He looked disgusted. "I do not wish to waste another drop of a 12-year-old vintage on you, you ridiculous child." Finding the bottle herself, Lauren glanced back at him triumphantly.
Pouring them each a glass, she hesitated. "Wait. Do you take ice with this? I can't remember."
Kingston took the glass and the bottle away from her quickly. "Ice dilutes the flavor. Didn't your father teach you anything?" It was a low blow, even for him, and he enjoyed the flinch on the stupid child's face before she tightened her jaw.
Raising her glass, Lauren managed to say, "To Jaguar Holdings." It was the only toast she knew the bastard would drink to. And smirking, Number One did.
Thomas walked into the private dining room where they'd be meeting with Mogilevich and his head captains. His brow rose elegantly to see he was the only upper management present from The Corporation.
"Where are your associates, Thomas?" Semion Mogilevich's pale blue eyes were blank in his hardened face, his bald head shining and squat, powerful body encased in expensive workout clothing.
Thomas smothered a smile.Business casual, I see,he thought sardonically, wondering what the allure of $900 tracksuits was to the Bratva. Nonetheless, he seamlessly launched into the meeting. Number One and Three not being here was both a mystery and a blessing. It gave him time to work with the Russian and see what had to be done to sway his favor back to Thomas. "They'll be along, I'm sure," he said casually. "In the meantime, let us discuss the many surprises The Corporation has discovered here in St. Petersburg..."
The meeting was going surprisingly well, Thomas noted with some surprise. Mogilevich's shrewd little eyes were examining him carefully, looking for a weak point after the revelation of his loathsome half-brother the night before, and Number Two was damned if he'd give him one. Instead, he worked through the power structure at The Corporation and made subtle but clear references to the profit from financial games and arms trading vs. drugs and prostitution. Casually addressing the increased scrutiny through Europe and the more savage retribution from government prosecution and rival groups in the Middle East, he began to watch the Russian's posture change. He'd apparently been sold a much rosier picture about the opportunity for growth.
His confidence rapidly shrunk when MacGowen slimed into the room moments later. "Looks like talks are going well," he said, the expression on his face varying between a smirk and a sneer.
"My friend," Mogilevich nodded slowly. "And what have you to add?"
"Well," drawled the man Thomas had hated with a steady intensity for most of his life, "it seems strange that Williams here talks about the close relationship Bratva has with Jaguar Holdings when he's trying to smuggle his wife out from under your nose."
Now, the stone-faced Mogilevich turned a furious red. "What do you mean, MacGowen?"
"Yes," Thomas hissed between gritted teeth, still managing to look calm, "Whatdoyou mean?"
It was a tense ride to the private airstrip where The Corporation's jets had landed, and Thomas spent most of it in a staring match with the worthless bastard bound to him by blood and nothing else. Though MacGowen's current position with one of the most vicious organized crime empires on the planet spoke to some skill on the wrong side of the law. His half-brother was grinning openly, and the Bratva head was smoking furiously, the thick haze of smoke from his cigar darkened the limo's interior. Thomas had tapped out rapid messages to both Lauren and Straker's phones, and the lack of an answer was making the fist currently tightening in his gut twist tighter. Had there been an emergency? Did the Bratva wives try to take Lauren? Did Straker remove his wife for her own protection? Both knew better than to not answer his texts immediately. Which meant something was very wrong. The thought of Lauren missing, perhaps hurt- his chest clenched and he found it impossible to draw a full breath.
Lauren was safe. She had to be. Or he would set the world on fire.
They pulled into the private hanger housing the jets and Thomas stepped out, frigid blue gaze scanning the massive building. His stomach dropped when he spotted a terrified Clara and Straker, jaw clenched and clearly ready to shoot someone. And then his stomach fell to his ankles. Lauren's huge cello case was sitting on the concrete.
"What is this?" Mogilevich barked, "Where is the girl?"
MacGowen was almost giggling with excitement. "Right there, Semion," he said, nodding at the cello case.
"What?" Thomas and the Russian said together.
Strolling over to the trembling Clara and leaning in, MacGowen continued, "Apparently your boy there-" he nodded to Thomas- "isn't as confident as he'd like you to believe if he's desperate enough to try to get his wife out of the hotel and on to the jet in her own cello case. Doesn't speak to a lot of faith in your new partnership, Williams." Thomas strode forward, huge fists clenched and of all the people he would not have expected to stop him it was Straker.
"Now hold on, Mr. Williams," the bodyguard intoned, "no reason to upset yourself." And before Thomas could speak or move, two Bratva goons stepped up and started firing at the cello case, lighting up the hangar with a shower of sparks.
"NO! FUCK NO NOT LAUREN DON'T-" Thomas screamed until he was hoarse, trying to lunge for the case and held back by his wife's bodyguard and three other men. He was still screaming when the gunfire stopped, and MacGowen kicked the scraps of the case open. Inside was the body of Number One, Kingston's body more holes and blood than skin. and clearly, decisively dead.
"Hush, Sir," whispered Chuck under the shouts and furious questions rattling through the hanger, "Miss Lauren is fine."
"What is the meaning of this!" Thomas snarled, quickly regaining his composure, and both Mogilevich and his shaken half-brother turned to him. "What kind of a sick game is this? You have slaughtered the president ofJaguar Holdings!We came to you in good faith and you murder Kingston? How DARE you?" He was at his most formidable, tall figure looming over the others. But if Straker had not whispered that his wife was safe, he would have pulled his gun and started shooting until the clip was empty.
Mogilevich was at his most menacing, growling like a dog as he turned to MacGowen. "What is the meaning of this, boy? You dishonor us? You murder our most respected guest?”
"Shite, oh shite, I didn't- I don't-" His customary sangfroid deserted Thomas's half-brother and he ran a shaking hand through his hair.
Clara of all people spoke up. "Is this why you and my husband were talking all night? Where is Lauren? Where is Michael? What is going on here?" She began sobbing uncontrollably, and Thomas put his arm around her, still staring at the other men with a white-faced fury that made even the impenetrable head of Bratva shift uncomfortably.
"You have a great deal to explain," he hissed. "Are your people completely without honor?"
Coming to his senses, Mogilevich jerked his head at the bloody cello case and what was left of Kingston stuffed inside. "Clean that up. Bring everyone back to the compound."
Thomas drew himself up to his most intimidating height. "I will be riding with my people in a separate car. It seems we have much to talk about. And you, Semion, have much to explain."
