Page 136 of Bratva Butcher

“Yeah, what? Look, I’m kinda busy. Can I call you back? Ha! Missed me, idiot! You need to work on your aim!”

“Who are you talking to? Tell me where you are! Right now.” I plucked a bulletproof vest from the wall and put it on quickly, then grabbed several holsters, strapping them to my chest, waist, thighs and ankles. I loaded each of them with guns and knives before reaching for an assault rifle last.

“I’m fine, Butcher. And I don’t need help. I’ll call you later.”

“Autumn, don’t you dare hang up—”

Beep, beep, beep.

“Blyad! Fuck!” I slammed my fist into the wall out of frustration. “Think, Dimitri, think.”

Nikolai!

I quickly dialled my son, putting the call on loudspeaker so I could finish preparing.

“Yes, Father?” he answered.

“I need a trace on a phone. Right now.”

“What?”

“A. Trace,” I growled, my patience all but gone.

He sighed dramatically. “What’s the number?”

I told him. “Where is it?”

“I’m going to need a few minutes.”

“You have one.” I finished packing my gear, making sure to stuff extra magazines for the assault rifle into my suit jacket before bolting out of my office, heading for the garage.

Lukyan was making his way up from the warehouse when he spotted me. “Father, is everything okay?”

“Can’t talk,” I grunted, running past. “Nikolai! Give me a location.”

“I’m working on it. I’m working on it.”

I burst into the garage, flicking on a light. Dozens of cars laid idle, ranging from large SUVs to sleek, modern Lamborghinis and Porsches.

None of those were what I was after.

Lukyan came in a moment later, watching me with a frown on his face as I went to the corner of the room and moved a shelf out of the way, revealing a small, green button.

When I pressed it, a section of the floor in the middle of the room opened, and three Ducati motorcycles rose up from the ground.

Lukyan’s mouth dropped open. “We havemotorbikes?!” he screeched in shock.

“Youdon’t.Ido.” I ran forward, snatching up a helmet and quickly mounting one.

“Okay, got it,” Nikolai said over the phone. “The phone is on the corner of Charleston Boulevard and Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas.”

“Charleston and Fremont?” Lukyan murmured thoughtfully. “Isn’t that the location of one of the hideouts for the DK4 Gang?”

Yes. It is. Which meant whoever Autumn’s target was was a member of that gang.

Fucking hell.

“What’s going on? Do you need us?” Nikolai asked.

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