Page 1 of Tangled Vows

Chapter One

Leonid

Dusty beams of sunlight filtered through the grimy windows near the ceiling in the warehouse. My men and I tread carefully through the vast space, guns drawn, eyes scanning for any movement.

The tip we received was clear.

The Armenians have been storing smuggled goods here before transporting them to be sold on the black market. Arms, drugs, trafficked items. All these cut into the Bratva’s business. We want the entire pie for ourselves. There’s no room for competition.

I signal to my co-captain, Ivan, with two quick hand gestures. He nods and takes his own team to sweep left while my team heads right. The muted thud of our boots on the concrete floor echoes against the metal shelves. There are tall stacks of unmarked crates and boxes on either side.

My instincts are on high alert. I keep my eyes peeled for anything unusual. Something feels off about this place. It’s quiet; too quiet. I can’t hear any sounds coming from outside. No traffic noises. No honking. No tires screeching. It seems someone went to a lot of trouble to soundproof it.

We continue clearing each row, finding nothing but what looks like stolen merchandise.

Electronics? Check. Cell phones, tablets and even a few laptops line quite a few of those rows. All of them are in their boxes, brand-new.

Designer clothes? Check. Dresses, women’s shoes, men’s shirts are in separate boxes, their labels bringing smiles to my men’s faces. On one of those boxes, someone has written: Heart Medicine. Its contents? Thongs and garters. Yeah, that was heart medicine alright. The ideal medicine to give some old dude a heart attack.

Firearms? Check. Guns and magazines are abundant. I find nine-mil and thirty-eight-mil handguns in a number of boxes, labeled “survival kits.” I guess whoever wrote that didn’t have such a great sense of humor.

Regardless of that, one thing is certain. This warehouse is a trafficking jackpot. The ones who run it must be making hundreds of thousands every week.

As we approach the rear of the building, I spot a locked metal door tucked away in a back corner. The lone door stands out from the rest of the open shelving units. I signal to my tech security expert, Malachi, to inspect the door.

He holsters his gun and pulls out a set of lock picks, then kneels in front of the heavy deadbolt. I like this guy’s patience, but it’s not his most striking skill. That would have to be his precision. He knows exactly where to place his tools to get the result he wants. And that conclusion is confirmed just thirty seconds later. The sound of the lock clicking open brings an air of satisfaction to me.

I grab the handle of the door, nodding at my men to ready their weapons. In one swift movement I yank open the door, aiming my gun into the dark room.

“Please!” a woman’s panicked voice cries. “Don’t shoot!”

I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting within the small room. My gaze sweeps the emptiness up ahead, the shapes of half a dozen young women huddled together coming into focus. I swallow hard, watching them shift back, holding each other like little kids clutching their mom’s hand.

I lower my gun and raise my hand in the air. The last thing I want to do is put more fear in them. “It’s alright. We’re here to help you.”

With my men watching the doorways, I take some time to check out the women. All seem to be in their late teens or early 20s. For some reason, they all have on fancy designer clothes. To make things even weirder, those clothes are torn and dirty. They all have long hair, though messy and dull. Bruises mar their arms and one of them has a split lip. The bastards who took them haven’t been gentle. Far from it. Looks like they dragged the women through the dirt.

I lock my gaze on the dark-haired woman who spoke. She’s standing between two blondes with her arms around their shoulders. “Your name, girl,” I demand, causing her to step back in surprise.

“Clare,” she replies, after a short pause. “I’m Clare Jensen.”

Her green eyes shine in the room’s dim light. She has delicate features with porcelain skin. She’s like a living doll. Yet, there’s something fierce that hints at an inner strength.

I give Clare a reassuring look before addressing the group. “You’re safe now. We’re going to get you out of here.”

The women sigh in relief. Clare’s shoulders sag just the slightest bit as she lets out a breath. She gives me a faint smile. Despite her obvious ordeal, I have to admit she’s one gorgeous lady. She’s looked better, sure, but even after being abducted by a bunch of good-for-nothing pricks, Clare could turn heads.

“Let’s move!” I order my men.

Ivan appears and helps guide the women out into the warehouse. His brows furrow together as he takes in their condition, his jaw tightening. I can understand his confusion. Hell, I feel the same way myself. We came looking for contraband. We found it, but we also came across a group of terrified trafficked victims.

In minutes, we have them outside, loading them into SUVs while some of my men guard the place. Just as the last woman is about to step into the vehicle, though, I realize this isn’t going to be a picnic. Shouting erupts from the front of the warehouse, followed by a burst of automatic gunfire. My senses go into overdrive in a split second.

The women scream in panic. My men shut the car doors and step around them to shield them with their bodies.

“Stay down! Don’t move!” I yell. Drawing my weapon, I sprint towards the front, Ivan following right behind me. We skid around a corner and take cover behind a shelving unit. Peering through a narrow gap, I spot five heavily armed and tattooed Armenian thugs. They stand close to one another, firing at my men. Aleksei and Petrov return fire while Malachi and the others have taken cover. They are pinned down about thirty yards away. There’s no way for them to break out without exposing themselves to a fucking hail of bullets.

“Ivan, circle around the right with Dmitri and Yuri,” I order. “I’ll flank left with Aleksei. On my signal, hit them from the side.”

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