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  “Alright,” he began, “so back in the late 80s, early 90s, the USSR collapsed, right? Well, in all that chaos that happened, there was a big spike in organized crime. Russian Mob types. There'd always been underground crime, of course, cause there always is. That's just facts. But, the reds, they kept everything tamped down real tight, managed it. When the government collapsed, though, all that scum rose to the top, like when you're making a good chicken broth.

  “Now, out of these, rose up a man named Efraim Petrov, called him The Bear. He made his money running guns into Chechnya, before and after the collapse. Eventually, though, this wasn't quite as lucrative anymore, not for how dangerous it was. So, he started running arms elsewhere, to little hotspots we might've had an interest in at the time, places like Central America-”

  “Wait,” Micah interrupted. “So, the owner of Petrov is an ex-gun-runner?”

  Quentin nodded and Micah whistled low. “But, don't interrupt, boy,” Quentin admonished. “Save all the questions to the end, so this old man don't lose his train of thought. Where was I again?”

  “Gun running for the government?” I supplied, by way of a question.

  Quentin nodded. “Right. So, eventually, the Russian government starts to rebuild itself, starts to pick up the pieces at the end of the 90s. Well, when it comes to well-connected men with lots of money, Russia's the place to be, right? They love their oligarchs, them billionaires, and they might as well be gods among men over there.”

  “Right,” Micah agreed, nodding. “But, if that were true, why did Petrov come over here?”

  “Remember that whole Chechnya gun running part of the story?”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding along with him, completely enraptured in this little story about my dead boss's big boss, “back in the early 90s?”

  “Yeah, well, that. You see, the Russians just love a man with money, because money is power, but that Chechnyan independence thing is a real kicker. Their government cracks down on that hard. So, eventually, The Bear had to flee Russia. He smuggled as much as he could out of the country and applied for asylum here.”

  Micah laughed, shaking his head. I could tell it was in as much disbelief as anything else. “You're telling me, a Russian mob boss applied for asylum here, in the States? I think I've heard everything.”

  “Not everything,” Quentin reminded him. “Cause, surprise, surprise, he got it. Despite all my warnings. Certain people in the government thought he'd be a useful asset.”

  I didn't know the first thing about international politics, or any of that CNN crap. “A useful asset?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” Quentin said, drawing out the word, “sometimes, when you gotta get certain things into corrupt countries, places with dictatorships, you need a man who specializes in that kind of thing, things like smuggling and hiring certain kinds of people.”

  “So, people like Efraim Petrov,” Micah added. “Sometimes, you don't want blood on your own hands.”

  “At least,” Quentin said, “so as no one can see. But, that wasn't the real kicker. Real humdinger was that the ATF somehow rolled over and let him get a license for the manufacture of firearms. He took all that money he'd brought over and, right around 9/11, started investing it in Petrov Arms. The rest, as they do say, is history.”

  “Wow,” Micah said, taking another drink of tea. “Sounds like a pretty bad dude.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. I focused on my bottle, started working away with my thumb nail at the edge of the damp, colorful Abita label. “He ever get into other things, though? 'Sides guns and stuff, I mean.”

  He nodded. “Sure he did. All sorts of stuff. Those mobs, girl, they do all sorts of frightful things not fit for a lady to hear about. But, I'm sure of it.”

  So, guns, women, drugs, more than likely. But, still, Abram was meeting with Micah, and kept calling him The Don. Whoever he answered to, though, I couldn’t interrogate Abram now. He was stretched out on slab somewhere, keeping cool as a winter night.

  Of course, Micah had no idea about any of this. That, or he was a better actor than I assumed.

  Whatever the truth was, I was gonna find out, though. And, when I did, someone was gonna pay. Romeo deserved that much.

  Chapter Seven

  Micah

  That evening, Kaci and I headed in through the backdoor of Club Hades. I feigned politeness, but it was really only so I could keep my eyes on her. Sure, she'd ridden on the back of my bike, but making a move on me in that situation would have been a losing proposition for her.

  Nothing quite like killing the rider when you were stuck on the back.

  The club was barely empty as we stepped into it, mostly just staff running around taking care of the incidentals, and we skirted the main area so I wouldn't get grabbed for any questions or “Hey boss!” interruptions. The place wouldn't really start bumping for more than another hour.

  “Y'all get busy in here, don't you?” Kaci asked from beside me as I led her up the stairs to the clubhouse.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “We move 'em through, alright. Lots of tourists coming through, wanna see a real biker bar. This place during Mardi Gras is something else. They even get me slinging drinks behind the bar.”

  We made our way through the club’s halls, to the real seat of power for the F&B MC, and found Gov upstairs in one of the rec rooms, watching TV.

  “Yo, Gov,” I called from the door to where my second-in-command was playing pool with a couple of the guys. “You got a sec, bro?”

  “Sure thing, brother.” Gov passed his cue off to Grin and made his way over to join us. “What's up, man?”

  I glanced from Gov to Kaci, and back again. “Why don't you grab our girl Sydney and join us in the meeting room? Four of us got some things to discuss.”

  Gov frowned and nodded. I don't think he exactly liked bringing Sydney into a meeting like this, but I knew he wouldn't say no. “Yeah,” he said, “coming right up.”

  He turned and headed back down to the club, while I brushed past Kaci and went to the meeting room.

  “What're we gonna discuss?” Kaci asked as I guided her into the meeting room and gestured to a seat at the table.

  “Just how things are going,” I said, reassuring her as she took a seat. “Figured you ain't seen your friend since last night, and we still got questions about last night in the hotel.”

  She made a face at my words as I took a seat next to her, and even that face was pretty as a picture. Something about her, even with all her makeup scrubbed off. And, Hell, the way she'd twisted Quentin around her finger so easily did make me wonder if she was pulling the same kinda shit on me. I mean, if the old FBI agent was that susceptible, what chances did I have?

  But, one thing was sure. I knew she was dangerous, and still I kept her close. Sure, I kept my eyes on her, but there wasn't much to that. With a woman like Kaci, keeping an eye on her was the easy part of the job.

  “I already told you all I know,” Kaci said as I settled in, her face annoyed at the prospect of more questions.

  We both knew her words were lies, but she just didn't know I knew. I was kinda interested to see how far she'd push this whole thing, her hiding the death of her relative. Which was actually kinda funny because, for all the reasons I could think of killing a man, the death of a family member was top of the list. Easy.

  Sydney and Gov came in a few moments later, with Sydney running around the table to hug Kaci. The two women embraced warmly, clutching to each other like it'd been weeks, and not hours, since the last time they'd seen one another.

  “You getting settled in, girl?” Kaci asked her friend.

  Sydney nodded, grinning. “Yeah, hon. Been a while since I had to do any kind of real work like this, but it's been kind of nice not having to suck a dick all afternoon.”

  Kaci laughed, and they both took a seat.

  “Men are treating you alright, then?” I asked Sydney.

  “Oh yeah,” she said, smiling.

 
“She's kind of a mascot already,” Gov said from across the table. “Grin threatened to start chopping fingers with the cleaver if anyone gets too pushy with her.”

  Grin certainly had a way with words, and could feel downright fatherly when he wanted to. I kept my face neutral and nodded, even if I was laughing on the inside. “Good,” I said. “Alright, ladies, I gotta few questions about last night.”

  “Can't say how much help I'll be,” Sydney said, looking around the table. “I wasn't there and all, to see what happened. But I'll help y'all anyway I can. You guys have certainly helped me out.”

  I listened to Sydney's words, but my focus was on Kaci's face as her friend spoke. It went through a range of emotions, all subtle. A tug at her lips here, a lifting of an eyebrow there. She didn't know what to think about us, I could tell. Whatever she'd thought originally that had caused her to try and poison my morning juice, I think she was starting to change that opinion. I'd begun to see it taking root like a stretch of kudzu at my Grandpa's house, digging in and tearing out whatever preconceived notions she had.

  And, for whatever reason, I needed her to change that view. Not just for the information locked up in her head about what happened in that hotel room, but for something else. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I needed her to trust me, no matter how much I currently distrusted her.

  “Well,” I said, trying to keep my voice reasonable as I glanced to Gov, “all we ask is you return us the favor. We need to know, from both you ladies, what the hell happened. We know Abram ran you girls, you told us yourself. But now, come to find out he was working for Petrov Arms, and a member of the Russian mafia.”

  I folded my hands in my lap and leaned in close to Kaci, my face close enough to where I could almost smell her, my face inches from hers. “Now, what do you know about this Abram guy? Was he trying to make contact with us on behalf of The Bear? Or was there something else going on? And who is Romeo Sizemore?”

  # # #

  Kaci

  Sydney and I looked at each other in pure, honest shock. She was surprised because she knew I had a younger brother I'd left behind named Romeo. I was surprised because Micah knew who the hell he was.

  I didn't know how he knew who my brother was, or that he'd been in that room. Maybe the cops had identified him when they did Abram. I wasn't sure, hadn't really thought about it, even when Micah had mentioned it back at Quentin's. I was more interested in the old man's description of Petrov Arms, and this Efraim Petrov's ties to the international underworld.

  A man like that, with that much power where entire government agencies bent over backwards to help him out, didn't seem like he'd be answering to a bunch of bikers who'd set up shop on Bourbon Street. But, maybe Abram had changed allegiances? Maybe he'd started working for Micah on the side, in exchange for a bigger piece of the pie?

  “Who was he?” The Don asked again, coming an inch or two closer to my face.

  My eyes trailed down from his, flickered over that strong jaw, over the slight stubble, and down to a vein in his neck that seemed to throb bigger the more I looked at it.

  Sydney nudged me in the shoulder with her elbow, digging it in deep enough that I couldn't ignore her. “Tell him, Kaci,” she said, her voice insistent.

  I rolled my eyes and slunk down in my chair, like I was trying to hide from the world. Really, though, I slipped my hand, which was already beneath the table, into the slim pocket of my jeans and found the knife that had been poking me in the thigh since we'd left Quentin Marlow's house. It was a short little paring knife, kinda cute in its own way, but sharp as all get out. Plenty sharp for what I needed, which was to only nick that big, pulsing vein in The Don's neck.

  I'd seen two guys get into a knife fight a couple years back. Blades flashing, cutting in the streetlights. One guy had gotten caught right in the jugular. He tried to apply pressure, and the crimson blood had just poured out around his fingers. They called 911 and all, but even in the best of cities an ambulance couldn't have gotten there fast enough to keep him from pumping his life out all over the sidewalk.

  And New Orleans wasn't exactly the best of cities.

  The look on that poor son-of-a-bitch's face, like he knew death was coming for him, was one of purest horror. And I couldn't think of a worse fate for the man responsible for my brother's death.

  Yeah, all it would take would be a little nick of the skin, just deep enough to poke a hole in his neck. Gov would probably kill me, or, even worse, throw me to the gang to be a fucktoy for the rest of my short life, and Sydney would be scarred for whatever time she had left.

  But, if Abram Ivanovich was really working for Micah Marlow, justice would be done for my poor dead Rommy. And that'd be worth it, I figured.

  His eyes were boring into mine, those crazy blues of his even more intense when they were just inches from my face. I could feel them rummaging around in my head, trying to see what I was going to do next, see whether or not I was going to keep lying to him.

  I wrapped my fingers around the handle and tried to judge how fast Micah would be. From the way he moved, I'd say pretty damned fast. But, the question was, would he be fast enough?

  “Come on, Kaci,” Sydney urged. “Just tell him already.”

  What would it matter, now, if they knew the truth? “Fine,” I said, exasperated. “Romeo Sizemore is . . . was my brother. He showed up at the hotel last night, and Abram shot him in the bathroom because he heard a noise in there. Dunno how Rommy found me, but he did. I knocked the gun out of his hand, I guess, and then I picked it up and shot the Russian motherfucker.” I turned to Sydney. “There. Grin?”

  The look on Sydney's face was like I'd just drop-kicked a bunny rabbit into a wood-chipper. “Romeo . . . he was the other guy? Oh, hon, I'm so sorry.”

  I sniffed a little as my eyes tracked back to Micah's face, who was still leaning in to me. I gripped the paring knife in my pocket tighter, steeled my nerves, and got ready.

  “Alright,” he said, nodding.

  This was it. This was my chance.

  “I believe you,” Micah said. “Now, one more question.”

  I shook my head and grimaced as I subtly slid the knife out of my pocket and into my lap. “No,” I said. “I'm the one asking now.”

  Micah wasn't as fast as I gave him credit for. He barely flinched, barely jerked his head back, as my hand shot up and wrapped around his neck and pulled him in like we were long-lost lovers. But, instead of my lips caressing his, the razor-sharp edge of my knife grazed over the skin of his neck.

  “Now,” I said, “was Abram Ivanovich working for you as an inside man?”

  Chapter Eight

  Micah

  I confess, I think that was when I really realized what I found so attractive about Kaci. This girl just didn't give a fuck. Really. There we were, in the seat of my power, with my buddy leveling a gun at her head, and her poor friend looking like she about to cry from pure pants-shitting terror.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice as smooth and calm as possible despite the fact that I had a blade pressed to my throat. In the wrong spot, mind you, but still in one that would cause me some serious discomfort in the short term. “Hey,” I said again, “it's alright. I'd never even met Abram before in my life.”

  “He had a picture of you on his phone,” Kaci said. “Called you The Don, Micah. Why would he do that if you two had never met?”

  “I don't know,” I said, completely honestly. “I really don't know. If this is some sorta way to get back at the man who killed your brother, I ain't the guy responsible. And you know that.”

  “How can I be so sure?” she said, pressing the flat of the blade into my flesh a little.

  I winced and tensed up. “Okay, how about this. If Abram was my boy, which he wasn't, why would we keep you around, huh?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, Gov shook his head. He didn't like that line of thought, and figured she wouldn't believe me. He still had his gun trained on her, though, and was
n't going to budge even a fraction of an inch. Gov was a good man.

  “So . . . so you could find who really did it,” Kaci said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, a little more sarcastically maybe than I should have. “And that's why I'd take you to go meet my Grandpa, right? So I could tease this information out of you? If we were so awful as to run with Abram's crew, don't you think we'd have been beating you by now, or chopping off bits of you till you told us the truth?”

  I could tell she was thinking from the way those beautiful brown eyes of her shifted around. She was trying to judge how truthful I was being, and whether or not my logic held up. Also, I knew, she was taking the measure of me.