Page 17 of Creatures in the Night

Chapter 11

Noah~

When Declan had mentioned that Shea had wanted to take her parents to dinner, I had immediately nixed the idea. After what she’d overheard, I’d been convinced that dinner had been a ruse, so that she could form a plan to leave me. Granted, one could hardly blame her, but what Shea didn’t know was that I’d meant it when I’d said until death do us part. She’d have to step over my dead corpse before I ever allowed her to leave me.

However, just as Declan had been championing her, he’d gotten a call from Tearney, and the phone call had been enough to send us all from the house, everyone doing what they did best. Tearney had called to tell Declan that they’d found two of Klive’s men, and with the bloodbath that we’d left in the woods, questioning Klive’s men took precedence over my wife plotting to leave me. Especially, considering that there wasn’t anywhere that I wouldn’t be able to find her.

So, while my wife was dining with her parents, trying to figure a way out of our marriage, I was spending our wedding day at the manor with Declan, Cathal, Lochlan, Tearney, and Desmond. The last time that we’d had someone down in the basement here, it’d been Keavy, and what a fucking nightmare that had been. Still, it was hard not to admire a woman that was her own army and wasn’t afraid of dying. Honestly, if there was ever a person on the planet that didn’t give a shit about meeting their maker, it was Keavy O’Brien. Granted, now that she was pregnant, she probably felt differently, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it.

“We…we don’t know,” Trevor Kozlov wheezed through his broken ribs. “We don’t know…know why Klive chose Port Townsend.”

“?n govorit pravdu,” his partner in crime added. “He’s telling the truth.”

I glanced over at Declan, and I knew that we were both thinking the same thing. Though it could be pure coincidence, these two being Russian was significant. While Trevor spoke perfect English with no hint of an accent, his last name was as Russian as you could get. As for Matvey Bortnik, his accent was thick enough to recognize that Russian was his first language, not English.

Now, while we hadn’t exactly introduced ourselves to the others when we had hunted them down in the woods, most of them had spoken clear English, only two of them having accents, though we hadn’t taken the time to figure out which kind with all the gunfire around us. However, if we were still working on the theory that Klive was here because of a personal connection to Port Townsend, then it had to be something with the Kotovs. The guy that the Sartoris had killed had been Russian, and so were these two. However, Simpson wasn’t a Russian last name, though it could be an alias as with most criminals. We needed to reach out to the Sartoris to see if Morocco’s found anything on these motherfuckers.

“But you knew that this area was already occupied, right?” Cathal asked as he twirled a scalpel in his fingers.

“Yes,” Trevor admitted. “We knew.”

“Then why follow him here?” Desmond asked. “That makes no sense, lad.”

“Monetnyye valyuty,” Matvey choked out before spitting out some blood.

“Money,” Trevor repeated. “He promised us a huge payday.”

“From who?” Desmond asked.

When he didn’t answer quick enough, Cathal reached for his ear, then sliced it clean off. He started howling, and torture could be so counter-productive sometimes. There was a delicate art to it, and though Cathal was good at what he did, he could also get over-enthusiastic when he wasn’t in a good mood. Luckily for us, he wasn’t in a bad mood often.

“He never said,” Matvey quickly rushed out, eyeing the river of blood flowing down Trevor’s neck.

Finally, Declan decided to speak. “Then tell us what he did say.”

“?n ne skazal nam der’mo,” Matvey bit out, clearly panicking.

“English, my friend,” Tearney said. “We need it in English.”

“He didn’t tell us shit,” he repeated for us. “If he…if he told anyone, he told Louie.”

“Ere we suppose ta know who in da feck Louie is?” Declan snapped.

“He’s Klive’s best man,” Trevor sobbed, spit dripping from his lips.

“What is he?” I asked, finally adding my two cents.

“He’s Klive’s best man,” Matvey echoed. “It’s the truth.”

I almost slapped him upside his head. “Is Louie Russian, Hispanic, French…?”

“He’s White,” Matvey answered.

“What kind of White, lad?” Desmond asked. “Is he Irish, German, Nordic…what?”

“I don’t know,” he whimpered. “He’s just White.”

“What’s his last name?” I asked, wondering if we were going to be here all fucking night. Not for nothing, but I had my bride waiting at home for me by now.

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