Crooks & Kings: A Wild Bunch Novel Read online

  Now, after nearly six months, he was ready to get back into the game. It had been far too long.

  “Problem?” he asked once the Russian was a few feet away.

  Feliks’ gaze flickered to Invictus first before returning to Christophe, and whatever he saw in them, he wasn’t impressed. “I’m looking for a Russian girl who lived there.” This was said with a broad gesture of his hand toward the building. “Have you seen her?”

  His accent was thicker than Mariya’s like he’d just stepped off the plane from Moscow.

  “About yea high?” Christophe asked, holding his hand out beside him to indicate Mariya’s height. “Brown hair? Brown eyes?”

  “Da—Yes. Where is she?”

  “Don’t know her,” Christophe said with a shrug, turning to the door, but before he could take a step, one of his men—this one balding with heavy bags beneath bloodshot eyes—shifted his suit jacket, showing the gun he had precariously placed at his waist.

  Back at the Lotus Society, they all had rules to follow—a code of conduct for when they weren’t on an official job.

  The first rule was rather simple.

  Don’t engage unless threatened.

  The objective was always to remain anonymous, ensuring they didn’t draw unwanted attention to themselves. When you technically didn’t exist, it was important to stay that way.

  And it would help no one if they fought everyone just because they were shit human beings.

  Even though their tenure with the organization had only lasted a couple of years, they still followed many of the rules set out for them. After all, they had been taught in the worst of ways to remember to abide by them.

  “Is that a threat?” Christophe asked, facing Feliks once more. “Because I feel threatened.”

  Feliks’ eyes narrowed. “Do you know who I am?”

  Christophe boldly looked him over, from his greasy black hair down to the polished tops of his shoes. “A Russian with a superiority complex?”

  “She has told you of me then, yes?” Feliks guessed, his smile returning, then softer, he added, “Pochemu vy ukhazhivat’ za smert’ za shlyukhu?—Why do you court death for a whore?”

  When Christophe just stared at him as though he didn’t understand, the man laughed, but it cut off when he spoke. “Call her a whore again, and I’ll show you how creative I can get with a butter knife.”

  Feliks didn’t look amused that he could speak the language. “If you think to protect her from me, there is no need. If you know who I am, you know I am her husband.”

  “Is that supposed to matter to me? Husbands die every day.”

  “Oh, it will.”

  He could see it in the man’s eyes now, the suspicion of something between Christophe and the wife he was trying to find.

  But he didn’t give a shit.

  “Care to enlighten me?”

  The question was barely out of Christophe’s mouth before one of Feliks’ men launched himself at Invictus, intending to take him to the ground, but he quickly realized that wasn’t a good idea.

  Christophe didn’t have to look to know what Invictus did next—he could hear just from the sounds the man made.

  One punch to the left kidney.

  Another to the man’s liver.

  And finally, one final punch to the man’s jaw that sent him face down on the ground, unconscious.

  “Iarta-ma,” Invictus said, the words barely above a whisper, only meant for the man he’d put on the ground.

  Forgive me, he’d said.

  They all had their rituals, a way for them to acknowledge the acts they committed.

  This was Invictus’.

  “He really doesn’t like to be touched,” Christophe said with a nod of his head in Invictus’ direction. “I don’t mind as much, as long as I get to touch back.” He frowned. “That didn’t come out right.”

  “Enough from you.”

  Feliks reached for his own weapon, a rather nice .45 and pointed it squarely at Christophe’s chest. That was always the error with men like him, though.

  They didn’t calculate the odds.

  A few more inches between them and the move Christophe made would have been impossible, but with his closeness, it was a matter of seconds before he pushed the barrel to the side and had the man’s gun in his hand before he could even blink.

  Surprise flared to life, but it was quickly masked as Christophe didn’t aim at his forehead. Instead, he aimed a little lower.

  “These are your men, no?” Christophe asked, looking from Feliks to the others surrounding them, or rather the guns that were now trained on him and Invictus. But their hands were too shaky, their nerves getting the best of them—it was doubtful they’d ever faced men like them. “If they are, then they’ll listen when you tell them to drop their fucking weapons before I get annoyed. Otherwise …” He shrugged, even as he pressed his own gun more firmly against the man’s pants. “You’ll learn how quickly you can bleed out when I shoot your dick off.”

  Feliks was no longer smiling, and if it were possible to kill him with his gaze alone, he’d have already been dead. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with.”

  “If you didn’t notice, I don’t care.”

  Feliks stared him down, unblinking, until he finally gave a reluctant nod, and the silent order was followed almost immediately. “I will kill you, understand me.”

  “I can give you the name of every man who’s tried and failed. What’s another to add to that list?”

  Muscles jumped in his forehead. “In case you haven’t noticed, suka, you’re outnumbered here.”

  “Then you’d better hope they’re a better shot because they’ll all be dead before they can wrap their finger around the trigger.”

  He looked dangerously close to harming him. “Who are you?”

  “Fang.”

  “Fang?”

  Christophe smiled. “Want to find out why?”

  Feliks had a ready reply, his mouth snapping open to offer it, but the sound of a window slowly sliding down cut him short.

  “Enough, Feliks.”

  If it were possible, the men stood a little straighter as the older man in his late seventies, if Christophe had to guess, peered out from the car, the hose of an oxygen tank looped around his ears.

  He might have looked frail, but it was clear by the other men’s reactions that he was the man in charge.

  The Pakhan—Alexey.

  Silver hair was neatly combed back from his face, the tuft of hair at the center of his chest where the top three buttons of his silk shirt were left unbuttoned exposed. In faded gray ink beneath that hair was a cross.

  Looking at him, he could definitely see where Mariya got her eyes.

  “We gave our word no blood would be spilled this day,” he said, his gaze boring into Christophe. “No matter the offender. If my granddaughter is not here, then we need to leave this place.”

  Feliks didn’t take his eyes off Christophe. “He knows where she is.”

  “Maybe so, but we will find her soon enough. We always do.”

  Shifting his grip, Christophe held Feliks’ gun out to him, waiting for him to take it. He was the perfect soldier, Mariya had told him, so he wouldn’t risk his boss’ wrath by shooting him after he’d been given the order to stand down.

  “I wouldn’t count on that, boss,” Christophe said, looking at Alexey. “But we’ll meet again. I guarantee it.”

  The man might have recently been in a coma and shot through with more bullets than anyone should have survived, but he still smiled with the arrogance of a man decades younger. “Let’s hope we do not—for your sake, boy.”

  With a nod of his head in dismissal, Alexey gave the order for his men to stand down, an order that made Feliks’ jaw clench tightly.

  As they readied to leave, Alexey studied him. “Careful the enemies you make, boy.”

  Christophe shook his head. “Careful the friends you keep, one might be carrying a knife.”


  For a long while, Alexey just stared at him, his expression unreadable until they were all pulling away and disappearing around the corner.

  Invictus clapped him on the shoulder, drawing his attention back to him. “Glad you’re back. Things were boring without you.”

  Yeah.

  And now, things were about to get a lot more interesting.

  Mariya hadn’t known what to think after Christophe had gone off with Invictus in tow with only a nod and a kiss to her forehead.

  He explained why he was going back, though she hadn’t thought it was the best idea, but now, she was starting to wonder if something had gone wrong.

  After three hours, he was supposed to be back by now.

  The first hour, she’d spent alone in the room he’d given her, trying to reach Klara though she had yet to return any of her phone calls. She did her best not to think about him, but the more she tried, the harder it was for her to pretend everything was all right.

  She wanted to know if he was okay. If he had found whatever it was he had gone back looking for, but she didn’t want to call him.

  In a bid to get out of her own head, she’d finally ventured from the room, going in search of Thanatos or Tăcut, figuring it would be better to actually talk to someone.

  Thanatos was nowhere to be found, but she did finally stumble across Tăcut in a room on the second level of the building inside a room with its door missing.

  He sat at a table, tinkering with some kind of electronic device that looked more like a bunch of wires intersecting around hunks of metal, but maybe whatever it would become would be important.

  Clearing her throat, Mariya rapped twice on the wall, waiting for his gaze to lift to her before she stepped forward.

  She might have only spent a short while with all the brothers last night, but it was clear they all had their distinct personalities.

  Thanatos was playful, though a bit sardonic.

  Invictus was more serious than his opposite but a bit more intimidating.

  Tăcut, though. It might have been because the man didn’t speak and could move without being heard that made him seem the most unapproachable.

  Christophe seemed to be a mix of all of them.

  There was nothing to fear from Tăcut, she knew, but as she entered the room, she couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive at being alone with him.

  “Tăcut, yes?” she asked, wanting to ensure she was pronouncing it correctly. When he nodded, the tension inside her eased a little. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  A single shake of his head, and as he gestured to the lone stool opposite him, she felt better.

  Folding her hands in her lap, she watched as he turned the piece of metal over in his hands, studying every inch of it. As big as his hands were, she expected him to fumble with the smaller pieces and tools he was using, but they didn’t slip an inch.

  He was surprisingly agile for someone so big.

  And now that she was close enough, she could see it wasn’t just a simple piece of metal he was working with. “Is that part of a computer?”

  Once, Feliks had flown into a rage and threw the one she owned against the wall, shattering the screen, and breaking apart the rest of it.

  Now taking a closer look, she could see he was holding the motherboard.

  Tăcut nodded again.

  “Are you putting it together?” she asked, looking from what he held to the pieces still laid out in perfect order on the table, along with a set of blueprints that made her eyes widen at the complexity. “You’re building a computer? Why?”

  Again, he shrugged, but his gaze did settle on her, the uncanny blue of them making her wonder how he had gotten so lucky with a color like that.

  She’d always hated her brown eyes, though she loved Christophe’s. She’d always thought brown eyes were plain and unexciting.

  Tăcut’s eyes weren’t just blue—there were other shades within, and right near the pupil was a smudge of green.

  They might have been beautiful, but they were intense.

  As he stared, Mariya started to wonder if she had said something wrong until he set the parts down and picked up a notepad sitting nearby along with a black Sharpie.

  Yanking the top off with his teeth, he quickly scrawled a message then turned the pad around for her to see.

  Fang can handle himself.

  “Oh no, I’m not here because I’m worried …” One dark brow arched, challenging that statement. “Okay, not entirely. I am worried, but I’m still curious about you all, and this,” she said with a broad wave of her hand to indicate the entire building they sat in.

  He wrote another message, this one taking a little longer.

  Their secrets are their own, but I’ll tell you what I can about Fang.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything private,” she said quickly. “Just … who are you, all of you, I mean?”

  Mariya was starting to realize it didn’t matter Tăcut couldn’t speak—his face said everything his voice couldn’t. His every thought played across it as she spoke, and it was clear whatever thought was running through his mind now, he didn’t think she would like it.

  He seemed to come to a decision before he picked his marker back up.

  You’re hedging. What do you really want to know?

  That question was too broad. She wanted to know everything. Anything. She wanted to understand what caused Christophe to walk away from this.

  She wanted to know if it was true that they robbed banks.

  She wanted to know why Christophe seemed so sad sometimes.

  “You’re from Romania?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “And you all grew up together in an orphanage.”

  Tăcut neither nodded or shook his head, merely stared.

  Right. Moving on. “What do you do, exactly?”

  Even when she hadn’t believed he was a bank robber, she had never thought for a second he was anything as innocent as a blue-collar worker. A thief still hadn’t felt right, but whatever he was, she’d started to believe he fell into a similar category as her family.

  For this question, Tăcut didn’t hesitate.

  Independent contractors.

  That was the same thing Christophe had said, but now, she knew enough to elaborate. “Hitmen? Enforcers? Thieves?”

  He nodded again.

  “One of them? All of them?”

  Unofficially, all. Officially, one.

  “But which is which?”

  Ask Fang.

  “I did ask him.”

  Ask again.

  “I’ll get right on that.”

  He smirked, ripping the page off to start on a new one. Has Fang told you about this?

  Once she finished reading the question, he pointed to a brand on his inner bicep, the same delicate blooming lotus as the one Christophe had. Seeing it, she also remembered the placement of the smiley face on Christophe’s arm.

  It wasn’t just the tattoo that was significant, but where it was inked as well.

  “The Lotus Society, no?” she asked, just to be sure, noticing he hadn’t given her a name in case she hadn’t known what it meant. “Bits and pieces, though.”

  Tăcut nodded.

  For them, we carried out missions—hits, if that’s what you want to call it. After we left, we focused on aggressive supply and demand.

  “What does that mean?”

  “We rob banks,” Thanatos announced from behind her. “But don’t worry, we only steal from bad people.”

  Tăcut’s smirk made Thanatos amend that.

  “We steal from worse people than us.” Thanatos took a seat next to her, his arm almost touching hers—he obviously had no qualms about personal space. “Are you telling her all our secrets?”

  With Thanatos, he didn’t need to write his response, his hands moving almost majestically as he signed his answer.

  “Right, but I expect it from Fang, not from you.” His gaze scanning over the pieces of the
hard drive on the table in front of them, Thanatos grinned. “Is this for that hacker of yours?”

  If she’d thought the look he’d given her when she asked about it was intimidating, it was nothing compared to the look he leveled on Thanatos. He went from open to guarded in a second.

  Laughing, Thanatos held his hands up. “Understood. She’s off-limits.” Looking over in her direction, he added, “But you’re not. Tell me, princess, how’d you manage it?”

  “Manage what?” Mariya asked. “And don’t call me princess.”

  Something about his tone made her wary as to what he would say next. He, of all of them, didn’t seem to have a filter, and she wasn’t sure whether this was admirable or if it was rude.

  “To make him care about you.”

  She didn’t understand the question. “Is it wrong for him to care about someone?”

  His brows shot up. “I wasn’t sure if you knew last night, but now, I know you don’t.”

  Tăcut rapped his knuckles against the table, a warning in his gaze as he stared down the other man, the humor from before now gone.

  “What don’t I know?”

  There was plenty she wouldn’t know, she was sure. It wasn’t as though Christophe had spent a lot of time telling her about himself. She’d gotten bits, and though they were considerably important, she knew there was more to him than just his time at the orphanage.

  She had a feeling that whatever came after his time there, and after the Lotus Society, it had affected him strongly.

  Really, he’d hardly mentioned anything about that place, other than he used to work there.

  Just as Thanatos opened his mouth to respond once more, Tăcut slid out of his chair.

  “Fine. Let him tell her, but if he hasn’t told her by now, do you really think he will?”

  Whatever Tăcut said in response to him, he moved his hands deliberately, and even Mariya could see the warning there, but she hoped Thanatos wouldn’t heed it.

  She couldn’t shake the suspicion that whatever it was he was holding back, it was the answer she was looking for—the reason he had left this all behind.

  Why couldn’t he tell her? Why was it such a secret? He wasn’t shy in recounting the horrible things that had happened to him, and whatever it was, it couldn’t have been worse than that.