Page 11 of Nikolai

"What kind of shit do they dabble in?" Quinn, who has been quiet this entire time, speaks.

"Anything that will bring them money. Drugs, sex, human trafficking," I tell Quinn, and his face hardens.

"Fuckin' despise people who kidnap and use human life like currency." Quinn downs his beer. "All of us here are criminals in our own rights, and have done things in our lives that are better left unsaid, but human trafficking is just about as low as you can get in my book. Selling women and kids." Quinn shakes his head. As long as I've known Quinn, this is the first time I've seen him genuinely passionate about a subject. "Fuckers like that are bottom feeders of crime, and I'd happily rid the world of them if given the opportunity." All the men at this table, including myself, nod in agreement.

My eyes feel heavy, and my head is starting to throb. Leaving what's left of my drink untouched, I push myself from the table and stand. "That long flight has kicked my ass. I think I'll crash here for the night." I fight off a yawn.

"I think the rest of us are ready to call it a night as well. We'll touch base with you tomorrow," Jake announces. "If anyone needs anything, you know where to find me. I'm too fucking exhausted to drive home tonight."

* * *

The following morning,I wake before the others in the clubhouse, dress, and head for the office, a small single-story building that sits on the property where we house all our supplies and machinery for the jobs we do. Punching in a security code, the gate slides open, and I pull my truck into my usual spot.

Once inside, I turn on the lights. First things first—I need coffee. Walking into the small breakroom, I set up the coffee maker and wait for the machine to fill my mug. This is how most of my work days start. In roughly two hours, my men will start arriving. Jake has been juggling Kings Construction and the shop while I've been out of town. Plus, Reid is recovering from his ordeal and is unable to take care of the company's emails and potential job bids over the past couple of weeks. With my coffee in hand, I head for my office and get to work.

The next couple of hours pass by quickly as I bury myself in emails, invoices, bank statements, and payroll disbursements. I hear the unmistakable sound of Gary's old pickup truck pulling in outside, and chuckle to myself when the damn thing backfires before he cuts the engine. A few seconds later, he's rapping his knuckles against my open office door, and I raise my head.

"Hey, bossman. When did you get back in town?" he asks, shoving what's left of his breakfast sandwich in his mouth. Gary is one of our job foremen and a damn good one.

"Last night." I lean back in my chair, stretching the kinks from my back.

"Shit. And you're here before the butt crack of dawn?" he shakes his head, and I chuckle at his choice of an American phrase—butt crack of dawn.

"No rest for the wicked, my friend," I tell him.

"I hope you at least took some leisure time while you were gone," he adds. Gary is about as fatherly as a guy can get. He's like that with most of the men that work here. That's another reliable quality of his, giving a shit about his men. In return, they have tremendous respect for the man, and so do I. Gary turns his head when he hears another vehicle pulling into the parking lot, alerting us to the fact the other guys are showing up for the day. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I'm going to head out and get this safety meeting over with, and get these men where they need to be."

Before he leaves, I grab the pile of checks sitting on the corner of my desk. "Give these out for me."

Gary grabs them from my outstretched hand. "Will do. It's a shame that Miss Martinez left us. I'm going to miss her coffee and those coconut pastry things she would bring in from time to time."

"What's wrong with my coffee?" I raise a brow. Gary hangs his head, and his shoulders shake with the laughter he's holding in. Before he has time to answer, I hear someone coming in through the front door. Gary pokes his head into the hallway.

"Hey there, young man, how can I help you," Gary says as he steps out of my office altogether, and at the same time my phone pings, vibrating against my desktop. Turning it over, I swipe the screen, reading a text from Gabriel.

Sam and Leah should be there soon.

I place my phone down. Looking up, I find Gary standing in my doorway. He points his thumb over his shoulder.

"A guy named Sam is out here, with a young woman."

That must be Leah. They showed up early. I like that. It shows eagerness. "Send them in."

Gary nods. "I'll check in with you later, boss," then disappears.

Seconds later, Sam appears at my door. "Mr. Volkov."

"Sam?" I stand.

"Yes, sir." He extends in hand, and gives me a firm short shake.

"I was told you were to arrive with someone else." At my words, Sam looks to his left and holds his hand out. I watch as a young woman appears stepping to his side.

"Yes, sir. This is Leah." Sam introduces his friends and my eyes stay glued to her face for a second before taking in the rest of her appearance. Her oversized clothing does nothing to hide the full curves beneath them.

"I'm assuming Leah can speak for herself." I clear my throat and wait for her to slowly lift her gaze to mine. Amber-colored eyes, framed by dark lashes and a pair of glasses nervously, look into mine, and it feels as if someone sucks the oxygen out of the room.

What the fuck?

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