1
IF they were going to get out of this alive, they were going to have to be ghosts. Viktor "Czar" Prakenskii faced his men and their disapproving faces. He detested arguments, especially, like now, when they had very little time.
"Let me clear the way," Savva "Reaper" Pajari said. His eyes were flat and cold. Ice-cold. There was no emotion whatsoever in his voice.
Viktor knew he was the cause of that emotionless voice. He had that on his soul forever. There was no taking back their childhood or the things they'd had to do to survive--things that Viktor had conceived--just like this job. It was all on him, and he wasn't going to allow them to surround him like they all preferred, keeping him safe. This was his mess. He had never been able to put the brakes on, to say enough. For him, it was never enough, and where he went, the others followed.
"Not happening," he said, his voice low, terse. He was angry, but not at any of his brothers. At himself. He'd chosen a path and one by one they had followed him. His path had led straight to hell. "We don't have time to argue. We knew walking into this it was a trap. Nothing has changed."
Dmitry "Storm" Koval sighed heavily. "We all voted, Czar, just like always. Stop trying to carry us on your shoulders. We chose this life. All of us."
Viktor clenched his teeth. That was a blatant lie. None of them had chosen their life. Not a single one. They all shared a common beginning. Each of them had parents murdered by a man named Kostya Sorbacov, because their parents hadn't agreed with Sorbacov's politics. He had taken the children to the most brutal orphanage/school ever conceived in the hopes of shaping them into assets for his country--at least that's what they all thought at first.
"That's bullshit, but we don't have time to debate right now. The longer we wait, the more men they'll have guarding this place."
The thought of what he was going to find turned his stomach, but then, it always did and he kept doing the same thing over and over. Five years of his life had been given to this mission. Evan Shackler-Gratsos was the number-one human trafficker in the world. Viktor knew he couldn't stop everyone, but he was determined to take the man down. That decision had cost him five years of his life, possibly his marriage and the knowledge that the men he called brothers had made the choice to follow him into hell, just as they always had.
He refused to argue with them any longer. He simply gave them a small salute and pushed through the wall to find his entry point. The warehouse where a chapter of the infamous Sword motorcycle club had set up shop, already renting out the young girls they'd acquired only a scant two to three weeks earlier, was in the industrial district. They moved the girls often in order to stay one step ahead of the cops.
This time, they had more new girls, most between the ages of eleven and sixteen, just the age Evan preferred to add to his stable. They lasted longer. Right now, they were "training" the new girls, which meant beatings and rape to get them to the point where they felt hopeless and so afraid they would do anything they were told.
Viktor knew what that was like. They all knew, and yet for five long years they'd ridden with the scum, wore their colors and defended them when they went to war. For this. For these moments. To take some of it back, and hopefully draw Evan out into the open where they could get to him. So Viktor could get to him. Evan Shackler-Gratsos represented every one of those pedophiles and sadistic monsters that had run the school. The rage that burned so hot in Viktor's belly night and day had come to demand the death of the human trafficker.
They'd wreaked enough havoc over the years to keep every Swords chapter on alert, especially when they brought in new girls. Viktor ran two teams, and often they hit two chapters simultaneously, but lately it had become more difficult. Evan demanded the girls bring in money day and night, seven days a week, so even when baiting a trap, they kept the women working and the lines long. It was no different in spite of the storm brewing.
There were guards hidden in the brush surrounding the warehouse on all sides. The roof connected with a second warehouse housing mostly heavy equipment for a local contractor. Viktor chose that building to make the penetration into the Swords' makeshift brothel. There were at least two guards between him and the building.
The chapter was spread thin trying to surround the building as well as keep the work going. They had to have guards inside to make certain the women were doing as they were told and that the customers didn't abuse their privileges without paying. They needed men guarding the outside line in order to keep it moving properly. All the while they feared the mystery crew that freed their slaves and killed the members of their chapter would strike.
Viktor and his men had spread fear throughout the Swords club and there was some satisfaction in that, but Evan, although seriously angry, hadn't personally made an appearance. The man was secretive now, and very paranoid. He had inherited billions from his brother, a Greek shipping magnate, and he had the money to stay hidden for as long as he wanted.
Viktor had been patient, moving up through the ranks of the Swords. He was a huge asset, with his background. There wasn't a weapon he didn't know how to use. The club found him very useful. He didn't mind carrying out the assignments as enforcer because anyone doing business with them was covered in as much slime as they were. One by one, his men had joined after him, over a period of two years until all of them were in the Swords with him. All had come out of the shadows to take his back.
He waited in the darkness until one of the guards grew restless enough to give his position away. Very slowly he began to move from shadow to shadow, always cognizant of the fact that the Swords liked to lay elaborate traps and always used night vision goggles. He came up behind the man and killed him swiftly, a knife shoved hard into the base of the skull, severing the spinal cord. It was a signature kill for his crew.
To his left, a radio crackled. The noise was muffled. A voice spoke. The guard answered, his voice bored. The moment he stopped speaking, a dull thud followed. Viktor worked his way toward the sound. A body lay on the ground, someone pulling the boots to take it farther into the shadows just against the wall of the warehouse. He recognized Reaper.
Shaking his head, Viktor watched as Reaper removed the radio from the dead guard's ear and put it in his own. He should have known. Reaper had had his back in every situation for longer than either cared to remember.
"You don't follow orders."
Reaper straightened. "You didn't give any worth listening to."
Viktor narrowed his eyes at his enforcer. The man was a law unto himself when it came to protecting Viktor. He was ruthless, relentless and a pain in Viktor's ass. "Damn it, you take too many risks. You should have stayed out while you had the chance. All of you. Instead you follow me into this mess. Five years of our lives have been given to these scum. This mission. Who knows if we're really going to get our shot at taking the fucker out?"
Reaper glanced up toward the roof and then sighed. "You don't have the slightest clue why we all followed you, do you?"
Viktor looked at his friend. There was no evidence of the boy he knew, the young toddler brought to the school a year after Viktor had been ripped from his family. What had he done to Savva Pajari? There was nothing left of him at all. He was Reaper in every way. Slowly he shook his head, his eyes on the man who always had his back, whom he loved as family.
"You were free. As free as you could be with Sorbacov alive. You got out and you should have stayed out."
Reaper shook his head. "We'll never be free. Alive or dead, that man branded us, turned us into killers. You changed that, and gave us purpose." "We did it together."
"We were animals in there, Viktor, and every one of us would be dead, just like the others, but you made us human again. You gave us a way out."
There had been a cost. A huge cost. The evidence stood before him in the form of a man, but what was left of Reaper, he wasn't certain anymore. He shook his head. "You were out. Sorbacov could have sent an army after all of you, but he never would have found you. He didn't find you, even after you came back out of the shadows to ride with me. None of you should have done that."
"You give us life. You make us believe. Look around you, Czar. This is where we belong, where we're always going to belong. We aren't like the rest of the people. We'll never be. What they did to us . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head again.
Viktor wished he could see one small hint of emotion, hear one small inflection in Reaper's voice, but there wasn't anything. Just an ice-cold, expressionless mask that became colder with each kill. Viktor detested that for him. Detested the fact that he had set the killing in motion. It might have saved all of their lives, but it didn't do anything good for Reaper.
"We can get out of this life."
"Don't kid yourself. You know better. You want us to be different because you found a woman to love. You want her in your life, and you don't think she'll accept you as you are. Just so you know, that isn't love, my friend. She either takes you like you are, with us, with what we have to do, or she isn't worth it."
Reaper rarely talked, and he never gave anything resembling advice to anyone. Viktor wanted to tell him to go to hell. He didn't want to think that his woman wasn't waiting for him. Wouldn't accept him. Worse, he knew Reaper was right. They had been trained as assassins and worked for their government from the time they were teens, sent out on the most dangerous and ugliest, most vile cases. They were expendable assets, nothing more, not even considered human beings. He knew no other life.
Life had to have purpose. He'd been an unwilling participant for so many years, blackmailed emotionally into doing service for Sorbacov. The deal was simple enough. He had six younger blood brothers, all in different schools and, at the time, working for Sorbacov as well. If Viktor didn't cooperate, one of his brothers would be tortured and killed.
Viktor had taken the dirtiest jobs, survived them, and continued working until the moment he knew it was safe to disappear. Like the others he'd stashed plenty of money and had multiple identities. He'd met the woman of his dreams and planned to spend the rest of his life with her. But Sorbacov had demanded he take the job to kill Evan Shackler-Gratsos, or his youngest brother, working for Interpol, would be killed, and he couldn't stop himself.