Xtreme Measures (Xtreme Ops Book 5)

by Em Petrova

  Also, there were the girls. Sixteen of them now, all speaking little to no English and new to the US, without visas or any hope of making their way besides on their backs with their legs spread.

  That black kernel of fear that had long ago been planted deep in Ruby’s soul sprouted roots. Sometimes she could hack down the thick, woody stem of the terror and bury it beneath the soil. But other times, it seemed to sink its roots deeper, and tonight, it was a damn beanstalk.

  She narrowed her eyes on Max. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  He cocked a thick, furry brow. “Don’t you? Tell me about the shipment. What is missing?”

  She swallowed hard. “Three girls,” she said quietly.

  He stiffened. “Three?”

  “And several barrels.”

  He reached to his side, and she braced herself for impact of a bullet between the eyes, but a second later, he had his phone in hand. Relief spread a thick layer of nausea through her stomach.

  When someone on the other end of the line answered, Max shifted to his feet, extending to his full height. In the low ceiling of her office, she always expected his head to bump the plaster.

  In rapid Russian, he conversed with the person. She understood every single word and wished to hell she was ignorant of what she’d suspected had happened and now knew had.

  Max ended the call with a grunt and lowered the phone to pierce her in his heavy stare. “Some of the shipment was intercepted.”

  Her insides roiled. “How?”

  “At the stop-off. An invasion of the warehouse.” He spoke the word warehouse using a V instead of a W.

  She arched a brow. “What happens now?”

  He shrugged, as if having some girls and drugs confiscated and now gone missing was of no consequence to him. But she was held responsible, even though most of the transactions were beyond her control.

  She stood and faced Max. “We can’t afford to be sloppy. Your men aren’t doing their jobs, and I’m the one who will pay.”

  Wordlessly, he held out his phone. She winced at what she knew she’d see there—the live-cam feed of her father in that room. Tied up, beaten. His eyes swollen shut. His hours were counting down. How much longer did he have before his captors made the call to end his life?

  “Look at it!” Max commanded.

  She directed her stare to the phone screen. She might be seeing a caged animal who bore the same red hair she did, but she forced herself to disconnect or risk her own sanity.

  “I’ll figure something out. I’ll ask those five girls who did come in what happened.”

  Max nodded, slightly mollified. He nodded toward the stack of menus on the corner of her desk. “Don’t forget.”

  How could she forget to put the menu on display in the front door first thing in the morning? Half the night, she’d lie awake wishing she never had to tape the papers on the left side, and yet tomorrow, she would do exactly that.

  Right meant coming. Left going.

  In the morning, some of her girls would be leaving her, sold to the highest bidder. There was nothing she could do to stop that, or her father being beaten in his prison somewhere in Russia or her soul from being drained by the hour in this place.

  What could she do but square her shoulders and face up to what her life had become?

  “He made it out of surgery. It’s gonna be a long road to recovery, but he’s alive.”

  The team breathed a collective sigh of relief as Penn conveyed the news about Paxton.

  Gasper’s chest had been burning with worry for their fallen brother since the man passed out during that run through the dark forest. It didn’t stop burning now, either.

  Paxton may never return to duty.

  His leg had been fucked the hell up. He was surprised the surgeons had managed to save it at all. The vision of the mangled mess of bone and flesh and blood had been haunting Gasper ever since he laid the man on the floor of the chopper.

  “Can we do anything?” he asked Penn.

  “There’s nothing more we can do for Pax now. From here on, this is his battle.”

  They all sobered, thinking through their captain’s statement. It hit too close to home for them all.

  Penn grew silent for a moment, letting them all gather their thoughts. Then he swept the team with his sharp stare. “You’re all aware of our reason for coming to Anchorage?”

  Every man nodded. Gasper just hoped to hell he wasn’t wrong in what he’d seen. That prisoner in the bunker had definitely glanced toward the part of the map, where Anchorage was located. He never double-checked his facts, because he didn’t have to. He remembered everything. And he hadn’t made a mistake about the man’s body language either.

  “We’re splitting into teams to further this investigation. Any and all intel in this case will help us pin these motherfuckers to the ground and stop them. So make sure you’re asking the right questions. Got it?” Penn met each man’s gaze, gaining their agreement before giving orders. “State police—Lipton, Beckett and Broshears.” Penn moved through the group. “DEA—Winston and Day, you’re both with me. Anchorage PD—Shadow and Jack. Cora will remain here to provide backup as needed.”

  Gasper gave his captain a nod and turned to Shadow. The orders given, they headed straight out to tackle the city. With Anchorage being the biggest city within that circle he’d drawn on the map, higher-ups made the decision to start here. If the results of their investigation came up blank, they’d spread to the outlying areas of that circle.

  Several vehicles sat in the parking lot for their use, and Shadow climbed behind the wheel. “I know you prefer to drive, but too damn bad,” he drawled.

  Gasper chuckled. “Shotgun beats being stuck in the back of that SUV we usually travel in. I’ve been carsick too many times to count.”

  Shadow cranked the engine. “Big strong guy like you gets carsick? I’ve been working with you a while now. How did I never know this?”

  “Because I don’t air my shortcomings. Neither do you.”

  “True enough.” He waited for Lipton to pull out ahead of them before bumping out of the parking lot. “What do you think we’ll learn from the Anchorage PD?”

  “Hopefully, some lead to show us we’re on the right track. If there are women and drugs moving through their city, they’ll know.”

  “Can’t keep track of everything.”

  “Good point. But shit this big doesn’t go unnoticed. A group of Russian women being dumped off with no homes or jobs is a red flag to a lot of people that something’s going on. Any of the guys willing to buy them are usually stupid too. One of them’s bound to talk.”

  “You’re right. And don’t forget about the drugs.”

  “Right—black tar heroin is everywhere, but white is the purest form, and that’s what we found on the Russians. That’s gonna stick out. Word gets around fast in this place.”

  They’d performed enough missions that brought them through Anchorage that they were familiar with the darkest and dirtiest parts of the city.

  “Do you have any idea what happened to the girls we found in that bunker?” Shadow didn’t glance away from the road as he navigated the streets.

  “Penn didn’t say, and if he did, I didn’t hear it. I’m sure they were taken into custody by the FBI, questioned and probably put back on a ship to Russia.” Gasper had been deep in thought over the girls ever since they discovered them in a back room. When they blasted into the hidden room, three women had been huddling there, whispering.

  “I can tell something is bugging you about those women. What vibration are you picking up?” Shadow asked.

  Gasper shifted his shoulders in a shrug. “They stopped talking the minute we walked in.”

  “Could be scared.”

  “Could be hiding something.”

  “Like what?” Shadow asked.

  “Like more women who got out before they could.”

  Shadow issued a low whistle. “Have you discussed this with Penn?”

&nb
sp; “I told him my hunch, but until we do what we have to here, tracing any possible girls—who may not even exist—could be a wild goose chase.” He pointed to a side road. “Take this shortcut to the police department.”

  “This isn’t a shortcut. You just want to swing by the barbecue place.”

  Gasper shot him a crooked grin.

  “Ahhh, see? I knew it.”

  “No harm in us grabbing a real lunch before we get down to business. Don’t tell me you’re not sick of those taco MREs. There’s not enough Tabasco in the world to make me eat another one. Besides, we won’t waste time—there’s a drive-thru.”

  “What is it with you and barbecue? I thought you grew up on lute…lute…what the fuck is it called again?”

  Gasper chuckled. “Lutefisk. I did. And it’s good. But I don’t see a lutefisk joint anywhere around here, so I’ll have to settle for barbecue.”

  “The way you describe that dish sounds disgusting, man. I’d rather sit down with a roasted rat than have fish soaked in lye.”

  “It’s not for everyone, but if you grow up with something, it reminds you of who you are every time you eat it. What did you grow up eating, Hep?” He still wasn’t totally accustomed to calling Hepburn by his recently earned nickname of Shadow. They’d been friends too long.

  “Good ole Southern cookin’. Cornbread, for one. Love me some cornbread. Maybe the barbecue joint has some.” He turned into the restaurant drive-thru, and the ladies who served their food through the delivery window shot them weird looks.

  “You Air Force?” the girl asked.

  “No,” Shadow said flatly, without flirting as he once might have. Since he’d fallen in love with Sascha, he was a changed man. He took the bags of food and their drinks and drove away.

  With a meal far better than a chicken or taco military ration in his stomach, Gasper felt more ready to tackle the challenges of talking to the Anchorage PD. Not every law enforcement office in the US was willing to work with them—too often they thought the Xtreme Ops team was stepping on their toes.

  Minutes later they were seated with the two officers handling most of the drug cases in the area. They discussed what was running through the city and where they believed it came in, but neither man knew much about trafficked women. And they hadn’t heard a murmur about any Russian women passing through the area.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Gasper shot Shadow a look. This always happened. Either they didn’t want to provide intel on a case they were currently working hard, or they’d just stopped giving a damn. In a state with more than its share of drug and alcohol abuse, people became desensitized pretty damn quick.

  The officer leaned back in his chair, boot casually hitched over his knee as he eyed Gasper. “Give us the details on the case, and if we get wind of anything, we’ll be in touch with you.”

  Gasper could see they were through here, so he stood. Shadow thanked the officers for speaking with them, but the minute they were outside, Shadow issued a low noise from his throat.

  Swinging his head toward him, Gasper noted the frustration on his teammate’s face. “Did you get the feeling those guys thought we were stepping on their toes?”

  Shadow grunted. “Every damn minute we were in there. They cooperated, sure, but they don’t understand why we’re working a case like this.”

  “It sounds a little beneath us, if you break it into small chunks like drugs and trafficked women. But we’ve been fighting the Russian mafia since the day we landed in Alaska.”

  “Exactly. Get the captain on the line. Let’s see what they found out from the DEA.”

  Gasper snorted. “Probably a whole lot less than we did.”

  But he was wrong. Once they all rallied in the parking lot again, they discovered that Penn’s visit to the DEA had drummed up the name of a port city within the radius Gasper had drawn on the map.

  “Lipton, whattaya got on that town?” Penn asked.

  “White Fog, Alaska. Population around two hundred. Primary industry, fishing and tourism.”

  Gasper glanced at the screen Lipton held up for them all to see. The aerial map showed little more than what would be a truck stop in any other part of the country.

  He studied the few buildings on the map. “I’ve taken dumps bigger than that town.”

  Several chuckles followed, but everyone was thinking the same thing—what better place to fly under the radar than a very small, inconsequential town with little more than a bar and restaurant and a few other businesses?

  Gasper leaned over the screen and pointed to the map. “Well, boys, look on the bright side.”

  Penn gave a nod. “Fewer people to sift through.”

  Gasper scratched at his head. “I was thinking that at least there’s a place to grab a beer.”

  Chapter Three

  “Ruby, where do you want me to put this?” One of her girls had a bundle of dirty bedding in her arms.

  Ruby wanted to snap like a mom at a kid who’d been taught long ago how to do a chore, but she bit her tongue. The girl was new. She didn’t know all of Ruby’s expectations yet.

  She pointed to a room off the kitchen. “That’s the laundry. We do our own clothes, bedding and towels around here,” she told her.

  The girl nodded and headed off to the laundry room, leaving Ruby to deal with another issue—the matter of the menu. With the pages spread out on the counter before her, she wished she could make the call about which window to tape them in today. Even though it wasn’t Tuesday, when shipments usually went out, there were always men lurking around, just waiting to score a bride.

  Or sex slave.

  Her stomach churned at what she must do. Selling off a few girls was the only way—and the Bratva wouldn’t have any reservations in letting her know that.

  Her father’s image as she’d last seen him loomed in her mind. His blue-gray eyes that used to smile on her swollen shut.

  Decision made, she grabbed the menu pages and the tape. The weather was mild today, which meant the bar and restaurant were illuminated by a warm glow that belied her feelings at what she must do in order to go on surviving.

  She didn’t want to think about those girls upstairs who would be sold off like cattle the minute she slapped the menu pages on the left.

  Quickly, before she could have regrets and change her mind, she taped the menus up on the left side and rushed to the kitchen again. Two girls were in there helping out by preparing the midday meal. None of them ate breakfast—the girls were up all night with gentlemen callers and Ruby’s stomach was always cramped too much to eat in the mornings.

  The aroma of pasta sauce filled the kitchen—her grandmother’s recipe. But she tried not to let her stomach turn at the scent. Her insides jittered, and bile pushed up her throat.

  She broke for the trash can, leaning over it and retching.

  “Oh, poor dove.” A kitchen girl gathered her hair off her face. “Anushka, fetch her some water.”

  Ruby’s stomach heaved, but nothing came up—there wasn’t anything in there. Eyes watering, she dragged in a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She couldn’t afford to lose her shit today, of all days.

  Slowly, she straightened from the trash can. Anushka held out a glass of water, which she took with what she could muster for a weak smile. While she took small sips, the girls threw her glances.

  Finally, Inessa, who’d been holding her hair, said what was on her mind. “Are you with child?”

  Ruby nearly choked on the water. “No. I haven’t been… No.”

  She couldn’t recall the last time a man had been in her bed, and after dealing with her bouncers and a lot of other horrible men, she couldn’t be further from inviting one in.

  “If you are, Polina knows some herbs…” Inessa went on as if she didn’t believe Ruby.

  “I’m certain. I’m fine. Just a little queasy this morning. Must be something I ate last night.” She put more effort into her smile to convince the girls, and eventually they drifted back
to their duties, making pasta for lunch and a few other daily specials for the few townspeople who would drift in.

  Ruby closed her eyes and steeled herself. Some of the girls would leave today. It wouldn’t be long before someone would see those menus on the left side of the door and come looking for a deal.

  It meant less work for her, so why was she so upset?

  She set aside her water glass and went into the bar to dust bottles and inventory her stock. There was always so much to count in this place—women, barrels of illegal drugs, whiskey, money. What she wouldn’t give to escape White Fog and never look back. She’d leave Alaska altogether if she could, simply so she wouldn’t think of the people she’d known.

  Two regulars came in to ask for the daily special, and she put in their orders to the kitchen and delivered their drinks. Then, with dust cloth in hand, she worked over each bottle of booze, forcing her thoughts into anything but what would take place today.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught movement outside, and her heart tumbled three stories to hit the ground with a splat. A group of men were outside, reading over the menu.

  Panic swept through her. For a minute, she contemplated locking up and turning off all the lights.

  Out of the shadows came Max, his shoulders as wide as a ship’s bow. He strode to the front and spoke to the men.

  “Are you interested in something on the menu?” she heard him say to the newcomers, but she couldn’t make out the response.

  “We’re closed.” Max’s raised voice reached her loud and clear.

  “There are other people in there eating. I see them through the window,” the man outside said.

  Max turned his attention to her, and she gave him a nod. Whether they were here for pasta or to buy a Russian woman, Ruby’s Place had it on offer.

  Seeing her agreement to let them in, Max stepped aside. The first man seemed too wide to fit through the opening. He shouldered his way through. The guy behind him had to duck under. Ruby sucked in a sharp breath as one by one, eight men filled the room.

  She nearly dropped the bottle she was holding but managed to set it atop the bar to wring her hands together. What they said to Max convinced the man that they were truly here for a meal.