“That’s it,” Painter said, shoving me off the chair. I landed on my knees and found myself scrambling to get out of his way. “You stay in here, keep your head low, and don’t fuck anything up. I’ll send Puck to get you after it ends. Do not talk to anyone about this or I will personally hunt you down and kill you. Got it?”
I nodded quickly, eyes wide.
“Got it.”
Painter nodded, stepping across the room to open the door. He gave me one final look. “My brother deserves someone better than you.”
Nodding my head, I agreed with him. He really did.
PUCK
Boonie and I pulled up behind the club in the van. A prospect sat in the driver’s seat—he’d stay there for the duration, ready to take off as soon as we came back out. In less than a minute we’d walk over to the back of the Vegas Belles building, where our plant, Maryse, would let us in through the emergency exit by the champagne rooms. We’d debated quite a while over which route to take—the rest of the club had gone in through the front. The other exit would take us closer to the office, but would be harder for Maryse to reach, too. Not only that, any firepower in the building would be concentrated there.
Another van pulled up near the far exit. Waiting. So far as we knew, the men inside were clueless about the raid. Jamie Callaghan and his entourage had gone inside five minutes earlier. If things went right, he’d spend less than ten minutes total time in the building.
My phone buzzed.
PAINTER: Problem. Beccas in here. I put her in a private room. She’s safe, but we need to pull her out bef leaving
What. The. Fuck.
For a minute I thought my head might explode. Becca was supposed to be at school. I started typing a text back, then realized it was pointless. We didn’t have time to talk, let alone change the plan. Painter had saved my life more than once, a favor I’d returned. I’d have to trust him.
“Becca is inside,” I told Boonie. He nodded sharply, although I knew he had to be curious. A thousand possible scenarios ran through my head, each one worse than the last.
No matter how I looked at it, there was no excuse for her to be here. None. Christ, had she been working for the Callaghans all along? Impossible.
“Time,” Boonie said. We started toward the door, which opened on cue. Maryse held it as we entered, then she bolted toward the van. The prospect would protect her until it was time to go. I passed by the champagne rooms, wondering which one held Becca. Didn’t matter now—the best way to protect her at this point was to finish out the operation as fast and efficiently as possible.
Then I’d have time to strangle her in comfort.
We passed through the hallway and onto the main club floor. Painter and Gage held two groups of people hostage, already ahead of schedule. Six of them were obviously customers, terrified men who’d been herded back into a corner with several strippers and waitresses.
In the center of the floor stood four more men, hands on their heads. Two wore “Security” shirts while the others had on suits.
Jamie Callaghan’s entourage. There’d been three of them total.
If our count was right, that meant six more men were in the building. The bulk of the brothers was out of sight. According to the plan they’d gone for the office, hopefully grabbing Callaghan and McGraine and pulling them out through the back and into the vans.
“You good in here?” Boonie asked.
“Under control,” Painter replied. “Other team is already down the other hallway.”
“Okay, I’m joining them,” Boonie said. “Puck will cover me while I go back. Then he’ll do a sweep and hold the fort with you.”
“Sounds good,” Gage rumbled. One of the customers spoke up hesitantly.
“We don’t want any trouble,” he said. “This is between you guys—we haven’t seen anything. Let us go and we’ll never talk about what we saw here. I promise.”
“Sit tight and you’ll be fine,” Boonie said. “You’re right—it isn’t about you. You keep your mouths shut and in an hour it’ll be like this never happened. Of course, you talk, you die. We’ll hunt you down no matter where you go. There are hundreds of us, all over the country, so silence is really your best option.”
One of the waitresses started sobbing quietly.
“Shouldn’t have started working for the competition,” Boonie snapped, his voice heartless. “Shut the fuck up.”
She shoved her arm across her mouth, muffling the noise. Time for us to move on. I followed Boonie across the room, gun in hand. The door to the second hallway was propped open, with Ruger and Horse standing guard against the far wall. Two more bouncers lay on the floor in front of them, hands folded behind their heads.