Page 34 of Savage Heart

Again, Leonid grunted. “I want that money back, Danil.”

Danil ground his back teeth. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to put a bullet in the old bear’s head, then he wouldn’t have to play fetch like a good fucking dog.

Not much longer.

“Da,” he replied, thankful his voice didn’t betray the simmering rage flowing through his body. “If we cannot find the doctor, we will…work out an agreement with the woman. She’ll be most agreeable to our terms. She continues our money washing through the clinic, or we make business…difficult for her.” He’d make his own separate deal, too, one where she let him play surgeon with her naked body.

“Da, good. Will she be a problem?” Leonid asked, and that fucking rankled. Did the old man think Danil would allow some woman to best him? To fight him and win?

Growling under his breath, he answered, “She will do what we want, or she dies. Simple.” And there was also the little girl to consider as well. The doctor hid the child while he and his man were there delivering their message, and he’d allowed it. But hehad no problem using the child to get the good doctor nice and agreeable. He wasn’t a complete monster; he wouldn’t fuck the child, but young skin parted under a blade just as beautifully as any other.

“You have until the end of the month, Danil. Don’t fuck this up.”

There was a click as Leonid hung up, leaving Danil standing there before his own men, holding his cell like a fucking prick.

“Boss?” Oleg called, coming through the front door holding a 6 x 11 envelope. “You’re going to want to see this.” He held out the envelope and Danil took it.

“No time,” Danil barked. “Ivan, get rid of everything.”

Ivan groaned but hurried from the room to his car where he stashed his gear. No doubt, later that night, there’d be a news report about a fire that killed poor Ilsa Dahl. An unfortunate accident involving her gas stove and her penchant for smoking one last cigarette before bed.

Casting his gaze over the other four men in the room, he commanded, “The rest of you, meet me at Brillianty. We have shit to do.”

With the orders given, Danil stalked from the tiny bungalow in Henderson and got into his black Bentley SUV. It took forty minutes to get to his office in the rear of Brillianty, a popular Russian fusion restaurant—a front for his less than legal ventures in Vegas. The name was a play on the English adjective, and the Russian word for diamonds—clever, if he did say so himself.

Finally at this desk, he dropped the envelope Oleg had given him on to the surface and opened it.

Pictures—5 x 8 glossies of two large men in leather vests.

What the fuck was this?

Leaning forward, he sifted through the pictures. There were seven of them, all showing the same two men coming and goingfrom Summerlin hospital, where he knew the good Dr. Simpson had been transported after his “visit” with her.

He tossed the pictures and watched them slide across the surface of the desk, and cursed.

He knew those vests, thosekuttes, because he recognized the brand of the wolf head and the battle axes.

The motherfucking Savage Raiders—a gang of biker fucks who thought that because they’d been around longer, they were the power in the underground. They owned legit businesses, made millions a year, and held sway over law enforcement, but they were amateurs compared to the Bratva. They were boys in leather trying to play a man’s game, they were like nothing. No more than a lump on the ass of the brotherhood.

And he knew on sight who those two men were.

What the fuck were the president and VP of a motorcycle gang doing at the hospital where Elizabeth Simpson was recovering?

This could mean nothing.They could be visiting one of their men, no doubt one of the fucks got himself shot. But Danil couldn’t rid himself of the apprehension.

Doubt was never good when dealing with business.

And the good doctor was business—business he needed well in hand in order to move forward with his plans.

Knowing Oleg was stuffing his face with pierogi in the restaurant dining room, he bellowed, “Oleg! In here now, you fat fuck!”

Seconds later, his mouth moving rapidly as he chewed—the disgusting fuck—Oleg appeared in the doorway.

“Boss,” he mumbled, his mouth still working to finish his food.

Sneering in disgust, Danil pointed at the photos and snapped, “What’s the meaning of these? The pictures mean nothing unless they have something to do with Dr. Simpson.”

Oleg wiped his butter-covered face with a handkerchief, then shoved the soiled linen in his pocket before answering, “They are with the doctor. A nurse on her floor owes us some money—she plays too deep at The Den. I approached her, reminded her of her debt, and she offered to keep watch and report.”

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