21
LIAM
I SEARCH EVERYWHERE for him, for them, for her—databases, flight lists, border patrol—but they are in the wind. If I didn’t know about Vino, I would say he was gone, but according to Crum, that’s where he hides, and that is my very next stop. I don’t know how I know, but Anton has something to do with Ford triggering his warning signal. There’s no other reason he’d have to use it, no reason he would ever resort to that kind of protocol unless there was something serious going on.
The FBI is temporarily letting me in, only to figure out how to stop Anton. Ford is one of ours, and we don’t let ours get taken without a little payback. Margaret is my focus, however, and James knows that, which is why I was surprised when she convinced the director to let me access the databases.
They insisted I search through the correct resources before I went storming into his private club, even though that is where I wanted to go immediately after I got the call. I don’t give two shits about protocol, not anymore, not with Margaret in danger, somewhere lost out there with no protection.
My fists clench at the thought, and I kept getting this aching spot in my chest whenever I think about it.
I am a man unleashed and I have to take action. I have to go to Vino, have to get Anton, have to get to Margaret and end this whole fucking thing.
Regardless of what the director of the FBI wants, that is my very next stop, and I couldn’t care less if I end up with jail time for defying direct orders. I will get Margaret back if it lands me in hell.
The club is dark, the music so loud it shakes the floor I’m walking on. If my adrenaline wasn’t high already, this would increase it tenfold. I don’t see Anton right away, but I see plenty of his thugs lingering in the hallways, some with girls wrapped around them, others watching the people, the exits, the stages—me.
They know who I am. They know why I’m here, and they don’t seem to care much for it.
I’m immediately flanked by two of them, my senses on high alert as I march myself through the club. If Anton is as self-righteous as I think he is, he’ll be in a private booth.
There’s a flight of stairs that looks less than inviting and I hear right for it, knowing in my gut that it will lead me where I need to go. I climb, aware of the two men behind me and counting exits for a getaway.
If things go south, I may need a quick route. However, this place seems to be built like some kind of fortress, and the exits aren’t marked, making my escape not so cut and dry.
As I suspected, Anton is on this level because of its privacy, and he’s surrounded by half-clothed women of all kinds; it seems he’s not the picky type. Most look like they’re high out of their minds, and I wonder if they’re even aware of where they are right now, if they even know they’re with one of the most dangerous men in Vegas.
My guess is no.
“So, Danny boy, you’ve found me.” His Russian accent is thick and his tone is mocking. He wanted me to find him; my question is why. “I wonder who gave me up.”
“Someone who’s not as afraid of you as you’d like, I’m guessing.”
Anton laughs, finding humor even though I know it kills him to admit this. “I suppose I’ll have to tighten my ranks.” He stares at me, wonder in his eyes. “We finally meet face to face. Come, have a drink.”
He snaps his fingers and a server I saw when I first came up here jumps to attention, pouring me straight vodka, the same drink Anton grips in his overly adorned hand. I accept it but don’t drink. I don’t have time to play tea party, and Anton knows it.
“So, I’m here—what is it you want?” I ask, trying to keep my tone indifferent. I don’t want him to think he has any influence over me.
“I think the question isn’t what I want—it’s what you want.” His eyes glimmer. He knows what I want and he knows he has it. It’s pissing me off that he has any leverage in this situation, but I hold still, calculating the decisions I can make to get her out safely and not let Anton win.
“I want to kill you, get rid of your entire operation, and move on with my life,” I say, deciding I might as well lay it all out there. Wanting to kill him is fine; that actually being an option is out of the question, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Ha!” He laughs, hitting a nerve that makes me want to chuck the glass in my hand at his head. “Well, I suppose you cannot be more honest than that,” he says, still chuckling. Looking at me, his eyes assess me for a moment before he speaks again. “Unfortunately for you, I have something you want.”
I cock my head to the side, let my mouth fall into a sarcastic smirk, and ask, “And what is that?”
Anton smiles, and it’s menacing. He’s trying to intimidate me. “I have your girl.”
I feel my chest tighten but don’t let him see that he’s affected me. Of course, we both already knew he has her; there is no other person who knows her connection to me, and she’s been a big part of his game, something to hold over my head this entire time.
And this is why I’ve never had a girlfriend.
He speaks again when I don’t answer. “Now, I know you are in the FBI, I know your real name, and I know the name of every relative you have. Tell me, do you think Layla would like to get to know Margaret? I could put them together, let them get acquainted. They can bond over your untimely death.”
My veins go cold and I toss my drink to the floor, the glass shattering. “You don’t go near my family.” I practically snarl the words at him as I take a step forward, and his men step in on all sides, surrounding me, but he just laughs. “Where the fuck is she?”
I wasn’t planning on talking about Margaret, wasn’t planning on letting him take control of this meeting, but with Margaret in the wind and him knowing way too much, I don’t have much choice at this point.