Chelle
ChelleTurns out, Zane wasn’t in the van they threw me in, but he is in their warehouse. When the three guys from the van drag me and my aching head into some kind of warehouse, I see him curled up on the painted concrete floor. He has fresh bruising and blood all over his swollen face. His lip is cut, and it looks like the fingers of one hand have been broken.
isThe place is set up like a clubhouse. A makeshift bar stretches along one side. Empty beer bottles litter the tables. There’s a pool table and dart boards set up, but also giant motorcycles parked inside. They’re some kind of motorcycle club, I think.
Russian mafiya and motorcycle gangs. My brother really knows how to pick his business partners.
mafiya“We got the sister,” the guy who grabbed me outside my building announ
