Tainted Love: Sinful Souls MC #3 (16 page)

He pushes me back. “I know you’re fucking hurt, I’ve been there! But this is not the way around it.”

My heaving dies down and I look down to Dominic. “This is not fucking over.”

Vicky comes running over to us screaming with tears pouring down her face and make-up smudged. “ZANE! Alaina, Alaina, they took her. They fucking took her, too.” Vicky’s face is bleeding. Her white wedding gown has blood all down the front. I look to Zane and watch as his absolute psychopathic mood kicks in.

“I’m so sorry, Zane. I tried...I attempted to kick one of them and I think I got him, but then he punched me in the face and took her.”

Zane begins walking in circles, pulling at his hair before he lets out an almighty roar.
“Fuuuccckkk!”

The whole world starts to close in and panic sets in. I feel lethal, absolutely
Jason X
lethal. I want to rip my fucking heart out just to stop it from hurting. Physical pain I can take, but this shit? This shit is fucking excruciating. It’s why I turned off my humanity so many years ago. It’s why I never wanted to have someone this close to me. I’d fucking wipe out the entire human race just to have my girl back in my arms again. I’m paralyzed. I can’t even move my legs. They’re mounted to this pavement. I look to Zane, who’s looking at me with an equally ruthless stare.

“We raise hell, brother,” I say calmly.

We’re all sitting around the table in the bar back at the clubhouse, and when I look up at Zane, we share the exact same look. It’s the look of loss mixed with psycho.

“We don’t need a plan. The only plan we need is death,” I state.

Zane looks to me with a deadpan look. He usually has all the brains, he’s smart and likes to do things cleanly.

“Done,” he replies in a deathly shallow tone. Blake sits forward on his elbows.

“Our enemy list has gotten mighty long over the past two years.”

I shake my head and rub my hands over my face. “This is deeper than that. This is Bruce Peyton, and if it is we need to get moving a lot fucking quicker than usual.”

Zane nods his head. “We go on lockdown. Families are to come in, now.”

Everyone stands from their seats and begin making their way out, leaving Zane, Blake, Ollie, Chad, and me in the room. Ollie and Chad have been pulled in a little tighter with us over the past couple years. We are a brotherhood, but there are still ranks.

I exhale, throwing off my cap and pulling at my hair. “Fuck, I can’t help but think this is my entire fucking fault.”

Zane sits forward. “Don’t do that, brother. Don’t you fucking do that? Bring
out ‘The Executioner.’
Use that rage one last time.”

“No offense Z, but you’re handling this a lot better than I am.”

Zane sits back in his seat, his eyes look lost and disconnected. “On the outside it might appear that way. But on the inside…I feel like all my organs have been ripped out. I promised her, Ade. I fucking promised her when I got her back the last time that I’d never let anyone ever come near her again. I’ve fucking disappointed her, and if I think too much into that, I will shut down so bad that I will be useless in getting her back. I’m putting all my energy into getting her back. That’s why it may look like I’m handling it better, and that’s why I am president.”

His eyes are glassed over in pain, but I’ve known him long enough to see when he’s hurting more than what he is used to, and this is one of those times. I nod and cock my head backward, leaning into my seat.

I look over to Blake and see him nod his head. “Needs to be done, brother.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Done.”

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dial the only man that will ever be able to locate the girls.

“Drago makes the panties drop low. What’s up.”

I shake my head. “Not in the mood. We need your help.”

After explaining the minor details over the phone, we jump on our bikes and ride out to Drago’s office, which is his home. He’s everything you’d expect in a nerd, but he has been working with us since Zane took over. He went to school with us, and we would always beat up the bullies who picked on him. Since then, he always felt like he owed us. He’s a fucking good little dude. We pull up to his long driveway where he lives in a cabin in the middle of the woods. Turning off our bikes and making our way up the front steps, he swings opens his door. And under those glasses, he looks worried. He loves Alaina. Let’s face it everyone loves the bossy bitch.

“I’m so sorry,” he says looking at both Zane and me.

Nodding I make my way into his house, heading straight for his office. Opening the double doors I see nothing has changed since the last time I was here. It’s about the same size as Phoebe’s garage—Phoebe has a fucking garage built for a man, filled with all sorts of cars you could only dream of—all with computers and tech shit still scattered around the room. It looks like I just stepped into a scene from
The Matrix
. I sit down on one of the seats as everyone else makes their way in.

“Got anything?” I ask him.

He pulls his glasses up and nods his head. “Yes, I believe I do. However, it’s not good. So Ade? Leave your gun outside.”

Ollie chuckles. “His gun is the least of your worries.”

Drago pauses for a second before taking a seat in his big chair and starts typing on his keyboard. “So as I said, you’re not going to like this,” he says as he continues typing.

I lean over to him. “Drago, hurry the fuck up and spit it out.”

“You see this?” he points to the screen, “This is where I followed them, using all the CCTV cameras across the city. It takes us to an airport.”

I lean back on my chair. “What the fuck do you mean, an airport?”

He puts his hand up, pausing my talking. “That’s not all. I traced the jet they took and it belongs to a Kazimir Lyov.”

Sucking in my breath at the mention of that name and yelling,
“Fuck!”
I smash my fist on the table.

Zane looks at me sideways. “What is it, brother?”

Drago pulls his glasses off and squeezes his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Kazimir Lyov is a Russian name, right?” The stress evident in his tone.

“Don’t tell me he’s a part of the Russian Mafia,” Ollie adds with disbelief in his tone.

I bring my fist up to my mouth, running my index finger over my lip. “Kazimir Lyov
is
the Russian Mafia.”

Zane circles his steps, coming next to me.

“What do you mean ‘
is the Russian mafia’
? And what the fuck would he want with us?”

I clench my jaw together. “When I was younger, my dad would take me to these fights.”

Zane nods his head. “Yeah, the fights we went to.”

I shake my head. “Nah, not those ones. They were child’s play. I’m talking death matches.”

Zane’s arms cross in front of him. “So that one fight he took you to at the warehouse, wasn’t the only time?”

I shake my head before continuing, “The first life I took was when I was thirteen. It was the first time he took me to Bruce Peyton. I had no idea what the fuck was going on, but I did it. Killed him in under a minute, made a lot of men filthy rich.”

Ollie and Chad sit on the floor. Zane and Blake knew some of this story, but nothing past it.

“This carried on until I was fifteen, then I was done. I walked out of there, told my dad to get fucked…for real this time…right before he died. Anyway, the underground fighting was just the surface of what kind of operation they were running. I’m talking, trafficking, child slavery, drugs, everything. They would train up orphan boys from a young age and throw them in the ring once they hit thirteen, sometimes even younger. They’d gamble on these young boys in hopes that they would find one, like me, that they could put a lot of money on. It was a money pot, and eventually the Russians wanted in. No one has ever met Kazimir Lyov aside from his bitch boys. He’s the ghost who’s been running all major underground operations for over thirty years. Some say he lives a double life, some say he works for the CIA. It’s all shit talk obviously—the CIA bit. But that’s not even the part that fucks me up the most.” I swallow down the bile that I can feel in my throat. “Kazimir Lyov’s specialty is trafficking women.” Zane hisses and I throw my head into my hands.

“Fuck brother,” I say into my hands.

“Kazimir Lyov’s location is off radar. No one has ever been able to find him. He lives in the fucking Bermuda Triangle.”

A week passes—
a fucking week
. We have nothing. I have nothing. Pulling myself out of one of the beds in the clubhouse, my head pounds from a hangover. I’m rubbing my hands over my face when the bathroom door opens and out strolls Gretchen in one of my SS T-shirts, looking smug as fuck.

I shoot up off the bed. “What the fuck!”

She rolls her eyes, walking back to the bed. “Don’t play dumb, Ade. You fucked me as good last night as you’ve done every other time.”

I walk over to her, wrap my hand around her hair and yank her head into me.

“What the fuck did you just say?” I whisper into her ear.

She taps on my hand. “Ade, a little rough, seriously. Even for me.”

“
What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Just. Say
?” I whisper again into her ear, venom dripping from my stuttering tone.

She scrunches up her face. “We had sex, like all the other times. Seriously—”

I grip onto her head and put it in a lock hold. Grasping onto her temples, I snap her neck in one swift, perfect, twist. Making her lifeless, disgusting, body drop to the ground. I spit on her, throw on my T-shirt and my cut over the top, before walking out of the room.

Once I hit the bottom step of the stairs that leads to the bar, I light up a cigarette and nudge my head to one of the prospects. “Clean out the whore in bedroom three,” I tell him while continuing to make my way over to the table where Zane is sitting. I pull out a seat and order over Ashley to bring me a drink.

“I can’t fucking do this for much longer,” Zane says, putting his hands around the back of his neck.

His beard has grown out and he has wrinkles lining around his eyes. I swallow my drink, swallowing down the emotion that’s a second away from rising up my throat.

“I can’t think about it. If I do, I’ll explode,” I reply calmly.

“I get that, brother. We need to find them now. I’m not going to wait around on Drago for much longer.” His phone starts ringing from his pocket, and he places his bottle on the bench, swiping it unlocked and answering it. “What,” he snaps. “Yeah? All right. We’ll be there soon.” Shutting off his phone and standing from his seat. “Come on, Drago has some info for us.”

About fucking time.