Plain Jane and Mr. Wrong (Plain Jane Series Book 4)

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Plain Jane and Mr. Wrong (Plain Jane Series Book 4) Page 33

by Tmonique Stephens


  The nearest heliport to his apartment was a logical conclusion. The fall out with Nick Wright, Colin wasn’t buying it. It too reeked of a setup.

  Every single one of Harden’s men were loyal, more loyal than his men ever were. But that’s what you got when the title of boss was inherited and not earned. All these years jealousy continued to drip acid into his veins. His leadership of the family wasn’t stolen, it was lost.

  It took years to admit the truth and learn from it. Now, he had one chance to get it all back or lose more than his freedom. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t take advantage of the fake discord between Harden and Nick and expand on it.

  His gaze scanned the room and all he needed to see was present and accounted for as he was herded to a private booth in the rear. There waited Mikhail Vadim, avtoriyet—stateside underboss—to Alezandar Karpovilov. Colin should feel special with the unprecedented attention. He didn’t.

  Owing the Russian came with a shitload of hazard, hazard he had no choice to accept else he may as well slink away to die in a hovel, shrouded in darkness. Or until Harden found him and killed him in broad daylight as an example to never ever fuck with him. Harden Gage, not just simply the leader of the Irish mob. Oh no! His half brother had grander ambitions than their father, who was content to exist in his tiny corner of New York. Harden, unwanted bastard, one upped them all and became king of kings, leader of the New York syndicate.

  In another life, Colin would’ve been proud to be his brother. True siblings, instead of blood enemies. In another life, they wouldn’t be headed for an inescapable collision. They didn’t have another life. And in this life, only one of them could exist.

  Mikhail didn’t acknowledge his presence. He made him wait while speaking in Russian to the entourage around him. Two men peeled away, scurrying to do their boss’s bidding. Mikhail was a little man. Five-five, graying, a slight hunch to his shoulders, a curve to his upper spine. His better days have passed, virility fading into the sunset. What he lacked in height and vigor, he made up for in power. It radiated from him. Yet, he was still a tool for a more powerful man. As I once was for my father.

  Mikhail finally shifted his gaze to Colin. By the disapproving glare, he wasn’t impressed. It couldn’t be with his stature. Six-one and for the past five years his life consisted of three hots and a cot, plus one hour of activity in the pen. He spent that time hitting the weights, hard. The weights and time molded his body and sharpened his mind. He’d lost everything—his money, his title as head of the family, his father, the ring signifying leadership of the family, and most importantly, he lost respect.

  If he had to wade through blood, he’d get it all back with interest. Starting. Now.

  “Mr. Vadim. It’s a pleasure to finally meet.” Colin tipped his head in lieu of holding out his hand and risking the insult of having it ignored.

  Mouth twisted into what Colin gathered was a permanent scowl, Mikhail said something in Russian to the man sitting next to him, then his gaze shifted to the empty seat on the other side of the table. “Sit,” he said in heavily accented Russian.

  Colin made himself comfortable in the offered chair, though he wouldn’t be here long. This meeting had been planned four days in advance. He was well prepared.

  “My pakhan, Mr. Alezandar Karpovilov, has spent time and money getting you out of jail. How will you repay him?”

  They wanted him to grovel, be grateful. Humble and submissive. They wanted a bitch. Bought and leashed.

  Sorry to disappoint. But he could play the game better than anyone. “I’ll repay him by killing Harden Gage.” Not for you or the Russian. For me.

  A grin spread from Mikhail’s left ear to the right. “That is precisely what my pakhan wants.” He lifted his shot glass for a small sip of what Colin guessed was vodka. “How will you kill him?”

  Taken aback, Colin wasn’t sure how to answer. “The possibilities are endless.”

  “Yes. They are. That’s why I want details.” Mikhail planted his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “You’ve had years in prison to plot your revenge. Years. Now, I want the details. I want to know what you have planned, what my pakhan has bought himself for all the money he paid to set you free.”

  Colin nodded, understanding. “You want my master plan.”

  Another smile. “Yes.” His voice was crisp.

  A waiter approached the table with a bottle of Stoli and a tray of glasses filled with the vodka. A passerby returning from the bathroom, bumped into the unfortunate man, seconds before he placed the tray. He overcorrected and the bottle tipped onto the table.

  It shouldn’t have been open allowing the liquor to spill all over the table and onto the avtoriyet and associates, and Colin. The bottle ended up on the floor, soaking the red carpet in the liquor. Mikhail and his entourage exploded in rage, cursed the waiter in Russian as the man tried in vain to mop up and beg for forgiveness.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  “You idiot!” Mikhail spat and rattled off something in Russian.

  The waiter dropped to one knee next to the table to plead, “Don’t kill me! It was an accident. It’s not like it’s a pint of Guinness staining yer drawers!”

  Colin barely managed to contain his laughter. Mikhail’s night was about to go tits up and he still hadn’t a clue.

  “Accident!” Mikhail screeched, brushing the liquor from his clothing.

  “Haud yer wheest!” the waiter said in a thick Irish brogue. “It’ll wash out, unlike blood.”

  Mikhail reared back, confused. “What did you say?”

  The waiter smiled—and from Colin’s angle—his hand vanished under the table. “I said, your bollocks are too small for you to go on like that.” His hand reappeared holding a gun with a silencer on the end. Two quiet puffs and the men opposite Mikhail were dead.

  The waiter spun on his knees and took out the two men standing behind Colin, who hadn’t time to draw their guns. Other gunshots sounded around the restaurant along with screams until a deep voice ordered everyone to, “Shut your gob!”

  Colin rose and helped Brendan to his feet. “Well, that was spectacular.”

  “I know.” Brendan grinned and hugged Colin, his weapon trained on Mikhail. “Eejit, you shoulda accepted my apology the first time.”

  “You wanted to know my master plan, well you’re it.” Colin turned to Brendan “Everything ready?” Brendan nodded. “Good. Bring him.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Harden squeezed the butt of the gun in his hand as the car drew closer to their target. His mind wasn’t on the task ahead where it should’ve been. Oh no. His mind was on the Thanksgiving dinner he didn’t have. No turkey with gravy. No stuffin’. No green bean casserole and mac and cheese. No cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots. No Allie. No Jentry. The list went on and on. Had he even eaten today? He truly didn’t remember. Oh well, revenge and bloodthirst would sustain him for the next few hours.

  They’d found Colin. He was hiding out at Bresnik and Fisnik’s house, but he wasn’t there. He was in a restaurant in Brooklyn owned by the dead Ukrainians. The discovery came when the listening device they’d placed in the house picked up someone ordering the house cleaned and swept for bugs before Colin arrived.

  That was a surprise. He’d reached out to a local dealer for a meet-up. The dealer was loyal to Patrick Fitz, who was loyal to Leonid. They dropped everything and raced to Canarsie. Who would inherit the ownership of the Ukrainians property and territory? The issue hadn’t been resolved since their bodies were found. That was a question for another day.

  Bruno maneuvered around a slow-moving truck. “It could be a trap.”

  “I’d be insulted if it weren’t.” Walking into a trap wasn’t funny. But he wouldn’t back down. Not now. Not ever. Colin needed to know no place on Earth was safe. Harden could reach out and touch him at any time.

  He stroked the ring on his right hand. The ring he took off his father’s dead body. He always thought it woul
d be a bullet that ended the man. Instead, it was cancer.

  “How do we know this isn’t what Colin wants?” Bruno insisted.

  “We don’t.” Harden checked his weapon for the second time. “For all we know Colin purposely leaked the information to Patrick for Leonid. Testing him. Regardless, we are here, and we are seeing this through.” Harden left no room for argument.

  And Bruno didn’t give any. “Agreed.”

  Bruno parked a block away from the lounge. They exited the car along with ten of their men in three cars behind them. A bitter wind slammed into him, stiffened his spine in resolve. Half the men circled around to the back of the building. “We flush him out and grab him away from prying eyes and cameras we don’t control. Colin will be ashes by morning.”

  “I’ll supervise.”

  “The crematory is on standby,” Bruno said. “After this, Nick comes in from the cold.”

  Harden nodded and headed toward the restaurant, their combined footsteps echoing on the silent sidewalk. Their bit of subterfuge with Nick wasn’t needed. Colin slit his own throat without any help. Harden’s phone rang. It was Julius. Harden ignored the call and put it on vibrate. Two steps and it vibrated again. Tempted to ignore it once more, he paused and pulled it out of his pocket. It was Julius again. Along with a text message. Just two words.

  JENTRY’S MISSING.

  Everything in his world ground to an abrupt halt.

  “What is it?” Bruno peered over his shoulder, but Harden was already dialing.

  “Talk, quickly.” Harden demanded.

  “Karpovilov attacked the beach house. He tried to snatch Joshua by helicopter and kill me. During the gunfire and chaos, everyone scattered. The guards got everyone to safety…except Jentry.”

  Two birds with one stone. Joshua and Jentry in the same place. And Harden did it. He hadn’t even considered the potential of Joshua being present. The temptation that would present if Karpovilov captured both. He would have both Julius and Harden between a rock and a hard place because those two people meant something to them. They weren’t disposable. They weren’t a write off. They weren’t acceptable losses. They were collateral. Unacceptable, but that was the brutal truth.

  That’s why he removed her from the penthouse. Why he sent her to the beach house, away from him so she wouldn’t be collateral damage. So she would be safe.

  And Karpovilov reached out and touched her anyway.

  “Was. She. Taken?” Harden asked calmly when he was a volcano preparing to blow. Emmet’s time was up. Harden would fly to Russia himself and blow Karpovilov’s brains out all on his own.

  “No. She was seen running away in a blue Lexus. We traced it to a marina in the Hamptons—”

  Harden ended the call and raced back to the car.

  “Where are you going?” Bruno kept pace with him, but Harden beat him to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the keys and Bruno blocked the door from closing.

  Bruno pointed to the restaurant. “Colin is in that building. We kill him and end this threat now. We agreed, Harden. Then we find Jentry,” Bruno pleaded in the only way he could, logically, and everything he said made perfect sense. That’s why he was Harden’s right hand.

  And none of his well thought out logic mattered. “Give me the keys and move.” Around them, the men watched, and waited.

  Bruno paused, one second too damn long. Only because of their friendship Harden didn’t press his gun to Bruno’s temple.

  “She’s alive, out there, somewhere, running for her life because I wasn’t there to protect her. Protect them. Karpovilov came to snatch Joshua Morgan. I don’t know if he knew Jentry was there, but I’d be a fool to think he didn’t when he’s been five steps ahead of us. I sent her to the beach house to keep her safe and now she’s running for her life. Because of me. Tell me you wouldn’t do the same for your woman, your kid.”

  Bruno’s mouth thinned.

  Harden surged out of the car and got in his best friend’s face. “If you tell me she’s not my kid…”

  Bruno shook his head. “I would never say that.” He pulled the keys out of his pocket. “I’m driving. Otherwise, we may not get there in one piece.” The only reason Harden moved to the passenger seat was because Bruno wasn’t wrong.

  Harden turned to Pavel. “Flush that bastard out and bring him to the funeral home. We’ll be there when we can.”

  Pavel rubbed his hands together, eager. “I got this. Go get your girls.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Brendan hauled Mikhail to his feet. “Time to go.”

  “Where! Where are you taking me!” Mikhail struggled to get free until Brendan clouted him on the side of his head. Mikhail staggered, his knees buckled, and his body headed for the floor. Only Brendan’s firm grip on his throat kept Mikhail upright.

  “A place where we can all get comfortable and have a talk with you and contact your boss.” Colin patted the man on the back like they were old friends.

  Mikhail groaned. “You are dead. All of you, dead.”

  “If it’s the will of the Almighty, I go to heaven or hell with a pint and a grin.” Brendan cackled.

  Colin cackled with him. Brendan hadn’t changed in all the years. He remained the irreverent bawbag. A cold draft hit his back, then the sound of feet rushing into the building behind them. Brendan and Colin spun at the same time.

  “Yours?” Colin asked, backtracking while praying the men pouring into the restaurant belonged to Brendan even as Brendan shook his head.

  “Move, boyo,” Brendan hissed and shoved a spare gun into Colin’s hand.

  Gunfire erupted before they could duck behind anything. It turned out to be an overturned table. Brendan loosed a string of curses and dropped, clutching his abdomen. Colin could’ve left him, but Brendan was a friend. Probably the only friend he had. He let Mikhail go in favor of Brendan and returned fire. Damn, it felt good holding warm steel in his palm again.

  Bullets pinged around him. Colin kept firing until the clip was empty. Brendan handed him another one. An opening appeared. They had to risk it or end up dead beneath an overturned table. Colin had come too far for that.

  On the other side of the room, one of Brendan’s men opened fire with an assault rifle. Bodies dropped as he cleared a path to the front door. That was their cue to leave.

  “Yer fool. Yer let yer leverage go!” Brendan screeched when Colin hoisted him to his feet. Mikhail was either gone or hiding. Either way, they’d lost the man.

  Holding his gut, Brendan hobbled along as Colin dragged him out the front door with the man Brendan brought with him laying down fire for them to escape.

  Together, along with two other men Colin didn’t know, they burst out of the restaurant into the cold November air. Mikhail’s men brought him to the restaurant in the back of an SUV. They couldn’t use that now. And they couldn’t stand on the sidewalk.

  The man on Colin’s right dropped like a stone, blood pouring from his neck. Cold determination expanded in Colin’s chest. If it came to it, he’d rather die here than end up in Harden’s care.

  It wouldn’t come to it. He’d come too far to end up under his brother’s thumb, which meant buried in an unmarked grave or whatever way Harden decided to get rid of his body.

  “We gotta run,” Colin said as Brendan slumped into his body, red spreading beneath the hand pressed to his abdomen. Clinging to his friend, together, they hobbled along, lurching down the street.

  “Don’t think I can make it, boyo.” Brendan groaned as his knees buckled.

  Sentiment aside, Colin had to be practical. He wouldn’t dump him on the sidewalk, not when he still needed Brendan, even if his use came as a shield. A car whipped around the corner. Colin’s arm came up and locked on the SUV with his gun. Brakes squealing, tires smoking on the asphalt, the car skidded to a halt in front of them.

  “Get your arses in the car.”

  Colin didn’t argue with the Irishman behind the wheel.
He opened the back door and tossed Brendan in the back seat. Bullets pinged the chassis. The driver leaned out the window and returned fire. Colin threw himself into the car, landing on top of Brendan, who didn’t move. Either he was unconscious or dead. Colin hoped for the former as he shouted, “Drive!”

  The SUV surged forward, the motion slamming the door closed, almost on his feet. But they were leaving the scene, escaping with their lives, the car eating up the asphalt. Finally, he could breathe, relax for a split second and let the adrenaline bleed from his system. That was too close. He’d come too far to die now. But this plan had failed. And it was a good one, until it wasn’t. Mikhail was lost. He hoped he was dead, either way, Colin couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Not now when his tail was tucked, and he was running away.

  There was only one thing he could do to turn it around. He had to find an inside man. Someone willing to betray Harden and give him a way to make his bastard half brother pay. But who when all his men were loyal?

  He looked at the driver and brought his gun up. “Who are you?”

  “A friend of Brendan’s, so lower the gun. I’m the one who saved your ass.”

  “Thomas is a friend.” Brendan hung on, not quite dead.

  “See. I told you.” He looked in the rearview mirror at Brendan slumped on the seat. “Plus, I got a lead on Nick Wright.”

  “Oh yeah?” Colin pulled his jacket off, wadded it into a ball and pressed it to Brendan’s wound. “What lead do you have?”

 

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