Sons of Anarchy: Bratva (22 page)

Whatever the old man had told his visitors, Izzo would never know.

*   *   *

Jax hesitated before calling home, but it had been too long since he’d spoken to Tara, and he wanted to hear her voice before the day’s violence began. No way of knowing if he’d still be standing by nightfall.

She answered sleepily after the third ring. “Hey. You’re up early.”

The tightness drained from Jax’s body, and he felt himself smile. “Sorry. Been a long night, and we’ve got a long day ahead.”

“You find Trinity?”

“Yeah. I just left her and her boyfriend.”

“What’s he like, this Russian?”

Jax weighed the question. “Jury’s still out. Seems like a stand-up guy, but being in his life could get her killed.”

Silence on the phone. Jax felt like he could hear the world breathing, there on the line.

“You still there?” he asked.

“That’s the same thing people say about me,” Tara said. “And the life
you
lead.”

Jax had been standing by the window in his temporary hotel room. Morning sun shone through the glass, and the small boxy room had begun to heat up. Now he went to the bed and perched on the edge, staring thoughtfully into a no-space in the middle of the room.

“I’ve made you promises, Tara,” he said quietly, glancing at the door, not sure why he didn’t want to be overheard. “I’m gonna keep ’em. We’re getting out of it—all of us. You, me, and the boys.”

“Be safe.”

Jax bit back the words that tried to make their way to his lips—fighting the truth. How could he tell her that as long as SAMCRO was part of his life, he would never be safe? The MC was his family, looming larger in his life than anything else, almost a third parent, but it was going to kill him one of these days. He did not intend for that day to be today.

“What’s happening there? The boys okay?”

“Abel has a low fever. Nothing to worry about,” she said. “Some kind of virus that’s going around.”

“Good thing his mom’s a doctor,” Jax said. “I’ll see you all in a couple of days.”

A few seconds ticked by in which Jax knew Tara was busily missing him as much as he missed her. Things had changed between them while he’d been in prison. Tara had been hardened by his absence, and he couldn’t help thinking she was keeping something from him. Something that troubled her deeply. He kept waiting for her to tell him.

“Would I like her, this sister of yours?” Tara asked.

“I figure chances are fifty-fifty. Either she’d be the sister you never had, or you’d want to kill each other. Neither of you puts up with bullshit.”

“Two alpha females in one room can get tricky.”

Jax grinned. “That what you are? An alpha female?”

“Come home and I’ll show you.”

He laughed quietly. “Couple of days, babe. Then I’m all yours.”

“Okay,” Tara relented. “I hope I get to meet Trinity.”

A knock came at his door. “Babe, I’ve gotta go.”

“I love you. The boys love you,” Tara said.

“Kiss them for me,” Jax told her. “See you soon.”

He ended the call as he went to the door, not bothering to draw his weapon. They were in the lion’s den here, among people who had tried to kill him and Opie, totally exposed, but he had to count on them having mutual interests right now. They wouldn’t do anything stupid—he hoped.

Jax drew the door open to find a wary looking Chibs standing in the hall, one hand on the butt of his gun.

“Opie’s back with the bikes. We’re all set,” he said, and then gestured over his shoulder. “And you’ve got a visitor.”

Oleg stood behind him with a gleaming black assault rifle in his hands. Jax’s thoughts raced as he wondered how fast he could drop his phone and reach for his own gun. Then Oleg held the assault rifle out to him. “Call it a peace offering.”

Jax blinked, tossed his cell phone onto the bed, and took the assault rifle. Incredibly lightweight and shiny black, it had a long, curved magazine.

“What is this?” Jax asked. “Never seen one.”

“Nine-millimeter TsNIITochMash. Subsonic bullet speed. Silencer. It will punch through body armor at four hundred meters. Very new and very difficult to smuggle into this country, but Oscar Temple had several of them.”

Jax felt the light weight of the gun in his hands, testing its balance. He preferred a handgun and knew from the glint in Chibs’s eyes that he would have liked this monster for himself, but it would have been an insult for him to pass it on. Oleg was trying to break the ice between them.

“Thank you,” Jax said, and meant it. “I’ll put it to good use.”

Oleg nodded, unsmiling. “I’m sure you will.”

He began to turn away, but changed his mind and glanced up at Jax again. “Kirill will not say it—particularly because of the strife between our people and your club—but we are both glad you are here. The reinforcements will be helpful. Perhaps these mutual interests we have will make us friends.”

“Or at least not enemies,” Jax said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Oleg nodded grimly, completely missing Jax’s attempt at humor.
Russians,
he thought.

“Listen, Oleg, about one of our ‘mutual interests.’ You know Trinity has to stay behind today. She won’t like it, but—”

“It will make her furious,” Oleg agreed, “but she must at least suspect it. You could leave one of your people here with her, but we will need every man when we go up against Lagoshin.”

“She’ll be all right here?” Jax asked.

Oleg smiled, turning his grim features boyishly charming for a moment. Jax could see, then, the ordinary guy beneath the Bratva strongman.

“We will be busy killing all those who could threaten her,” Oleg said. “None of them will be alive to cause her trouble.”

“All right, then,” Jax said.

Clutching the assault rifle in his left hand, he reached out with his right. Oleg took his hand, and they shook, a pact not unlike the one Jax had made with Kirill, but more personal.

“Let’s see what other toys you guys picked up from Temple,” Jax said. “Then we’ll go give Lagoshin his morning wake-up call.”

*   *   *

Rollie was in his bar, wolfing down a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, when Thor came trudging out from the kitchen.

Rollie turned, figuring he was ready to leave, but he spotted the cell phone in Thor’s hand and froze.

“Tell me this isn’t more bad news, bud.”

Thor shrugged. “Well, it ain’t
good
news. The old guy Izzo put Jax onto—John Carney—is dead.”

Rollie swore and smashed a fist down on the bar. The fork he’d been using bounced off the wood and spun to the floor at his feet.

A dark thought swept through him. “You were with them when they talked to Carney?”

Thor nodded. “You know I was. It all seemed fine. Not to mention that Carney had kept information back from the cops that might’ve put them onto Trinity. I know what you’re thinking, but Jax had no reason to go back and hurt this old man.”

“All right. Go track down an address for the real estate guy Carney gave up to Jax. What the hell was his—”

“Drinkwater.”

“Him.” Rollie nodded. “Meet me out back. We’ll let the others search for Jax or some Russians. You and me are gonna take Bag, Mikey, and Bronson over to see this Realtor and see what he knows.”

Rollie took one last bite of his toast and then rubbed a finger over his teeth. He shoved back the stool he’d been sitting in and headed for the back hall.

“What if Drinkwater’s already dead?” Thor asked.

Rollie paused, glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, I’m expecting to find him dead. Seems to be the theme of the morning. But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn anything from him.”

16

Jax sat
in the passenger seat of a black Audi, the interior of which smelled like cigarette smoke and body odor. No new-car smell for Ilia, the Russian behind the wheel. In the backseat, Oleg kept a gun jammed up against Luka’s rib cage and snapped questions at him in Russian that Jax figured amounted to “right or left?” Luka was their human GPS this morning.

The air conditioner buzzed, turned all the way up, but for Jax all it did was chill the smoky, dank interior of the car. The Audi should have fit all four of them comfortably, but he felt claustrophobic. He’d hated having to leave the Harley behind. Worse than that, he despised having to sit idly in the passenger seat while Ilia did the driving. He didn’t know the Russian, had no idea how Ilia would respond if things went to hell. Oleg wouldn’t have put him behind the wheel if he hadn’t been a capable driver, but Jax kept opening and closing his hands, wishing for the grips on his Harley and the comforting freedom that came along with it.

He said nothing.

Whatever fate awaited him and Trinity today, he’d committed to it. No way to back out now. The assault rifle Oleg had given him waited in the trunk of the car.

A loud engine roared beside the Audi, and he glanced right to see Opie riding alongside. Opie peered in the window, just making sure the Russians hadn’t decided to put a bullet in Jax’s head now that they had him in the car. Jax nodded once and Opie dropped back behind the Audi to ride side by side with Chibs. The stitches Rollie had put in Opie’s side seemed to be doing the job, keeping the graze along his ribs closed, and his color had improved. He’d be in pain, but he’d manage.

“Your men look out for you,” Oleg said.

“Not my men,” Jax corrected. “They’re my brothers.”

Ilia glanced at him but then returned his focus to the road ahead. Jax thought he could practically hear Oleg thinking in the backseat.

“I understand,” Oleg said at last. “It is the same with us.”

Luka scoffed and started to say something. Oleg struck him in the head with the butt of his pistol, and Luka grunted, almost whining, then fell silent.

The Audi’s tires seemed strangely loud on the road. The morning sun blazed down, baking the hood of the car and the tinted glass windshield, and Jax knew the day would be a scorcher. Why a girl from Belfast would think she could find happiness in Nevada, he had no idea.

In his pocket, his cell phone buzzed. As he reached to retrieve it, he realized it wasn’t his phone at all. He carried his in another pocket; this one belonged to Luka.

The text message came from someone called VK. Two words:
Check in
.

“Your friend Krupin wants you to check in,” Jax said.

They kept driving. Oleg forced directions out of Luka, but there were hesitations that concerned Jax. They moved past a ranch and through a tract-housing development until they reached the outskirts of Las Vegas proper. Hotels and casinos loomed in the distance, silhouetted by stark sunlight.

“No way is Lagoshin camping out on the Strip,” Jax said, glancing over his shoulder at Luka. “What are you up to, asshole?”

“Go left,” Luka replied in English.

Ilia complied, and moments later they were rolling through a neighborhood of faded office buildings and auto body shops. Luka’s cell buzzed again. Another text from VK:
Call in now. We’re moving
.

The breath caught in Jax’s throat. He drew his gun as he turned on the seat. Oleg glanced up in alarm and Ilia twitched at the steering wheel, but by then Jax already had his gun aimed at Luka.

“What are you doing, Jax?” Oleg asked warily.

Jax ignored him, focused on Luka. “Krupin says they’re ‘moving.’ Where would they be moving?”

Luka smiled thinly, pure arrogance in his eyes.

Jax aimed the gun at his chest. Oleg jammed his gun in Luka’s side.

“Talk to me, asshole,” Jax said. “I don’t need you the way these guys do.”

At that, Luka’s smile broadened, but still he said nothing.

Jax stiffened, thinking hard. Trying to figure out a way that this did not mean what he feared it meant. He slid back into his seat, dropped Luka’s phone, and dug out his own.

“Who are you calling?” Oleg demanded, his own suspicion rising.

Jax found the contact he sought on his phone and hit
CALL
.

“Krupin says they’re moving. What if Lagoshin got a line on where you’ve been holed up? Trinity’s back there alone. I’m calling in some protection.”

Many Russians were pale complexioned by nature. Oleg grew paler.

“She is your sister,” he said. “You’re not going to demand we turn around?”

Jax tightened his grip on his gun. “Would you do it?”

Oleg pressed his lips into a thin line. He loved her, but there was nothing he could do, and nothing he could say.

The phone kept ringing. Jax listened, praying that it would be picked up.

*   *   *

Drinkwater had been duct-taped to a chair. His arms, legs, and torso had been taped down in three different colors, and an old-fashioned paisley necktie had been used to gag him. It wouldn’t have kept him from screaming, and, given time, he would’ve been able to get his mouth free—shout for help—so it seemed strange that whoever had done the very thorough duct-taping had chosen the tie.

Rollie stood in Drinkwater’s bedroom and stared at the two bullet holes in the man’s face, one in the forehead and one where his left eye ought to have been. The bullets had blown out the back of his skull.

Messy,
he thought.
Why be so meticulous about binding him … why bother with a gag at all … if this was how it was going to end?

Unless the shooter hadn’t intended for it to end this way.

Which made no sense. It wasn’t as if Drinkwater could have lunged at his killer—not with the duct tape strapping him to the chair.

Rollie scratched at his ample gut, then glanced around the bedroom. Whoever had killed Drinkwater, they’d gotten what they came for. The room seemed undisturbed except for the dead man and his gore. Drinkwater had answered his killer’s questions.

If the killer had questions.
Maybe this was about nobody else getting the answers
. That felt right.

“Look around,” Rollie told Thor. “Make it quick. The longer we stay, the more chance there is of something going wrong.”

Thor started checking the pockets of jackets and searching night-table drawers. They’d left Bronson, Baghead, and the prospect at a small park down the street, and it wouldn’t be long before their presence unnerved someone enough to call the PD.