64
IVAN
I told Rooster the moment I walked into the back room that I was here strictly on business. But the burly bastard won’t hear of it.
“You’re getting married!” He throws his arms wide like he wants to hug the world. “We need to celebrate. Legs, crack open the champagne!”
“Already done.” A tall, skeletally thin woman—the exact opposite of Rooster in every way—walks into the room with three glasses of champagne held deftly between her fingers. “When you called, I put the bottle on ice. I knew this old softy would want to toast you.”
Rooster looks affectionately at his wife and then grins at me. “There is nothing wrong with loving love. People deserve to be happy. Even rotten bastards like us.” He elbows me in the side and hands me a glass. “Take this and drink to your good fortune. I saw your little lady out there. She’s a beaut.”
I glance at Legs, but there’s no sign of jealousy on her face. She nods in agreement. “She’s a little short for a dancer, but I’d be willing to make an exception. We’ll slap some platform heels on her and she’ll be the star of the show.”
Rooster almost chokes on his champagne. “We’re not going to ask the future queen of the Pushkin Bratva to be a dancer! Good God, woman. Ten years we’ve been married, and I still can’t take you anywhere.”
“There is nothing wrong with being a dancer.” Legs pinches her husband’s shoulder. “Need I remind you how we met?”
He pats her hand, shushing her gently. “No, darling. I remember.”
Rooster started the club ten years ago; Legs was his first hire. She started as a dancer, but within weeks, she was his bride and co-owner. They’ve been doing it all together ever since.
He got his nickname from the bright red mohawk he wears all the time. She got hers from—well, that origin story is obvious. They’ve been my friends and allies for a long time.
Legs smiles at me. “But of course we won’t ask her to work here. I’m just saying she could do it. If she wanted.”
The image of Cora on a stage, long leg hooked around a bar as she bends herself backwards, dressed in nothing but…
I clear the image from my head.
I set my glass down and lean back, one leg crossed over my knee. “Do you have any information for me?”
The Coop is Rooster’s largest club and his favorite, but he has dives and small bars all over the city. Plus, he’s friends with everyone—even his enemies. There isn’t much that goes on in this city that he doesn’t know about. It makes him an invaluable resource.
Instantly, the broad smile and relaxed posture are gone. Rooster shifts into his business persona seamlessly. His eyes burn like coals.
“I wish we had more,” he grumbles. “Your second sent me photographs of the men you’ve captured so far. We don’t know them.”
“They’ve never stood around one of my tables,” Legs chimes in. “I never forget a face.”
Rooster hangs his head. “I’m sorry. I wish we had more to share.”
I shake my head. “Don’t sweat it. Yasha hasn't found anything on them, either. It’s like they came out of nowhere and they refuse to tell us a thing. Whoever they’re working for, they’re scary enough that these men know failure to complete their mission means death. They’re killing themselves before we can even question them.”
“Must be someone powerful, then,” Legs murmurs.
She and Rooster share a look. So much passes between them in those few seconds.
Rooster turns back to me. “I didn’t think it was relevant, but…maybe I have something.”
He tips his head at Legs. She joins us at the rickety table. “It was a few months ago,” she begins. “I see a lot of men come in here with different women. I’m no prude and I won’t turn away anyone’s cash. Especially if they’re good tippers. I have to make sure I can pay my dancers. That's how I keep the best."
Rooster gives me an apologetic smile. “The short version, darling.”
She narrows her eyes at him, but nods. “Yeah. Okay. I saw Konstantin Sokolov here with a woman who was not his wife. They sat together for hours.”
Given when I overheard at the restaurant—the Sokolov guards making it clear their leader isn’t pleased with what he considers to be me backing out of our deal—I’m still counting on Konstantin Sokolov being somehow involved.
But I’m not sure how this fits together.
“I know that sounds like nothing. Gossip, at most. But there was something about the meeting that didn’t sit right with me. Konstantin met this woman here, but they didn’t touch. They didn’t dance. He didn’t even order a drink. They just talked. At the end of it, money was exchanged.”
“Did they leave together?”
She shakes her head. “The woman left, but Konstantin stayed and held court for another hour.”
“Who was the woman?”
She sighs. “I have no idea. She had dark hair and she looked young. Younger than Konstantin, for sure. I don’t think they were together.” Legs gives me a tight, apologetic smile. “It’s not much to go on, but I hope it might help down the road.”
So many scraps of information. Theories and snippets and half-hints. But nothing solid.
It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
I turn to Rooster. “What do you know about Marcus St. Clair?”
I didn’t plan to ask about Cora’s family. But I can’t stop myself. Just in case.
His face creases in thought. Then he shakes his head. “Nothing. I don't recognize the name. Should I?”
“What about Alexander McAllister?”
“That one rings a bell. He’s a regular, isn’t he, Legs?”
She nods. “Tall, skinny guy. Pompous. He usually comes in with a group of men in suits. They drink and watch the girls, but they don’t tip.” She wrinkles her nose in obvious distaste. “One of them grabbed one of my dancers and I set the bouncer on him. They haven’t been back in a while.”
It’s not exactly news that he’s an asshole. Cora made that clear with the bits and pieces of her story she’s shared.
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” Rooster offers. “I’ll ask around, too.”
I want to tell him that Yasha has been looking into Cora’s family for me, and he hasn’t found much of anything. Nothing useful.
That should be a sign that all is well, but I can’t shake the feeling that there is something I don’t know. Something important.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
“It’s our pleasure. We’re always here to help you, Ivan. Whatever you need.” He dips his head in a show of respect, grinning again. “We’re lucky to count you as a friend.”
“Go to the bar and get yourself something to drink,” Legs says. “On the house.”
I shouldn’t.
I know I shouldn’t.
I told Yasha I wouldn’t.
But the reminder that Cora is in the club just behind me chips away at the little bit of willpower I’ve managed to muster.
“You can drink for free from now until kingdom come,” Rooster says, sensing my hesitation. “With all the business your sister brought in tonight, we owe you all.”
I frown. “Anya made it sound like you were doing her the favor."
He laughs. “A private event this big makes double what we’re usually pulling. Your fiancée must have a lot of friends.”
Fucking Anya. I should have known she’d do too much. Now, I have no choice but to check it out for myself.
At least, that’s the excuse I’m going with.
“Point me to the bar,” I grit out. “Time for me to make an appearance.”
Rooster has one of his men guide me through the back hallways of the club. When I emerge into the main belly of the place, I see it’s absolutely crawling with people.
“I’m going to kill Anya,” I mutter to myself.
The only benefit to the mass of people is that I’m able to blend in easily. I slip into the mayhem and carve a path from the bar towards the dancefloor.
Yasha should have told me what I was sending Cora into. The moment he got here, he should have told me how many people were here. But now that I’m in the club, I can see security at every entrance and lining the walls. Plus my own soldiers sprinkled throughout the revelers.
She should be safe here.
I should leave.
But now that I’m here, I can’t go without seeing her. Without seeing for myself that she is fine and having fun.
As I approach the dancefloor, flashing lights twirl, momentarily blinding me. Then I see them.
Anya. Jorden. A few of my sister’s friends. They’re dancing in a circle in the middle of the floor.
No Cora, though.
I scan the crowd for her face. There’s no possible way she would blend in, I know that. The day we spent in bed together has made me a bloodhound for her. I’m positive I’d be able to pick her out of a crowd…but she isn’t here.
Just as a knot forms in my chest, I feel a hand on my arm.
I turn and look down at Francia. She’s holding a drink in one hand. Unlike the other women in the group, who I can see are glistening with sweat from here, Francia looks like she hasn’t spent much time on the dancefloor.
“I heard you were barred from the festivities tonight.”
“I heard this was supposed to be a small gathering,” I retort.
She grimaces. “So did we all. Your sister knows how to throw a party, that’s for sure.”
I don’t want to chit-chat. The last thing I need right now is to entangle my life even further with Cora’s. Once this is over, she and Francia and Jorden will all be out of my life. I don’t care whether they like me and I don’t need to get to know them.
I’m about to ask Francia where Cora is when she hands her drink to a passing busser and turns to me. “Care to dance?”
I arch a brow. “I’d tell you I’m engaged, but you already know that.”
“I didn’t figure that would matter,” she says. “It didn’t stop your fiancée.”
I frown as Francia points to the opposite side of the dance floor. To one of the private alcoves that ring the main space.
It’s a dark room, especially since it’s tucked behind the lights that strobe down on the dancefloor. But I can still make out the familiar shape of Cora. Her golden brown hair. The curve of her hip.
And a hand touching that hip…
My eyes sear up the arm of the man with his hand on my woman. When I see his pale face, practically translucent in the flashing lights, I don’t hesitate.
I tear past Francia and make my way across the room…
On a collision course with Mikhail Sokolov.