Page 25

Orion

“You think Yuri Chekov could be behind this?” Ranger asks, his gaze locked on Jeb like the bird’s some kind of two-headed Pegasus.

“All I know is Dean mentioned the Bratva, and Yuri’s the one in charge of their presence here in Saint Pierce,” I reply, lifting Jeb’s cage higher so it doesn’t bang against the wall.

Ranger nods, leading me further inside his place. “By the way, this is Tory,” he adds, gesturing toward the beautiful, blonde-haired woman sitting on the couch. She offers me a small, shy smile, and I give her a brief nod in return.

I glance at Ranger, arching an eyebrow. “I thought your job was finished?”

He tugs at the back of his neck, his cheeks coloring in a way I’ve never seen before. Ranger, blushing? That’s new. “Yeah… about that. Let’s just say I broke the cardinal rule about protecting an asset.”

A short laugh escapes me. “Really?”

He looks at Tory with a softness in his eyes I’ve never witnessed. “What can I say? When you know, you know.”

I nod, understanding more than I care to admit. Because right now, if there’s one thing carved into my bones, it’s that I can’t lose Briar. She’s… everything .

After I run through Jeb’s basic routine for feeding and care, Ranger pulls me aside near the front door.

“If you really think the Russians are involved,” he says, voice pitched low, “I’ve got a friend over at Club Greed who’s connected to Yuri.”

My pulse ticks up. “Yeah? Who?”

“Name’s Devereaux Huxley. He owns the club.”

I rub my jaw, considering. “I’ve heard the name. Think he has any idea where Yuri’s holed up?”

Ranger shrugs. “Could be. Worth a shot.”

I give him a firm pat on the shoulder, grateful for the lead. “Thanks, man.” Then I shoot Tory a quick wave and head for the door.

“I’ll text you Devereaux’s info,” Ranger calls after me.

I nod and raise a hand in acknowledgment before stepping outside, already scrolling through my phone to call Dean. We just might be onto something.

I stand outside Club Throwdown, the brisk night air cutting through my jacket as neon lights bathe the sidewalk in violent shades of red and purple. The building itself is made of dark brick and neon signs, its entrance guarded by two bouncers who eye me warily every time I shift my weight. This is the place Devereaux Huxley mentioned, a friend of Ranger’s who claims he has leads on Yuri Chekov. Apparently, Yuri’s in town running his latest venture, which is half bar, half underground boxing club.

I press a hand to my side, checking to ensure my concealed holster is still secure. Dean insisted I wait before going in, demanded I get backup. Stand down, Orion , he said over the phone, Don’t do this alone . Usually, I’d resist that kind of order, but after everything that’s happened with Briar, I’m trying not to let my temper lead me astray. So I wait.

Asher strides up to meet me, pushing through a small group of rowdy patrons out front. He’s newer to the team, but his reputation precedes him: capable, calm under pressure, and just the right amount of cautious. Dean sent him as soon as Asher’s mission wrapped up early, which is good, because every hour that passes is an hour Briar remains in danger.

“Orion,” Asher says, nodding in greeting. He’s a bit shorter than me, but his shoulders are broad, and there’s a quiet confidence in how he carries himself. “Heard you needed a partner.”

“Damn right I do,” I mutter, offering him a quick handshake. “Glad Dean got you here fast. Let’s do this.”

He glances at the neon sign overhead—Club Throwdown, flickering in a broken pattern—then he flicks his eyes back to me. “This Yuri Chekov guy. Sure he’s in there?”

“That’s what Huxley says,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “He’s got an ear to the ground. Said Yuri’s in town, overseeing some new ‘business interests.’ If this is anything like his usual, it’s illegal underground fighting.”

We exchange a quick look of understanding. Then we head for the door, the bass line of pounding music already rattling the pavement. The bouncers size us up, but once I drop Yuri’s name and wave a nondescript ID from Dean’s security firm, they step aside. Clearly, Yuri anticipates visitors and has prepped his crew to let certain people through.

Inside, the corridor is lit by dim blue bulbs that make everything feel claustrophobic. The air reeks of stale beer, sweat, and something metallic—blood, maybe. Asher’s jaw tightens, and I can see he’s on high alert. I mirror his tension, scanning every face, every alcove, for trouble. But no one stops us. They just stare, some in challenge, some in fear.

We pass a makeshift boxing ring surrounded by a rowdy crowd. Two fighters slug it out in the center, bare-fisted, blood dripping onto the stained mat. Yuri’s brand of entertainment is as brutal as I’d imagined. People are cheering, placing bets, ignoring the fact that one punch could knock a man unconscious.

Eventually, we push through the throng into a back hallway. A couple of Yuri’s men—big, broad-shouldered guys in black suits—stand like statues outside a door. I hold up my hands, palms out. “We’re here to see Yuri,” I say. “He’s expecting us.”

They exchange a look, then one nods, opening the door. Asher and I step inside.

It’s a cramped office, walls lined with file cabinets and half-filled liquor bottles. The light is mercifully brighter here, revealing a large desk strewn with papers. Behind that desk sits Yuri Chekov. He’s a hulking brute; big, messy, with slicked-back hair and an air of refined arrogance. When he glances up, his eyes spark with curiosity.

“Orion Locke, I assume?” he says, accent thick but words precise. He looks at Asher, tilting his head slightly. “And friend?”

“Asher,” my partner supplies, keeping his posture relaxed yet ready.

“Dean says hi,” I add, stepping forward. No point beating around the bush. “I heard you’re in town.”

Yuri reclines in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I move where business takes me. So what can I do for you, Locke?”

I grit my teeth, reminding myself to keep it civil. “I’m looking for someone—someone who might be connected to your operation.”

His face remains impassive. “I see.”

“Chester, a Yellow-naped Amazon parrot, was taken from a zoo. And a woman, Briar. She was also taken.” My voice trembles slightly when I say her name, and I hate that. “I’ve got reason to believe the Bratva is involved.”

Yuri’s mouth curls into a smirk. “The Bratva is a very large, very powerful network. You expect me to know about every small theft or kidnapping that happens?”

Asher steps in, crossing his arms. “We heard you might have orchestrated it. Or at least, your associates might have.”

Yuri exhales slowly, as though weary. “If you’re implying I had something to do with stealing a bird, I can assure you—I have better things to do. I run many clubs, many legitimate and less-legitimate businesses. But petty theft? Kidnapping a woman or… a bird? That’s not my style.”

“Then whose style is it?” I ask, voice low.

Yuri waves a hand dismissively. “My sons, perhaps. Vlad and Dimitri. They’ve always been screw-ups. I banished them from my sphere months ago. They don’t know how to keep their heads down, always cooking up stupid plans. If they’re involved, I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re desperate to prove themselves, even if it means going rogue.”

My adrenaline spikes. “Where are they?”

“Wouldn’t I like to know,” Yuri counters, tapping a pen against the desk. He sounds genuinely exasperated. “Last I heard, they were dabbling in the black market. Anyway, they’re dead to me.” His dark gaze flicks between Asher and me. “You want them, be my guest. I wash my hands of them.”

Asher narrows his eyes. “So you have no loyalty to your own sons?”

A rueful laugh escapes Yuri. “Loyalty is earned. They have done nothing but shame the family name. Always needing bailouts. I’ve grown tired of bailing them out.”

I clench my fists at my sides, resisting the urge to launch across the desk. “If they have Briar, they’ll kill her once they’re done with whatever plan they have for Chester. Especially if it goes bad.”

Yuri’s brow arches. “Hmm. Sounds like something Vlad and Dimitri would do. They lack… subtlety.”

Asher shoots me a sidelong glance, alarm mixing with anger in his eyes. “We need an address.”

Yuri leans back, expression bored. “I might have an old location they used. An abandoned property near Magnolia Ridge, on the outskirts. They were using it for storage. If they’re still following their usual patterns, maybe they’re holed up there.”

He scribbles something on a slip of paper, then slides it across the desk to me. “Take it. If they’re there, good luck. I want no part of this.”

I snatch up the paper, adrenaline surging. An address. Something tangible. Finally. “Don’t be surprised if we find proof they’re under your orders,” I warn, though some part of me believes he really has given up on them.

“If you find such proof, do let me know,” Yuri remarks, leaning forward, lips curling into a razor-sharp smile. “I’d love to break their necks myself for tarnishing my reputation further.”

I force myself to breathe, to focus. Briar could be at that location. I have to move now. “You’re not calling them, warning them we’re coming?”

Yuri’s smile grows cold. “I told you—I wash my hands of them. If you want to arrest them or kill them, do what you must. But leave me out of it.” He swats the air dismissively.

Asher and I exchange a brief look of mutual disgust. This is what we’re up against—a father who’d abandon his own sons when they become inconvenient, criminals who see people as disposable. We’ve stepped into a cesspool, and Briar’s trapped in the middle.

“Let’s go,” I say, nodding to Asher. Before we leave, I take one last glance at Yuri. “You’d better hope your sons haven’t hurt Briar.”

He snorts, returning his attention to a stack of papers on his desk. “Like I said, they’re not my problem anymore. Good night, gentlemen.”

We head back down the hallway, passing the boxing ring. The fighters have changed, but the scene remains the same: blood, cheers, and the stench of desperation. My stomach churns. In another life, maybe I’d bust this whole operation wide open. But right now, I have one goal—find Briar.

Outside, the cold air hits me like a slap, and Asher exhales a tense breath. “So, Magnolia Ridge?” he asks, tugging at the collar of his jacket.

I nod, unfolding the slip of paper Yuri gave me. The address is scrawled in a hasty script, barely legible. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

Asher slips his hands into his pockets, scanning the dark street. “We should let Dean know.”

I’m already dialing, pressing the phone to my ear. My SUV sits at the curb, engine cooled by the night. The phone rings twice before Dean picks up. “Dean, we got an address,” I say, voice tight with urgency. “Yuri’s sons, Vlad and Dimitri, might be holding Briar and Chester near Magnolia Ridge.”

“Good work,” Dean replies. I can hear the relief in his tone. “Send the location. I’ll get a team ready. Keep eyes on the property, but don’t go in alone.”

I bristle at the reminder—my instincts scream for me to charge in there now, to save Briar this instant. But I’ve screwed up once by being reckless. This time, I’ll at least try to bring backup. “Fine,” I say, cutting the call short.

Turning to Asher, I tuck the phone away. “You up for a drive?”

He smirks, albeit grimly. “Damn right I am. Let’s find this place.”

We climb into my SUV, the address burning a hole in my pocket, the memory of Yuri’s smug grin lingering in my mind. My heart thuds with renewed determination. If Vlad and Dimitri are half as incompetent as Yuri claims, maybe I’ve got a chance to get Briar out alive. I crank the ignition, headlights piercing the darkness.

“Hang on, Briar,” I whisper under my breath, gripping the wheel until my knuckles whiten. “I’m coming.” Then I hit the gas, and Asher and I tear off into the night, bound for Magnolia Ridge and whatever hell Vlad and Dimitri Chekov have prepared there.