Carter’s hand moved to his jacket, pulling out a gun, glinting in the city lights that shone through his windows.
“But she’s everything to you. I want you to watch while I finish what I started, knowing your pathetic attempt at rebellion is what got her killed.”
57
TRISTAN
We arrivedat a nightclub in the warehouse district, the sort of place I’d never be able to afford the cover fee for, much less a drink. Music pounded through the walls, bass so heavy, I felt it in my chest as I walked up. A line of people in expensive outfits waited behind velvet ropes as I stood near the entrance, looking like a fucking idiot in sweat-soaked clothes, still smelling like the locker room.
Alek clapped his hand on my shoulder when he arrived then bypassed the line, clearly expecting me to follow. The bouncer, a massive man with a scar cutting through his upper lip, said something in Russian. Alek’s face turned stony, but the bouncer stepped aside.
Inside, lights strobed through a manufactured fog and bodies pressed together on the dance floor. I was a little disappointed to discover it wasn’t all that much fancier than the clubs I liked to dance at, except the clothes were a lot more expensive, and the people looked a bit more unreal.
Oh, and the men in suits with bulges in weird places that were fucking everywhere.
A woman in black materialized before us. “This way.”
She led us through the club, past a VIP section where old men were buying beautiful young women bottles that cost more than my rent at the hockey house. We stepped through a door marked PRIVATE, flanked by two more men in fitted suits with tattoos covering almost every inch of exposed skin.
The door opened into a concrete hallway. Slowly, the music faded until all we could hear was the echo of our escort’s heels against the floor as we made our way through a maze of flickering fluorescent lights and unidentifiable stains.
When the last door opened, it revealed a utilitarian office with a handful of men in suits. Christ, their dry cleaning bill had to be sky high.
A white man sat behind the desk, with bright blue eyes and a scar that bisected his face, cutting down his right eye. An older man sat in front of the desk, ignoring us, flipping through a sheaf of papers that looked like accounting. To his right was a blonde woman, also wearing a suit, her hair pulled back into a French braid. Three more men lounged along the edges of the windowless room, leaning against the walls, their arms crossed.
The man behind the desk stood, his face lighting up before falling just as quickly into grim determination. “Sasha,” he said, continuing rapid-fire in Russian. Alek responded in the same language, looking at me. I caught my name, but nothing else. The man looked nothing like Alek, but when he smiled, I could see the resemblance. This must have been Dmitri.
They clasped hands then pulled each other into a brief, fierce embrace. When they separated, both their expressions were darker.
“Tristan Baptiste,” the man said in English, looking atme. “Hell of a season you’re having. That assist in the second period tonight was beautiful.” He smiled without warmth. “I’m Dmitri Lebedev, Alek’s cousin.”
I shivered as I realized how much this man, the second-in-command of the Yorkfield bratva, knew about me. I’d realized he was going to be at the game tonight, that Alek would have to work with him, but I hadn’t internalized what that meant.
“And this,” Dmitri gestured at the older man, “is Nikolai Berezin.”
The Pakhan. Fuck.A lifetime of my family’s exhortations to keep my nose clean, to stay out of trouble, every fucking lesson about staying safe as a Black man, gone in a heartbeat. For a fucking girl. And a boy. And Alek.
Worth it,I told myself.
Berezin turned to examine me, his piercing blue eyes bright against tanned skin. He looked like money—old money, Jed Carter kind of money—except for the tattoos on his face.
“Aleksandr,” Berezin said, his accent thick. “Dmitri tells me your problem with Jedediah Carter has become more urgent.”
“Eva’s been taken,” Alek said, as if everyone in this room already knew who she was. “By Jedediah Carter. He has her father too. Cole is there now, trying to buy us time.”
Berezin said nothing, and I fought the urge to fidget. I was so out of my depth here, and every moment we spent explaining and negotiating was another moment Jed Carter had to hurt Eva.
“I need your help to get her back,” Alek said.
“When I said I’d help, I promised information. I told you then I wouldn’t give you men until you proved yourself, but like a child, you think asking again will change my answer.”
The woman sitting beside Berezin turned around. She had sharp eyes that softened when they fell on me. “Baba,” she murmured, setting delicate fingers on the older man’s forearm. “She doesn’t deserve this.”
Berezin looked at her and sighed. “Elena…”
Her chin lifted, and she raised her eyebrows in challenge.
He scowled at her, but the expression was tinged with affection. My eyes ping-ponged back and forth between them, and Alek and Dmitri, both of whom watched the exchange with carefully blank expressions.
