Page 84 of Savage Warrior

“But, madame—”

“Shut it. And you, stop snivelling. Get up and go fix your face. The customers will begin arriving in half an hour…”

We exchange glances. Clearly, this place will soon get crowded. We need to get a move on. I draw my gun, and the others do the same. Together, we step into the room.

Zora has her back to us, but the group of women with her are facing the door. With the exception of Zora herself, they are all decked out in barely anything, tiny bra-tops, the miniest of miniskirts, fishnets and garters, a veritable parody of old-fashioned music hall finery. They all see us at the same time. The room falls silent.

“What the—?” Zora whirls. “Who are you? How did you get in here? This is a private club.”

“Not anymore,” I say. “This is a bonfire. Or it soon will be. I suggest you ladies leave now.”

We all stand aside to clear the doorway.

The girls shuffle in fearful confusion, looking to one another, then to their ‘mistress’ as they try to make sense of what’s happening.

“You need to get out,” I repeat. “Are there any more of you in the building?”

A red-haired woman who looks to be slightly older than the rest steps forward. “Sir? What is this?”

“This is your last warning, miss.” I gesture to the rest. “You need to take yourself and your… colleagues outside now because we intend to torch this place.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Zora advances, her pinched features twisted in rage. “I have security, I’ll call the police.”

“I don’t think so.” I level my Glock, aiming at a spot right between her eyes. “The rest of you, go. We need a little word with Zora.”

At last, the reality of the situation registers. The women unroot themselves from the spot and rush for then door. The redhead takes charge and ushers the rest past us and out into the bar.

“I’ll make sure they all go outside,” Aaron offers, following the last one out.

Tony goes to help him while Ethan and I turn our attention to the tall, bony Madame of this establishment.

“Where are the girls?” I ask her.

She glares at me. “You just saw them. You ordered them to leave. How dare you come in here and—?”

“Not those girls. The ones you sell.”

She blanches and takes a step back. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Really? Let me clarify. I’m interested in the girls you abduct on behalf of the Sokolovs. The ones you send to the market in Minsk. The ones you export to other countries. Those girls.”

She sticks to her facade of innocence. “You are speaking in riddles. There are no girls here. You are deluded, a madman.”

“Tell me about the Sokolovs. They own this… establishment, do they not?”

“This is my club. I own it.”

“Liar. Okay, tell me about the Vulture. Fedor Morozov.”

She pales even more, her crimson-painted lips now standing out in sharp contrast to her ashen features. “How do you know that name?”

“Your greasy friend out there mentioned him while we were chatting.”

She shoots a glance at the door, as though she expects Weasel to charge in at any moment and save the day.

“Don’t be hoping for reinforcements any time soon. He’s dead.”

She lets out a howl of rage and darts for the door, only to topple headfirst over my foot.

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