Christopher Golden - Sons of Anarchy - Bratva

The hotel corridors had a dry, dusty smell, with just a hint of mold. They passed one numbered door after another, a dead ice machine and a soda machine whose face had been pried open, a handful of soda cans left inside.

A heavy metal door at the back of the building led out into a fenced area on the east side of the hotel. The main road was visible from the walkway between the back door and the gate, but inside that fence and the overgrown shrubbery around it, they would be shielded from sight.

As Trinity grabbed the gate and dragged it open with a scrape of rusty hinges, they heard Luka cry out in pain. Jax quickened his pace and Chibs followed.

The pool was empty, caked with a thin layer of grime. The patio around it was cracked and shot through with weeds. Down inside the pool were Kirill, Oleg, and three other Russians. One of the faded deck chairs had been placed in the center of the empty pool, and Luka sat there bleeding.

“Scream in pain if it makes you feel better,” Kirill said. “But don’t scream for help. No one out here is going to help you.”

Jax cleared his throat to get their attention. All six men whipped around to stare at him, then noticed Chibs and Trinity. The hope on Luka’s features was pitiful.

“I can see you’re in the middle of something,” Jax said. “But if you can spare two minutes, I’d like to talk about where we stand.”

Kirill stared at Jax as if he might spit on him.

“Think of it this way,” Jax said. “The longer you keep him waiting, the more he’s gonna torture himself thinking about how long he’ll be able to keep from telling you what you want to know. It’ll be agony.”

Trinity stood at his side, shoulder to shoulder. Kirill glanced at her, saw the solidarity there, and then looked at Oleg. The nod was almost imperceptible—not enough to make the other Russians question who was in charge—but it was clear that Oleg was Kirill’s second, and the boss valued his input.

“Timur,” Kirill said to one of his men, “break both his thumbs.”

Luka did not beg. He glared at Timur and bared his teeth, refusing to show fear.

As Kirill walked up the steps from the empty pool, Timur started his work. Luka screamed. Instead of a triumphant smile, Kirill wore an expression of deep sadness.

“He’ll talk,” Jax said.

“Of course he will,” Kirill said. “But I wish he wouldn’t make us hurt him. We were friends once.”

“You and Lagoshin are at war. Unless one of you waves the white flag, a lot of your friends are gonna die.”

Kirill gave him a sidelong glance, his face a grim mask, but he said nothing. They went out through the gate, and Kirill set off around the back of the hotel. Chibs followed, but stopped outside the gate, where he could keep an eye on them without Kirill thinking he was trying to eavesdrop. Jax and Kirill strode together to a broad swath of scrubland that looked out on the foothills as the sunlight seared the tops of the mountains, the hot line of its glare moving downward, touching more of the land.

Kirill stopped, staring at the golden aura of early-morning light on the mountains.

“Just so we have no misunderstandings,” Jax said, “you should know I’m armed.”

“I expected you would be.”

“That doesn’t concern you?”

Kirill turned to face him. “You’d have to be suicidal to kill me right here.”

“I have no interest in killing you.”

Kirill smiled thinly, as if to remind Jax that the feeling was not at all mutual. “You wanted to speak with me privately,” he said. “Here we are.”

Jax scraped his fingers through his beard, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve had a lot of new beginnings in my life lately. Not anything you’d give a shit about. Personal stuff. The past relationship between the Bratva and my club is complicated. There’s a lot of bad blood there. You think we killed Putlova. Clearly I’m not gonna convince you otherwise, just like you’re not going to confirm it was your men who tried to put me and Opie in the ground the other day.”

Kirill studied him thoughtfully.

“Lagoshin may be down a few guys,” Jax went on, “but I’m betting he’s still got you outgunned. I can help with that.”

“There are three of you,” Kirill scoffed.

“Three of us, but we got you the thing you couldn’t get for yourself… a direct line to Lagoshin’s location,” Jax countered. “And there are three now, but I’ve got a charter here in Vegas who will send in reinforcements.”

“In exchange for?”

Jax threw his hands up. “Hey, I’m just a guy trying to keep his sister from getting killed. She loves your boy, Oleg, and it looks to me like he feels the same. That makes you and me practically in-laws. All I’m suggesting is that we throw in together until Lagoshin’s in the ground and you’re running the Bratva’s operations in the western U.S. When it’s over, we maintain the current status quo. SAMCRO and the Bratva stay in our separate corners… and your people stay away from the Irish.”

Kirill’s eyes lit up. “I see, now. This is business for you.”

“This is family, ” Jax said darkly. “My club is my family as much as Trinity is. I don’t want anybody else dying for no reason.”

He held out his hand, kept it rock steady as he waited.

Several seconds passed, but Kirill grasped his hand and shook.

“Good,” Jax said. “Now let’s go see what Luka has to say.”

As if on cue, they heard Luka scream. The anguished cry echoed off the walls of the empty pool and out into the desert sky. A massive red-tailed hawk circled overhead, watching the show.

Jax leaned against the wall of the empty pool as he and Chibs watched the Russians beat the shit out of Luka. Kirill mostly just observed, leaving the bloody-knuckle work to Oleg and a guy named Gavril. Oleg looked like he had no taste for the brutality. Regret hung on him like a sheen of sweat. When Gavril cut off the little finger on Luka’s right hand, Oleg had turned away. But when Luka still wouldn’t talk, it was Oleg who stormed in with a cry of rage and hit Luka so hard the chair tipped over, and the prisoner smacked his head on the concrete floor of the pool.

Luka had been beaten and cut, lost two fingers and four teeth. His face was split and swollen and bloody, and he slumped in the chair as if he’d been an inflated man and all the helium was slowly leaking out of him.

“He dead?” Jax asked, growing frustrated.

Kirill rounded on him. “You want to take a turn? You think you can do better?”

Jax pushed off the wall.

“Jackie,” Chibs said quietly, worriedly.

Jax strode over and began to circle Luka. “You could cut off his balls, threaten to take his cock as well.”

Kirill and Oleg both blanched. Gavril only looked defeated.

Luka spat bloody phlegm at Jax’s feet.

“This guy used to be your brother,” Jax said. “I get it. Nobody wants to torture a guy who used to get you a beer when he went to grab one for himself. But Luka’s not your brother anymore. He betrayed you. Lagoshin ordered him to stick with me, follow me till I found you, and then call it in. They were gonna come here and kill all of you.”

Oleg glared at Jax. “You think we are so weak?”

Jax frowned. “Nothing weak about brotherhood. You’re men of honor. But we all know this ends with Luka dead.” He crouched down, eye to eye with the prisoner. “Hell, Luka knows that. Thing is, he’s a man of honor, too, right? So the only way he’s gonna tell you what you want to know is if you make it so he’d rather hurry up and die than hold on to that honor.”

Luka glared at him. Jax stood up and glanced around at the Bratva men, who seemed to like him almost as much as Luka did.