If the money was right, he was also known to work the occasional side gig, which meant he hadn’t come to Florida to work on his tan or visit the attractions.
“Who’s he after?” Essie asked Vaughn.
“A woman—one of their own who left the family, so to speak.”
“Do I know her?”
“I doubt it. She’s American-born Bratva. Her father, and then her brother, ran the organization on the West Coast. A few years ago, she bolted, and you know how well that always goes over. Her brother tried bringing her back into the fold and ended up room temperature. Bazarov’s orders are to make an example out of her, to serve as a warning to anyone else thinking of leaving the family.” Vaughn’s unblinking gaze met hers. “My job is to make sure they don’t put any bullets in her.”
As with most organized crime families, there were two ways out of the Russian mafia: violent death or rot in prison. A rare few managed to leave by entering witness protection or dropping off the grid, but that required breaking all ties. Friends, family. No calls. No visits. No contact of any kind. Often, they spent the rest of their lives in a small town under an assumed name. And still, they constantly looked over their shoulder in the fear of one day being found.
“Why not go to the police?” Essie asked.
“Seriously?” Vaughn snorted. “What do you think their odds would be against a guy like Bazarov?”
“Point taken.” Like it or not, local law enforcement wouldn’t stand a chance against a highly trained team of Russian assassins. Bazarov didn’t operate under rules of engagement or a code of honor, and he wouldn’t think twice about killing a few cops if they got in the way of his contract.
To have any chance of staying alive, the woman would need all the help she could get. This kind of job was right up Essie’s alley, and her first instinct was to be a white knight. But she was hesitant to commit without a little more information. “Who are you working for?”
Vaughn looked at her as if she was the kind of person who needed to be told not to eat a Tide POD. “You know better than to ask that question. Now, can I count on your help? I need somebody with your skill set.”
It was tempting, so damn tempting. She liked her job in corporate security, but that was just it: a job. It didn’t give her the same sense of fulfillment that she used to get from covert ops. “I don’t know. What’s the job paying?”
A slow grin spread over Vaughn’s face. “Now,that’sthe right question. My contract is worth five million. If we’re successful, I’ll cut you in for one.”
“And if we’re unsuccessful?”
“If I don’t get paid, you don’t get paid. That’s how it works in the private sector.”
She studied him for a long, hard moment, trying to determine how much of what he was saying was the truth. More likely than not, there were multiple shades of gray in his story, but she sensed just enough truth to keep her interest piqued. “How many are on the Russian team in addition to Bazarov?”
“Four, maybe five.”
“And your team?”
His grin broadened as he spread his arms wide. “You’re looking at it, kiddo.”
Why did that answer not surprise her? “Those are terrible odds.”
“Maybe, but this wouldn’t be the first time we’re outnumbered. And this time we have the advantage, because we know their target and we know how they operate. Plus, it’s not like we’ll even have to look all that hard to find them. Identify, neutralize. Rinse and repeat. And this time we’ll get paid what we truly deserve.” His grin vanished, and the glint in his eyes turned lethal. “I need your help to stop them from killing her. Without you, the odds are slim. Are you in?”
Chapter 3
Lying flat on hisback, Jackson lowered the weighted bar to his chest, his hands aching from last night’s marathon session ofDemon Scourge.
One of the perks of working at Six Points Security was twenty-four hour access to their in-house gym. There was plenty of cardio equipment, tons of free weights, and a sparring ring he could use with the guys whenever they were up for a few rounds. It was a win-win situation for everybody involved: the employees got to work out for free, while Six Points benefitted from having a healthy, fit security force.
“Come on, man, you got this; only four more.” Navarre stood behind the bar, dressed in shorts, an old tank top, and athletic shoes, urging Jackson on while ready to provide an assist if necessary.
Normally, fifteen reps wouldn’t pose a problem. He wasn’t pushing more weight than usual. But he and Navarre had played video games until two in the morning, and the huge mug of coffee he’d chugged an hour ago hadn’t done squat to kick his sorry ass into gear. It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop thinking about Essie.
In that bar.
With that guy.
Motivation accomplished. A guttural growl rose from deep in his chest as he cranked out the final two reps, plus two more for good measure.
Looking back, he should have aborted his plans the instant he’d seen her pull into that bar and realized she was working. She was right: he would have been pissed if their positions had been reversed. But he’d been so determined to talk to her in person, to convince her to give them one more chance, and now he’d probably made things worse by charging ahead like a fool.
