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“You fucked me again, my friend,” the detective said. “An empty van. No coke. Nothing. The two guys in the van were clean too. Not even something as simple as a suspended license.”
“I know what I was told,” he said.
The detective grabbed his shirt. “Which means you’re being played. Makes me wonder if you’re not playing me. Or maybe they know about you. Nah, that can’t be right. You’d be dead already if they knew. The club would not keep you alive. Or at least let you walk free. Right? What do they do with rats? Chain them up? Torture them? Huh?”
He knew better than to reply to the detective. That’s what the detective wanted. A response. To get a rise out of him. Instead, he just stood there, ice cold.
“Brought you a friend,” the detective said. “You’ll like this.”
The detective walked to the car and opened the back door. He reached in, cursed a few times, then pulled someone out of the back seat, letting the person fall to the ground.
The detective then stomped on the new person. “Stupid, fucker! You listen when I talk!”
He just watched. Nothing he could do. The detective took out a knife and cut tape from the new person’s hands wrists and ankles. Then the detective pulled a piece of tape off the new person’s mouth.
Instantly the new person started bellowing in another language. Russian. The detective slapped the new person across the face.
“Speak English!” the detective yelled. The detective looked at him. “See what I brought? Something different. Something fun.”
He watched in disbelief as the detective lifted the new person up. Again, the new person spoke something in Russian. And then the new person spit at him.
“Oh, I’m sensing tension already,” the detective said. “This is good. We all need this. Now we get to find out who is serious and who isn’t.”
“You’re fucking insane, man,” he said to the detective.
“Correction,” the detective said. “I’m dedicated to my job. I’m taking down SOFRAW. That’s the bottom line.”
He wanted to know why there was a Russian person standing there though… Then it hit him. Then it made a little more sense. The detective smiled. The Russian guy was big, strong, burly, evil.
“You ever hear about the ants in the jar?” the detective asked. “You put two different color ants in a jar and they do their thing. But if you shake the jar, the ants start to fight each other. They think each other is the one shaking the jar. Guess who the ants are?”
The detective pushed the Russian man toward him. He put his hands out to stop the Russian from colliding with him. TheRussian threw a punch. He had to throw a punch back. To defend himself. Things were going too far now. Too fucking far.
The Russian and him were now tangled up, throwing punches, cursing at each other. The detective watched with glee, drinking the expensive scotch right from the bottle.
As he threw punches and tried to keep himself from getting knocked out, he would only think of one thing. If the Russian mafia was about to get involved with SOFRAW…
Every member of the club was already as good as dead.
Chapter Thirty
Woof. Woof?
Slade walked outside to find two very sleek and very expensive cars parked sideways, all the windows tinted completely black. Each vehicle cost well over six figures. The tension felt like a horribly thick fog.
“That’s the car,” Darrow said to him as he walked back a few steps. “One of those two cars. From the security footage. Virus.”
“Fuck,” Slade said.
He made eye contact with Linc. Cyrus stood with his arms crossed, Priest as his side, ready for a fucking war. Slade took it upon himself to move closer to the cars.
“Don’t be a hero,” Monte said. “Not sure who or what is in there. Could be a trick. Get too close and the car blows up. Huh?”
“I’ll take my fucking chances,” Slade said.
A fresh hit of rage tore through him. He planned on going right up to one of the windows and knocking.
The back passenger window of the second vehicle rolled down. A man with a clean face and a hard, steel-like jaw stared up at Slade. There was a vibe… an aura… The man’s suit probably cost as much as the car.
