Ruthless Salvation

7

Present

DIDN’T SHE REALIZE ANY SICK f**k OFF THE STREET COULD HAVE BEEN watching her? I’d been following Stormy home after work for weeks, and every time it pissed me off when she didn’t close her f*****g drapes all the way. She was so damn naive. Every time she opened her mouth, it was obvious she thought the world was made of bubblegum and rainbows. It was unnatural.

I told myself that was the reason I was there night after night—morbid curiosity. I was fascinated the same way other people couldn’t look away from the scene of a disaster.

I needed to put an end to it, no matter the reason.

A hundred different women had come and gone during my years working at the club. I’d never paid any mind to them, and she shouldn’t have been any different. Blond hair and common brown eyes. Soft, feminine features with legs that went on for miles. She was attractive, but I could have been describing half the girls who have worked at Moxy.

The thing about Stormy that sank its claws into me was an intangible quality, making it harder to shake. Like the woman had spun some f*****g Southern voodoo spell over me. I hadn’t acted this recklessly since I was sixteen years old.

That thought was the reminder I needed to push away from the cold brick wall and get the f**k out of there. I was playing a dangerous game. I’d chided myself all night about the scene in the supply closet. I kept telling myself to keep my distance, but goddamn if she didn’t rile me. I didn’t trust her to ask for help when she needed it, and that pissed me off. She was so f*****g optimistic and polite that she tried to handle everything on her own. I’d seen it happen time and again, which was the other reason I kept such a close eye on her. If she had any street smarts at all, I wouldn’t have to.

You’re one dumb f**k if you think that would stop you.

I kicked an empty bottle left on the sidewalk, shattering the glass and the calm night air. When I reached the club, one of the dancers was out front scowling at her phone. Her light jacket did nothing to compensate for the tiny outfit she wore underneath. I wasn’t sure why she was still here, nor did I care. I gave her a curt nod and walked to my bike parked on the sidewalk.

“Hey, Tor!” She flashed an exaggerated smile. “I was hoping you’d turn up. My ride bailed on me, and if you couldn’t tell, I’m not exactly dressed to walk home. Could you give me a lift?” “No.”

“It’s only a couple of miles,” she continued to plead.

“Don’t care. I don’t do rides.” That was one of the reasons I loved my bike. A minor reason, but still a factor. People were less apt to ask for a ride, though it happened on occasion.

“That’s some s**t karma you’re stirring up, you know that?” she shot back at me. “No one’s gonna wanna help you out when you need a hand if you don’t do the same.”

“There’s no guarantee they would even if I did.”

“Chances are better.”

I straddled my Ducati and brought her to life before looking back at the girl. “No, they’re not. People will f**k you over every chance they get. You’re old enough to know that by now.” Exactly the sentiment I should have directed at Storm. It came so easily to me where anyone else was concerned. Why the f**k was she any different?

I let the bike kick forward, the sound almost drowning out the angry asshole she called at my back. I smirked, not that she saw it. I was halfway down the block in a matter of seconds.

“ANY WORD on that crazy Russian motherfucker?” Bishop held up padded hands for my cousin Conner to work combinations. Bishop worked for the family and was Conner’s best friend, but he wasn’t a blood relation. He and Shae were my most frequent training partners.

Today, Conner and Bishop were doing drills while Shae and I sparred. I liked working with her because she kept me on my toes with her jiujitsu moves. She’d achieved such a high skill level that it almost made up for our size difference. Almost.

We were taking a breather for the moment while the other two continued training.

Conner took several measured strikes before answering. “Nothing since he sliced Flynn open from ear to ear.”

“Wish we knew what that bastard was up to.” Bishop’s words were breathy as he steadied himself to absorb Conner’s strikes.

“Talked to Oran yesterday.” Conner continued. “He said some of the men Damyon had with him were on loan from Boris.”

“The f**k are those two doing working together?” Shae interjected.

Boris “Biba” Mikhailov was in command of the largest Russian outfit in New York, and those guys didn’t play nice with one another. I couldn’t imagine a situation where he’d be willing to hand over some of his men to an outsider.

“Don’t know,” Conner said between jabs, “but the Italians have Russian connections. I’m gonna give them a call today and see what I can find out.”

“They willing to give you information like that?” I chimed in. Conner may have had Italian genetics that had gained him a Mafia wife, but I couldn’t imagine the Genoveses truly considered him one of their own. We would never hand over sensitive information to someone in his position, and it would be stupid to think otherwise on their end.

“Don’t know unless we ask,” Conner rightfully pointed out. “Boris isn’t the type to share power, and he doesn’t scare easily. I’d say he got something out of the arrangement. I’d also say it lends me to believe Damyon was telling the truth when he said he had no interest in this city.

Boris wouldn’t help anyone he thought was going to become his rival.”

“True,” I agreed. “Then what the f**k is he doing here?”

“No goddamn clue.” He struck with two right jabs, then a quick left cross straight into a right uppercut before dropping his arms and stepping back, chest heaving.

“Break’s over,” Shae announced. “You can’t afford to be lazy with a fight next week.”

Conner nodded, sweat dripping from his brow. “You ready?”

“Are you kidding?” Bishop grinned. “That angry bastard’s always ready for a fight.”

Shae slid her mouth guard into place with a wicked glint in her eyes. I matched her ready stance and tried to draw my focus back to sparring.

Three seconds later, she’d somehow climbed me like a f*****g tree, wrapped her thighs around my head, and sent me crashing backward to the padded floor of the ring. Damn woman knocked the wind right out of me. I coaxed air back into my lungs while she loomed over me, a devilish grin appearing as she removed her mouth guard.

“Ready to lose,” she goaded me.