from his chair and scratched his fingers through his black hair. "The only man who can give Abby full coverage on this video is out of town. Kostya will tell me if he can provide some backup on this until I'm able to speak to his boss. If he agrees to help, it won't be cheap."
And there it was. The moment he had been expecting.
Jaw clenching, he asked, "What do you want?"
Besian issued a sharp laugh. "The better question is what are you willing to give me?"
"For Abby? Anything."
"Even your gym? Your house?" The mobster held his gaze. "Your life?"
He didn't hesitate to give his answer. "Take them."
Besian studied him for an unnervingly long moment. "No, I think I'll take something else."
Jack didn't like the sound of it but he couldn't be picky. He needed this man's help. "And what is that?"
"Your integrity."
Gut twisting, Jack slashed his hand through the air between them. "If you think I'm going to go out and hurt someone for you—"
"That's not what I had in mind," Besian interrupted. "I have men who take care of that already. No, what I need is a driver."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "A driver?"
"Yes."
"For?"
"You'll find out tomorrow night. Do you know Merkurie Motors and Towing?"
It was the automotive shop and towing company that Besian owned. "I know where it is."