Christopher Golden - Sons of Anarchy - Bratva

Many Russians were pale complexioned by nature. Oleg grew paler.

“She is your sister,” he said. “You’re not going to demand we turn around?”

Jax tightened his grip on his gun. “Would you do it?”

Oleg pressed his lips into a thin line. He loved her, but there was nothing he could do, and nothing he could say.

The phone kept ringing. Jax listened, praying that it would be picked up.

Drinkwater had been duct-taped to a chair. His arms, legs, and torso had been taped down in three different colors, and an old-fashioned paisley necktie had been used to gag him. It wouldn’t have kept him from screaming, and, given time, he would’ve been able to get his mouth free—shout for help—so it seemed strange that whoever had done the very thorough duct-taping had chosen the tie.

Rollie stood in Drinkwater’s bedroom and stared at the two bullet holes in the man’s face, one in the forehead and one where his left eye ought to have been. The bullets had blown out the back of his skull.

Messy, he thought. Why be so meticulous about binding him… why bother with a gag at all… if this was how it was going to end?

Unless the shooter hadn’t intended for it to end this way.

Which made no sense. It wasn’t as if Drinkwater could have lunged at his killer—not with the duct tape strapping him to the chair.

Rollie scratched at his ample gut, then glanced around the bedroom. Whoever had killed Drinkwater, they’d gotten what they came for. The room seemed undisturbed except for the dead man and his gore. Drinkwater had answered his killer’s questions.

If the killer had questions. Maybe this was about nobody else getting the answers . That felt right.

“Look around,” Rollie told Thor. “Make it quick. The longer we stay, the more chance there is of something going wrong.”

Thor started checking the pockets of jackets and searching night-table drawers. They’d left Bronson, Baghead, and the prospect at a small park down the street, and it wouldn’t be long before their presence unnerved someone enough to call the PD.

Rollie bent to take a closer look at the corpse. He reached out and used a knuckle to drag down the edge of the paisley tie, still trying to work out the duct-tape question. Wherever the duct tape had come from, the killer hadn’t run out of it. Two of the three rolls on the floor still had tape on them. So why choose the tie?

He heard Thor’s phone buzz and glanced up.

“Just Hopper,” Thor said before he answered.

Rollie went about his business, half-listening to Thor’s calm responses to Hopper’s report. Still focused on the tie, he opened a wardrobe and glanced inside. Jackets, suits, shoes on the bottom… and many, many ties. Nothing seemed out of place.

He glanced up as Thor finished the call with Hopper.

“Any leads on Jax?” Rollie asked.

Thor shook his head. “Bag talked to this cocktail waitress he used to bang at Lucky Pete’s. Bartender there is Ukrainian or something, apparently knows Viktor Krupin. We should be able to track down Krupin, at least reach out to him—”

“It’d have to be damn fast to be any use to us,” Rollie said, “but we’ll see what he turns up.”

Thor bounced from foot to foot, anxious to be leaving. Rollie felt the same—it had been risky even coming here, and now that they’d found Drinkwater dead, the potential for a murder charge weighed heavily.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“No choice,” Rollie said. “If we’re gonna find Jax, we have to call our friends in Charming.”

“If he’s behind this, and Clay is backing him—”

“Jax and his buddies came here incognito—no cuts,” Rollie said. “If he’s betrayed us, there’s no reason for us to think the rest of SAMCRO is involved, especially not Clay.”

Rollie didn’t give Thor a chance to argue. He moved swiftly out of the bedroom and into the corridor, retracing their steps.

In his pocket, his own cell phone buzzed. He thought it must be Hopper again, though it occurred to him to wonder why Hopper wouldn’t just call Thor directly again.

Rollie answered. “Speak.”

“It’s Jax.”

“Where the hell are you?” Rollie demanded.

Thor stared. “It’s him?”

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jax said.

“You owe me some answers, kid—”

“We need backup, Rollie. I hope Thor gave you that message. We need bodies, and we need guns. You know the old Wonderland Hotel in North Vegas, out west of your place?”

“Hold up a second.”

“Rollie—”

“Joyce is dead. Died helping you out. I want to know—”

“Joyce was a rat,” Jax said angrily.

“The fuck he was.”

“Lagoshin knew where to find us. Joyce told him. Unless you want to tell me you also didn’t know the guy was selling drugs at Birdland.”

Rollie went silent.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Jax went on. “Lagoshin’s crew killed him, and they’ll kill the rest of us if they can. I told you they went after me and Opie the other day. We’re on our way to erase Lagoshin from the picture, but I think some of his men may be headed for the Wonderland, and my sister’s there alone. I need some of your guys over there, and the rest to meet up with us to take out Lagoshin.”

Rollie stared at the spray pattern of blood and brain matter in the bedroom. The air-conditioning had kicked in, but still the stink made him want to retch. He tried to picture Joyce and the dead Russian out on that ranch road, tried to puzzle out how many motorcycles had been there, how it had all unfolded.

“You hearing me?” Jax asked.

“I hear you.”

“Where are you now?”

“At your friend Drinkwater’s house,” Rollie replied.

Jax shifted the visor around to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare.

“What the hell are you doing there?” he asked, glancing at the dashboard clock. Still so early. It made no sense for Rollie to be at Drinkwater’s. Thor knew the name from their meet with Carney, but—

“Trying to track you down, Jax. Trying to figure out how one of my guys ended up dead in a ditch. Especially since Mr. Drinkwater’s too dead to tell me anything.”

Jax’s mouth went dry. “You killed him?”

“Are you just screwing with me now?” Rollie snapped. “The guy’s brains are all over the place. What are you up to, Jax?”

Numb, Jax tried to pull his thoughts together. “How did you end up there?”

“Oh, we stopped at the old Irishman’s place first. He’s dead, too.”

Jax’s thoughts spun. Who had killed Drinkwater and Carney? There could be only one answer. Just as there could be no doubt that Drinkwater had given his killers the answers they sought.

“Rollie, listen to me—”

“Oh, I’m listening, Jackson.”

“Get to the Wonderland with every gun you’ve got! I’ll call you back!”

Rollie started to argue, but Jax cut off the call. He spun to stare at Ilia: “Turn around! Do it now!”

In the backseat, Luka started to laugh behind his fresh gag. Oleg ignored him, leaning forward, alarm igniting in his eyes.

“Lagoshin knows about the hotel?” Oleg demanded.

Jax turned to stare at him, the ugliest scenarios playing out in his head. “Shit yeah he knows. Hell, they might be there already…”

He saw the realization in Oleg’s eyes. They had left Trinity alone.

“Turn around!” Oleg snapped, and, at his command, Ilia finally did.

Car tires squealed. Oleg took out his cell and started calling Kirill and the others.

Luka lunged, slammed Oleg against the window. Wrists bound, he struggled to snatch Oleg’s gun. Jax swore, bringing his own gun around, but he didn’t need it. Oleg planted his feet, pistoned his legs, and drove Luka across the seat and into the opposite door. Luka’s head struck the window, cracking the glass.