Page 5 of The Bratva Sinner

“I don’t know.”

I sigh and glance at her. “Are youtryingto annoy me?”

“Nope. Comes naturally.”

Three of those assholes are surrounding the young woman. Bekir and his two jackals. I know them by reputation. They run girls through Miami like cattle, burning them out in weeks and then moving on to fresh meat who rarely volunteers. Their operations are sloppy and brutal, and they leave bodies in their wake.

They don't belong in my club. They’re usually not stupid enough to bring their bullshit in here. Why are they here now? And with her? Are they setting me up? It’s clear the little thing isn’t twenty-one. I’m not even sure she’s eighteen.

The girl stumbles again, and one of them catches her by the arm, yanking her upright. She flinches. It's a small movement, instinctive, the kind that tells me everything I need to know.

"Get security. Now."

“Shit. The poor thing.”

Cinder pulls her radio and speaks rapidly into it. She handles things in her unique way. People think she’s harsh. Brutal. Cold. I know her heart. She’s the kindest, most loving, sensitive woman I’ve met; she just hides it very,verywell. Not from me.I’ve seen her at her darkest and lowest. I know her just like she knows me.

I watch as Bekir leans in close to the girl, his mouth near her ear. She tries to pull away, but her legs won't cooperate. She's barely standing. How much did they give her?

My hands tighten on the railing.

The girl's head lolls to the side. I catch a glimpse of her face under the harsh club lights. Her blonde hair has been styled in a way that looks unnatural on her. Even under all the makeup, she’s got an innocence about her.

She doesn't belong here.

And from the way Bekir is gripping her arm, she didn't choose to be here.

"Boss." Mike—short for Michelangelo—appears at my elbow. Sampson, because the dude could lift a building if needed, is right behind him. Both are built like brick walls and twice as intimidating. They are two of my regular security guards. They travel with me and don’t work club security. I know Cinder’s dealing with them. She’ll also deal with the manager and get better security. If someone is going to let the Albanians in, they won’t work for me.

"The Albanians. Get them out. Quietly." I pause, watching as the girl tries to pull away again.

Mike shifts his weight. "Bekir won’t like that."

"I don't give a fuck what Bekir likes." I finish my vodka and set the glass down. "No trafficking. Not here. Not ever."

They move without another word, disappearing down the stairs toward the main floor.

I watch as they approach. Bekir sees them coming, and his expression shifts from predatory satisfaction to annoyance. There's a brief exchange. I can't hear it, but I can read the body language. Bekir shakes his head. Sampson steps closer, and Bekir's hand suddenly moves away from the girl's arm.

Smart man.

The girl sways without his support, and Mike catches her before she hits the floor. She looks up at him with glassy, unfocused eyes, and even from here, I see the fear spike through the drugs.

I head down the stairs to handle the situation.

Bekir glares at me, with his two men flanking him like trained dogs. I look at the young woman, and my suspicions are confirmed.

"That's my property, Sokolov,” he growls.

"Nothing in my club is your property. You know the rules."

"She came willingly."

"She can barely stand."

"So? Half the women here can barely stand by midnight." He steps closer, and I can smell cigarettes and cheap cologne. "You're making a mistake."

"No, Bekir. You made the mistake when you brought trafficked meat into my establishment." I drop my smile. "You and your men are banned. If I see you here again, I won’t ask you to leave, but you will be gone.”