Page 50 of Savage Saint

“Kirill Volkov moves between three houses. One here, one in Belize, and Argentina. His uncle has connections in Buenos Aires, an old family friend that now deals in real estate. Kirill spends months there at a time.” Henry swallows, and I allow him the extra time to gather himself. “Right now, he’s been pushing to bring women from South America here to move to Europe via the Puerto Plata port. He knows you have connections—the port workers and police work for you…the club would become liable.”

“How many women have you moved?”

“Not many. Haven’t been in the country long enough to.” Henry opens and closes his mouth wide, stretching his jaw. Then he exhales. “Can I have some water, please?”

Rizos waits for my nod and moves toward a decent-sized storage room. Inside, we keep a small refrigerator, supplies, and a couch for those who come in for cleanup duty. My sergeant-at-arms comes back with a bottle, cap already twisted off.

The noise startles Henry, his head turning from side to side, following the noise, but it’s useless when you have no eyes and are cuffed to a pole.

I grant him another mercy.

“Release him. Sit Mr. Diaz on the floor.” Flow does as I ask, letting him drop to his knees while Rizos positions him. Then he puts the bottle to his lips, and Henry gulps, trying to quickly satiate his thirst. Afraid we’ll take the water from him.

He gets halfway through when I signal to remove it.

“Wait! Por favor!”

“How many women, Diaz?”

“Twenty. Just to test the waters.”

The brothers and I share a look before they retake their earlier positions. Those sick hijos de puta will pay for this.

“When and where were they sent? I want the exact information.”

“The containers with the women left last Tuesday. A test run. Argentina first, then Russia.”

Again, the tie to Argentina.

“Next move.”

“If you denied him, he’d use his associate here to pressure the Royal Bastards.”

“How?”

“Can I have another sip?”

“No.” The remaining water is poured on his head by Rizos, most of it slipping into the empty eye socket. “Now answer. How were they going to pressure us?”

“Pressure the port and police stops. Not from the ones here, but outsiders.”

The Santo Domingo safety bullshit…

“What else? Who’s working with him and why?”

“They want you frustrated and angry, Saint. Desperate enough to reconsider.” His eyelids twitch, but it’s not a blink. More of a set of jerky movements. I also notice the way his hands clench. “They have a police commandante…Kirill has mentioned him a few times by the title, not name. It’s almost like a pyramid scheme. Volkov is at the top with people below him who know someone who knows someone—heavy cuarto is backing the commandante, and Volkov is donating future entertainment and stock in his operations.”

“Names?”

“I don’t know. The few times he’s mentioned them, it’s commandante and empresario. Never by name.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Flow typing on his phone. My guess is to Trojan.

“Where do they live?”

“The capital.”

“Where’s Kirill now?”