He was certain they knew it. They needed violence. Craved it. If they went too long without action, they got restless and moody. Some were worse than others, but they all had those symptoms, along with a million other various issues. They were one fucked-up club, but what the hell, they were alive and on their way to their new home.
Reaper sat at the highest point, not paying attention to the antics of Transporter, Mechanic, Absinthe, Ice and Storm. His gaze moved restlessly around him, checking out the few others on the beach and watching their backs. Savage hadn't moved from the motorcycles.
It wasn't long before a low whistle warned him. A car nudged its way slowly through the parking lot, California Department of Parks and Recreation on its side. The men kept up their wrestling, but all were very aware of the official vehicle coming to check them out. The low whistle had warned them. It didn't matter what they were doing, when the alert sounded, they all paid attention. It was ingrained in them. It was also a very bad thing to have Savage be closest to the vehicle. There was no doubt in Viktor's mind that the rangers had also called the sheriff for backup. He didn't kid himself about how they looked. They looked like exactly what they were--killers.
He sauntered over, intercepting the ranger as he got out of his SUV. Reaper was on his feet, looking anything but casual. Savage was off the bike as well. They were a distance away, but they definitely were intimidating, two tall men with roped muscles, scars and covered in tattoos.
"Afternoon," Viktor greeted. "You need to see our day passes?" He didn't pretend to smile. Frankly, he was sick of this shit, always getting hassled just because of the way they looked.
At the back of his mind that red flag wouldn't stop waving. They would always be different. They were different. He was. Blythe was either going to take him as he was, or he was royally screwed. He'd been counting on her for the last five years. Every minute of every day she'd been with him. He closed his fingers tight around the center of his palm, holding her to him, holding that mark that had faded right through his skin to his very bones, branding him hers.
The ranger nodded curtly and looked expectant. His gaze behind his glasses kept shifting back toward the main road. Clearly he was expecting company. He'd definitely called the sheriff for reinforcements. That rage, always held so deep in Viktor's gut, began to bubble toward the surface. The need to feel his fists hitting something. The need, through physical violence, to get rid of the rage that was always present, stamped every bit as deep in his bones as his connection to Blythe, rose like a wave.
"Baby?" Alena slipped her hand on his arm and smiled at the ranger, all charm, when he could feel the same anger simmering in her. She turned the full beauty of her smile on the ranger. "Is something wrong?" Her voice sang with innocence. The voice of an angel. She'd always had that.
The ranger couldn't help but respond. Viktor had never seen anyone resist Alena. The man smiled at her. She came up to the ranger's shoulder, all curves and wide, blue eyes. He actually took off his glasses to get a better look.
"Did we miss one of the bikes when we were paying?" That was directed at Viktor, but she kept smiling at the ranger. "It's such a beautiful day. I love the ocean. And the sand. You must love working here." She made it sound as if she admired the man and thought his job was the absolute best in the world. That was another of Alena's gifts. She focused completely on the person and they focused completely on her.
Viktor knew at that moment, every single one of his brothers could surround the ranger and he wouldn't see anyone but Alena. She had been very useful as a child growing up in an environment where it was important to disappear right in plain sight.
Viktor pulled the passes out of his pocket and handed them to Alena. She didn't even glance at him, keeping her entire attention on the man already eating out of her hand. "Here they are. I hope everything's in order. I just couldn't resist stopping and soaking up the sun." She stretched her arms toward the sky as if she was offering herself to the universe.
Viktor couldn't help but admire her. He shifted his gaze to take in the others. Ice and Storm were close. Alena was their baby sister and they watched over her like two predatory hawks. They'd seen child after child killed in that school of horrors, and they had determined it wouldn't happen to Alena--and it hadn't. They hadn't been alone in that fierce determination: the others had been just as watchful over her and one another.
Transporter and Mechanic flanked the ranger, two brooding men with death in their eyes and deceptive smiles on their faces. Absinthe was to their right and Reaper was at their left. Savage remained by the bikes, but he was the one Viktor worried most about. It was impossible to predict his actions. Reaper and Savage had lost two sisters in that dungeon of horrors and they watched over Alena and Lana to make certain they didn't lose them.
If for any reason the ranger threatened Alena, he would be dead, and they would be gone before his body hit the asphalt--and it would be Viktor who would do the killing. He was close enough, although Alena was crowding him. He'd have to reprimand her later. She knew better, but she was doing it deliberately.
"Everything looks in order. Paula must have counted the bikes wrong as they came through, ma'am," the ranger said. "You staying long?"
Alena shook her head regretfully. "We're heading up the coast."
The sheriff's car made its way slowly up the drive to the parking lot. He parked his vehicle at an angle, not in a space, partially cutting off the bikes. Viktor watched as the driver got out of the car and walked toward them. There was no show of strength, no blustering. This was a man with confidence in his abilities. He looked of Cajun descent, roped arms, a powerful deep chest, shrewd, cool eyes that looked a little like black obsidian. He had faint scars on his face that only made him look more rugged. It was impossible to read his expression, but his gaze took all of them in, their positions and the fact that the ranger was surrounded and didn't even know it.
Viktor recognized trauma when he saw it; not just trauma--this was a very dangerous man. He also recognized Jackson Deveau. Deveau didn't make a show of looking at Savage, but he certainly clocked him and noted him as potential trouble. Same with Reaper. Alena's voice wasn't going to enthrall this man; nothing was. Deveau's gaze touched on each man and then came to rest on him. Further evidence he was a man to be careful of. He recognized Viktor as the leader. They weren't wearing colors, there were no identifying markers, but in two seconds, Deveau had read all he needed to know.
"Bronson," Jackson greeted the ranger. "Everything all right here?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" Viktor challenged. He knew it was a dick move, but they'd been having a good day. A fucking great day. This was the man costing him five years of his life, probably his marriage and worse, and his birth brothers possibly their homes. Now his good day? It was enough.
Jackson's eyes rested on him. Flat. Cold. Eyes like Reaper's. Maybe not as intense, or as gone, but definitely close to it. "Just checking, sir."
"Their passes are in order, Jackson," Bronson said hastily. "You know Paula, she's dramatic. Sorry to call you out for nothing."
Viktor wanted to smile when the man partially shielded Alena from the newcomer. Clearly he was a little uneasy in the presence of the deputy. Jackson noticed everything, even the way the ranger protected Alena. His expression didn't change.
"Nice bikes. Where you heading?"
Some devil in Viktor wouldn't let sleeping dogs lie. "Heard about some prime real estate just north of Sea Haven, in Caspar. We decided to take a look at it. Want to set up a couple of businesses and looking for the right place to do it."
He kept his tone mild, no challenge, but he wanted it clear that he wasn't going to be pushed around.
"Nice area. There's a big part of the Caspar area for sale right now, including the roadhouse, inn and quite a few homes. Most of the residences overlooking the ocean are occupied or vacation homes, but there's a good deal of property for sale in that area."
Informative. Non-judgmental. No hint of wa
nting them to move on. Still, the man was looking at him. Studying him. Seeing too much. Seeing what Viktor needed him to see even if it was too early. He knew the exact moment when recognition hit. It was his eyes. Viktor had the eyes of a Prakenskii. He was older, harder, scarred and tattooed, but there was no mistaking his eyes. His six birth brothers resided in Sea Haven with their women. Deveau knew Ilya, the youngest Prakenskii, and there was no doubt that he'd soon be visiting the others.
"Nice to know. Thanks for the information."
Viktor kept it short. There was no point in further engagement; he'd seen all he needed to. The short encounter backed up the information he had on the target. This was the man Evan Shackler-Gratsos wanted dead more than any other. He wanted it so badly he was willing to come out of hiding in order to kill him personally.
Viktor had studied Deveau. He was recently married to Elle Drake, and just back from his honeymoon. The man was quiet, but well-liked. He had been in the Army Rangers, did a brief stint with the CIA, and had at one time been captured and held in the Congo for several weeks where it was reputed he'd been tortured. Seeing him in person, Viktor knew those speculations were true.
Deveau inclined his head and tapped Bronson on the arm. "We've both got things to do. We'd better get to them and leave these folks to their day." A not-so-subtle hint to take off. He wasn't leaving Bronson behind, although he gave no indication he thought Viktor or the others were threats. He had seen them surrounding the ranger, wolves circling the lamb. Viktor forced himself to step back, taking Alena with him.
Bronson followed, reluctant to give her up. "Caspar is right up the road from where I live. You'll like the area."
Deliberately Viktor put his arm around Alena and pulled her to him possessively. "If she does, she'll like it with me," he said, staring the man down.
Bronson flushed and let Jackson pull him away. Alena smiled demurely and waved her fingers. "See you later." She even injected a bit of a hopeful note in her voice. That was Alena, wanting the same thing he did, a little violence to take away the fire burning inside. They didn't call her Torch for nothing. She ignited fires both physically as well as emotionally. She could get men to fight by batting her lashes.
"I know what you're doing," Viktor said, just letting her know. He kept his eyes on the deputy. The man was a definite threat. He hadn't even put his hand near a weapon, but Viktor had the feeling it wouldn't have mattered.
Alena shrugged. "Why do you think I came over here? I kept that poor ranger from getting a beating and us from having to fight our way out of here."
That might have been the truth. Viktor had wanted to smash his baby face when the man made his power play. And Paula, the female ranger, he might have to pay her a visit in the middle of the night and mess with her head just for payback. He hated that they couldn't ride for a single day without getting hassled.
"Let's get out of here," he said.
Alena gave him one emotion-laden look. "After you say thank you."
"Thank you, Alena. I appreciate the fact that you kept me from doing something stupid."
She inclined her head regally. "You're very welcome. Glad to help. And just for your information, that deputy was good-looking. Did you notice he didn't really look at me? He's the real deal. Hard-core."
Viktor nodded. "Yes he is. He wouldn't have been easy to kill. He would have taken several of us with him."
"I had him in my sights," Reaper said from behind him.
Viktor felt a chill creep up his spine to his neck. Reaper could do that to him. He never heard him. Not even here where there was sand and rock and the man was wearing motorcycle boots.
"He knew it too," Savage added. "He was aware of both of us, and he walked right in the middle of that trap to get his friend out."
"I didn't have the feeling they were all that good of friends," Ice said. "More like acquaintances. But Alena is right, he didn't even look her way."
"That, brothers, was Jackson Deveau." Viktor dropped the bomb.
Reaper and Savage kept looking at him. Neither blinked. Alena gasped. Ice and Storm exchanged a long look with each other, as did Mechanic and Transporter. Absinthe simply shrugged. They knew they were between a rock and a hard place when they'd agreed to take the job.
Deveau was the bait, plain and simple. The biggest problem as Viktor saw it was he actually respected the man. He knew Jackson had grown up in the world of bikers. How he'd gotten into law enforcement was anyone's guess, but at one time, his father had been in Viktor's exact position--an enforcer for the same chapter of the Swords. In another world, Viktor might have liked Jackson, maybe even been friends, but that world was far away and this one was his reality.
Viktor wanted a home, a wife and a family. He wanted the same for his birth brothers and for his brothers and sisters in Torpedo Ink. They'd come up with the name when they were kids, teens, because in Russian, torpedo was assassin, hit man, and they thought it was funny to use the term in reference to themselves. By that time, Sorbacov was already sending them out on hits.
Originally INC was used, but because Ink was so good at tattoos, they thought it would be a great idea to use INK instead of the other so if they ever had a tattoo shop they could call it Torpedo Ink. Over the years, after they'd learned to ride, they formed their own club with their own colors. They kept the names they'd called one another as teens and used Torpedo Ink for the name of their club.
"We've got to do it," Viktor said. "If we can keep the man alive, we will. The main objective is to kill Evan. We can't lose sight of that. We cut off that head, and Code gets to the Swords' real books, we've destroyed the empire. That's our goal, and we stay on course no matter what."
The others nodded, and with his arm around Alena, Viktor walked back to the bikes.
4
VIKTOR didn't really acknowledge fear. When you lived and breathed it every minute of your existence as a child, you learned to accept fate. What you couldn't control you just had to accept. He knew that, so why was his heart pounding out of control? Why couldn't he keep his fingers relaxed instead of gripping the bike so hard he thought he'd leave indentations?
He was going to see his wife for the first time in five years. They were minutes outside of Sea Haven, and the first thing he intended to do was break off from the others--he would leave them at one of the bars--and he'd go find her house. The taste of her had never faded. Not in the least. The moment he thought of her, she was there against his skin.
It wasn't fair to put so much on her, but over the last five years, seeing the things he'd seen, doing the things he'd had to do, he had slowly been losing himself. He couldn't afford to do that. He had to stay strong for the others. He was the one that kept them all together. Without him, he knew both Reaper and Savage would be lost, and probably several if not all of the others.
He was bringing all of them home to Blythe, certain that she could work her magic on them the way she did him. She had to. The burden was becoming too much. Not the burden of his brothers and sisters, but the burden of being Viktor Prakenskii. Like the others, he had leftover childhood trauma issues, and they were catching up with him. Being in the Swords club and carrying out the insanity of his chapter president's orders day in and day out, watching the vile way the men treated women, had only brought his past roaring back, threatening to consume him.
He had already been hardened into something not fit for society, believing himself lost until he met her. Blythe. His wife. Her laughter and soft skin had saved him at a time when he was certain nothing could. He would have that back. A few more minutes, that was all.
They turned off the highway, taking the exit to Sea Haven. It was a very small town, overlooking the sea, unique in its historical beauty. They took the main road that led straight into downtown, the ocean across the street from the small shops beckoning tourists. The bar where he was hoping to leave the others was located on the main street between two shops. They nudged the bikes up to the curb right in front.
&nbs
p; Viktor looked around him, inhaling the sea air. A breeze came off the ocean, but it felt good on his skin. The sound of laughter caught his attention. He knew that laugh. That musical sound. Alert, he swung his leg over his bike and turned toward the sound. A tall man with a short beard stood just outside a shop, leaning one hand against the side of the building, positioned just to the right of a blond woman's head.
Blythe. She looked up at the man, laughing softly. His breath caught in his throat. She was more beautiful than he remembered. The sound of her voice struck him like an arrow piercing his chest. For one terrible moment his vision clouded until the man was nothing but a target, and a dozen ways to kill him flashed through Viktor's mind.
Damn her to hell for betraying him. He was moving before he could think. He didn't want to think. His mind refused to do anything but insist he get the enemy away from his woman. He could deal with her treachery later. He would deal with her later. Ground-eating strides had him on the sidewalk and practically on top of them before his wife--his wife--realized she was caught.
The smile faded from her curved lips. He loved her lips. Worshipped them. He remembered them under his, soft and so inviting. He remembered them wrapped around his cock, sexy as hell. He was definitely killing the fucker if she'd sucked his cock. He was going to kill him anyway, but that would seal his fate.
Blythe put a hand on the man's chest just as he got to them. The male turned toward him, but it was already too late. Viktor had Blythe's arm and yanked her hard to him. "Get the hell away from my wife," he snapped.
The man paled. "Your wife?"
"Yeah. My fucking wife. You come near her again and you're a dead man." That was stupid. When the man turned up dead he'd be the first one they looked at. He'd have to make certain no one ever found the body.
"Viktor."
"Yeah. Viktor. Nice that you remember who you're married to." He started to walk back toward the bikes, taking her with him. He wanted to shake the life out of her, and at the same time, he wanted to kiss her senseless, remind her just who she belonged to. The scent of her filled his lungs, a scent he remembered all too well. Sometimes while she slept, he'd just inhaled her, putting his head beside hers on the pillow so he could breathe her in.
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