Page 118 of Scarred Redemption

“They know what to do from where they’re located,” I told him. “If we’re advised of any deceit, the Blade will be the first to pay the price.”

He shifted in his seat as I found a parking space a distance from the house. The scene was reminiscent of how we’d handled the biker club months before, the irony not lost on me. I’d insisted on coming out of the darkness, putting the brutal days of warring with other syndicates in the past.

I’d truly believed that the Bratva could be brought into the future, allowing for more typical capitalistic rewards for loyalty and hard work. But as I’d been reminded by several tragedies, no one could successfully alter the course of a criminal environment. At least not for long.

As we headed toward the house, I continually scanned the perimeter. A security light popped on as I approached the door. Within two seconds, it was flung open and the barrel of a shotgun was all I could see given the dark interior.

“Mr. Aristov.” The man’s voice was deep, filled with enough angst and irritation to lead me to believe he was fed up with being in hiding.

I had my fingers wrapped around my weapon, keeping it low in front of me. My two soldiers pushed past him and into the house.

“I hope you don’t mind, but trust is off the table at this point,” I told him.

He took a minute eyeing Sergei before lowering his weapon. “A man can’t be too careful.” He backed inside, turning on a light and waiting as the house was thoroughly checked.

As soon as they reappeared, Calen nodded, giving the all clear.

One of my soldiers would remain up front, the other heading to the back.

I walked inside with Sergei following.

A bottle of whiskey was placed on a coffee table, a glass half filled with another sitting empty.

“Have a seat, Mr. Aristov.” He thumped down on one couch, immediately topping off his drink and pouring the second glass.

I did a quick scan of the location before easing onto the second couch. “You mentioned you had information for me.”

“What’s it worth to you?” As soon as he grabbed his glass, I noticed his hand was shaking. His fingers were obscured by the glass, but my instinct told me his hold was white knuckled. Yes, he was in his sixties, but I doubted his reaction was from being terrified. He was also different than described. I’d researched him enough to know he’d been through some horrific skirmishes, including with one of the more dangerous Mexican Cartels, a bloody battle in which he’d lost his only son.

At least he understood heartache.

“That depends on the information you provide.”

He lifted his glass as if waiting for me to do the same. I had no interest in drinking with the man. At least not at this point. “Have you ever heard of incentive?”

“I’m not interested in playing games, Zane. Now, either you tell me what you know and in turn, I’ll offer protection, or I’m walking out that door and in doing so, you’ll be left to the jackals. It’s your choice.”

Zane was known for being violent and unforgiving. Today, he seemed as if the wind had been sucked from his sail. “You’re a father.”

“Yes, I am.” My patience wouldn’t last long.

“Then you understand how difficult our life is for them.”

“Tell me about this man pretending to be the Butcher.” I glanced at Sergei who was already shaking his head as if to say, ‘I told you so.’

He closed his eyes and enjoyed a full swallow. At this point, his slice of heaven was alcohol. How very sad. “Whatever you’ve heard about the man from ten years ago is nothing in comparison to the stories I could tell you about the man who has claimed the title.”

“How so?” I sat back, placing the weapon on the cushion beside me and throwing my arms over the back of the couch.

“He doesn’t give a shit who he kills. Women. Children. He has no moral compass.”

For a man who’d earned his reputation by carving up his victims with a hunting knife, his words were rich. “How do you know him?”

“He came to one of our meetings. Well, one of his representatives.”

“The meeting of your club or the Dixie mafia?”

“The very clubhouse that you torched, a full meeting of the Dixie mafia. The man had a simple request. Our muscle was needed.”