Page 95 of Bad Medicine
Chapter forty-three
Rocco
Myknucklessmashedintohis face, again and again, blood bursting from his nose and spraying up my forearm in a crimson wave.
“Where the fuck is Gregor Belikov?” I snarled, watching as the guy’s eyes rolled wildly in his skull. If Mia was here, she’d probably give me a lecture about concussion symptoms or some shit, but I just hoped I’d knocked some information loose from his thick skull.
Grabbing him by the shirt, I hauled him up off the ground and pulled my fist back for another punch when the guy started sobbing, whining and crying in Russian, spraying me with a cloud of blood and spit and snot.
“Oh, fuck off,” I said, looking at him in disgust. “This was a brand-new shirt, you fuck.”
The guy said nothing, just moaned, as this time, his eyes rolled all the way back into his head before he passed out. I released my grip on his shirt, letting him drop back onto the floor with a wet thud.
“Are there any left?” I asked, reaching for the bar towel Masi held out for me and using it to start cleaning up the mess I’d made.
The shirt was toast, but I couldn’t worry about that now.
We were in the basement atDeuces Wild,Trick and Benny standing on the far side of the room, looking as dejected as I felt.
“No, Rock,” Trick finally admitted. “They’re all in the fuckin’ wind.”
He was right, but that didn’t mean I was happy about it.
It had been two days since I’d taken Mia and Jasper to The Shed. Two days since Anton had been gunned down in the parking lot of his own brothel, and the Russian faction in this city was in chaos. With Ivan dead and Gregor gone, who the fuck knew where, it was like every middling puke who’d ever dreamed of power was vying for the throne.
There had been three more public shootings, including one drive-by right on Las Vegas Boulevard. The entire Las Vegas Bratva was on the brink of collapse, making national headlines from coast to coast, and still, no one could locate Gregor fuckin’ Belikov.
Never mind the fact that the stupid asshole was still in the running for the open city council spot, so his ugly mug was on every bus and taxi stand through out the whole fuckin’ city. Everywhere I turned I saw Gregor, his magazine cover smile taunting me, reminding me that I couldn’t catch him.
That I was failing when it mattered most.
Sighing, I looked down at the piece of shit on the floor at my feet, some low ranking Six we’d managed to grab, but the guy didn’t know a fuckin’ thing. Flexing my fingers, I considered punching him again, just for good measure, but I had already wasted enough energy on him.
On all of them.
All I wanted was Gregor. I wanted to be the one to look into his eyes as I ended his life and make sure he knew I was going to do everything in my power to ensure Mia completely forgot he’d even existed.
But before I could do that, I had to find the Russian prick.
Tossing the towel onto the floor, I made my way over to the bar and grabbed the bottle of Maker’s Mark, pouring myself two fingers and slamming them back in one go. The burning sensation it left in my chest did little to chase away all the feelings that were rolling around in there. All the anger and annoyance, sure, but there was a healthy does of fear to go along with them.
Because beneath all my bravado, beneath the outward show of confidence and arrogance I put on for everyone, I was actually fuckin’ terrified that I wouldn’t get to him in time.
That he’d take them from me.
That he’d hurt them the way he’d hurt so many others, and that was unacceptable.
I reached for the bottle again, knowing that getting good and drunk wasn’t going to solve any of my problems, but I was sure as fuck considering it. I had just poured the second glass when my phone rang, Lexi’s name flashing across the display, and I answered immediately.
“Tell me you have somethin’, Lexi.”
“You know, one of these days, someone should teach you some manners, Rocco,” she complained, her tone light. That alone gave me hope that she was about to throw me a bone. Mia had been patient, but I knew I couldn’t keep them in The Shed forever. Even Lucky, the person least likely to complain about shit, was starting to bitch. I needed to do something. Fast.
“Give me good news and I’ll be polite as fuck, Lex.”
She snorted her disbelief.
“Yeah, right. I’ll believethatwhen I see it,” she replied, and I ground my teeth together impatiently.
