Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Rurik Romanov stood stoic as his commanding officer, Garth Ingersson, tried, yet again, to convince the short, plump human to get up from the table at the gentlemen's club.

Garth had his back to the stage, his long blond hair pulled back haphazardly at the base of his neck. He wore a T-shirt with a wolf printed on it, which was ironic since Garth's shifted form was that of a wolf. He was currently staring down at the reason they were even in the club to start with.

Wild Bill.

If he had a last name, Rurik didn't know it.

All he knew was that for as small as the man was, Bill was a giant pain in the ass.

Garth and Rurik had been running down leads on the possible whereabouts of one of their operative friends who happened to be stuck in stone form and missing, when a call from Garth's credit card company had come in, asking about possible fraudulent charges made at a club that catered to gentlemen. At first Garth had denied the charges, but then thought harder on it, hung up with the credit card company, and phoned the operatives who were supposed to be watching over Bill.

Bill had answered and let them know he was at the gentlemen's club living it up on Garth's dime. He'd even had the balls to tell them to come down and join in the fun.

Not that Rurik was a prude or opposed to such endeavors but they had a job to do and the mission always came first.

A woman approached Rurik with a tray full of drinks. She brushed by him and he could smell her arousal.

"What can I get you?" she asked, her Southern drawl prevalent.

"Nothing for me," he said, in his normal deadpan way. His teammates often chastised him, telling him he came off as short and gruff with others most of the time. Not that he cared. What was the point of false niceties?

She perked. "Oh, I love the accent. Where are you from?"

"He's a commie from the Red Army," said Bill matter-of-factly.

Rurik resisted the urge to throttle the human. It was an exercise in restraint to say the least.

Had Rurik not had hundreds of years of training behind him, he might have given in and simply eaten the little asshole. As it stood, he just thought about eating the asshole—a lot.

Ripping his focus from Bill, he placed it upon the waitress before him. She had on a T-shirt that was cut off just under her breasts and a pair of short-shorts. The thigh-high boots she'd paired with it all drew attention to her long legs. If he wasn't on duty, he'd have considered making a move on her. As it was, he had a task to finish.

"So, where are you from then?" she asked, seeming lost as to Bill's references.

No surprise. She looked to be in her early twenties.

The Cold War wasn't something she'd have been around for.

"Russia," stated Rurik. It was far easier than getting into a long explanation that he'd been born in Russia, had seen the rise and fall of the Soviet Union, lived in countless other countries for varying lengths of time, and now resided in the United States.

She put her tongue to the back of her front teeth and waggled her dark brows at him. She was displaying all the signs of wanting to bed him, and that should have gotten him at least slightly worked up. It didn't. Rurik wasn't sure if it was the stress of the night so far, or the last few weeks in general, but all he wanted to do was get Bill out of the club and get back to the task at hand—finding their missing operative.

The woman set the tray of drinks on the table nearest them and pulled a pen out from between her breasts. How on earth she'd managed to get it in there and hold it in place minus a bra was beyond him, but she had. The act spoke highly to her skill set. One he bet extended to the bedroom.

She motioned for his hand and Rurik held it out to her.

Turning it over, she licked her lower lip and proceeded to write her phone number on his skin. "Call me later, Russia ."

He gave the slightest of nods and then watched as she gathered the tray and headed off to another table. Perhaps he would call her once they found their missing operative. She would do well to pass the time while he was stuck in Georgia.

Garth eyed him and looked to be fighting a laugh.

Rurik scowled, disliking the attention.

That only made Garth laugh more. "Hold up your hand."

Rurik obeyed, and Garth yanked out his phone and snapped a picture, the flash drawing more attention to them all.

Lowering his hand, he gave his captain a questioning look. "Why photograph it?"

"Not it. The look on your face after a hot woman gave you her number," said Garth with a smirk. "Gram and I have a bet going on how many women you'll pass up this month."

"What do you mean?" he asked. Had he been making a habit of passing up beautiful women? It was just this once, right?

"Nothing. But I'm winning. That's all that matters," said Garth smugly.

Bill grunted. "Until your new wife sees the picture and realizes it's another woman's number and that you were here , at this club."

Garth's eyes widened and he made a large production of deleting the photo.

Mating had changed the man. Made him soft.

"We are wasting time here," stated Rurik evenly. "The techs from PSI said there has been chatter about a special package in this area. We should be following those leads. Not here, worried about humans."

Garth's expression said shut up.

Rurik grumbled more under his breath about how much he hated having to deal with humans. Between the loud music and the flashing lights, Rurik's head hurt, and he was close to doing whatever it took to leave the establishment.

The topless club seemed to favor country music, which made Rurik twitch. He could not see the appeal of any of it. Then again, he found it hard to find the lure of most of what Americans liked.

That came from the fact he was Russian through and through. He'd been born two hundred and sixty-five years ago in Moscow. It was a time that saw many changes in his homeland, including the introduction of a university. What many didn't know about him was that his father had been a scientist and a professor at the university. Rurik had intended to follow in his father's footsteps. He too had been a scientist. A man who dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge, but times changed, and events shaped him into someone else.

A warrior.

A soldier.

His friends now, whom he considered family but did not tell them as much, were unaware of the full extent of his past. They believed him to be nothing more than a Russian attack dog, or in his case, bear, seeing as how he was a natural-born bear-shifter. They knew only what he wanted them to know of him.

There was no reason to dive into his past or dredge up old ghosts.

He was a skilled and competent warrior. That was all they needed to be aware of. And while his heart would always be with his motherland, he understood the errors of his country's past and present. But it wasn't as if Russia was the only country with a shaky history and questionable present. Even he had a sordid past with his own country. He knew of no country that was in a position to throw stones. All had ugly blemishes on their records. Some past, some present, and some in the making.

Perfection simply did not exist.

He knew; he'd searched for it long enough.

He'd officially joined the PSI program when it had opened its first branch in Russia, which had been after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Prior to that, he'd served his country, in their version of PSI, working with PSI on numerous occasions.

There were times their interests overlapped. Making bedfellows out of enemies was something every government did at some point. They'd be fools not to.

Who you supply weapons to today might very well be who stands in opposition to you tomorrow.

It was a warning all in power should heed, but none ever did.

They were fucking morons.

And he'd served under some of the biggest idiots out there. None of that mattered. It had become less about who he took his orders from and more about the end goal. For him, it was ridding the world of evil. He'd seen firsthand just how devastating power in the wrong hands could be—regardless the government.

It was why he'd signed on to work for PSI.

Joining PSI had been life changing for him, and in many ways he was still adjusting, even though he had been officially part of it for nearly thirty years. He'd been part of Team Eight in some capacity, officially and unofficially, for far longer.

The team, which currently only had four members, was running on bare bones from the normal six. It was headed by an ancient Viking who was newly mated. Garth and his new bride, Nicolette, were still very much in the honeymoon stage of their relationship. The fact he was currently in a club full of half-dressed women would no doubt cause an issue when Nicolette learned of it.

Not that Rurik planned to tell her.

He rather liked his captain in one piece. Plus, the man was going out of his way to avoid noticing the dancer onstage, who wasn't shy in the least.

"I ain't going anywhere until I'm good and ready, blondie," snapped Bill at Garth, yanking Rurik from his thoughts. "You can have your second over there growl all he wants. He doesn't scare me."

Rurik had filled the second-in-command position on Team Eight after the vacancy by a man he still thought of as a brother—Gram Campbell. Gram had served as Garth's right hand for a very long time and had longed for a change of pace. He'd gone over to the Shadow Ops Division of PSI twenty years back.

Rurik had been surprised when Garth informed him that he'd be taking Gram's spot. In truth, he'd declined it more than once, thinking himself unworthy of such an honor. And he'd assumed Garth would offer the spot to one of the German twins on the team—Jannick or Johannes Bach. But no, Garth had seen something in Rurik that made him think he'd make a good second. He'd refused to take no for an answer.

Rurik spent each day from that point trying to make the man proud.

But right this second, he was about to throw orders out the window and hog-tie the small human who seemed to enjoy breaking every command given to him, despite the captain giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Garth apparently thought the small, plump human male could be reasoned with. Seeing as how Wild Bill, the human in question, was irrational, Rurik wasn't so sure Garth's plan was sound.

From what Rurik had learned, Bill had been part of America's testing on soldiers back in Vietnam. Bill had come through the testing out of touch with reality. It was questionable if Bill ever really had a firm grasp on reality to start with. Somehow, he'd ended up friends with an Immortal Outcast, which had left him being adopted by most of the operatives throughout PSI as well.

He didn't travel alone.

His faithful sidekick, Gus, was never too far from him.

He was odder than Bill even.

That was saying something.

Bill was currently sitting in a strip club, dressed in a women's tank top that was far too small for him, showing off his hairy stomach, and a pair of swim trunks with American flags all over them. He had on knee-high socks with slip-on sandals. His cheeks had lipstick marks on them, and his already unruly hair was tousled more from numerous women at the strip club running their fingers through it. It was as if the small man was a magnet for attractive women.

Frankly, Rurik didn't see the lure.

Bill remained seated, leaning and looking past Garth's tall form to get a better view of the woman who was currently on the stage. She was pleasant enough to look upon but did very little for Rurik's cock.

She seemed to be doing wonders for Bill's as the man put his arms out and snapped his fingers along with the beat. He did an upper-body shimmy before shouting, "Shake it, sweetheart! Oh yeah, just like that."

Gus, a tall, thin male who didn't look to be out of his twenties, sat one table over, staring at the exit sign rather than the half-naked female. He had a small handwritten sign before him, propped against an empty glass, that read "no margaritas for me, I can't hold my liquor." He appeared to be drinking milk instead.

An American football helmet that had the head of a mannequin, which had seen better days, was sitting on the table next to him. It was facing the stage, appearing to watch the show. Gus was rarely without the item and Rurik found the thing unnerving.

It was always watching him, wherever he moved.

He stepped to the right a little and the mannequin's painted-on eyes seemed to follow him.

He shuddered.

"Bill, we're wasting valuable time here. Rurik is right. We should be out searching for Wheeler," stressed Garth, who still had his back to the half-naked female. He was probably worried his mate would hear about him being in a strip club.

That was one of the many reasons Rurik was thankful he was not mated. He had no woman to answer to. No one to hold him accountable. He could do as he pleased.

And right now, it would please him greatly to be away from the horrible music.

"Captain," said Rurik between clenched teeth. "I can make him obey."

Bill shot Rurik a hard look before glancing at Garth. "If the commie bastard tries to touch me, I'm gonna kick his ass."

Rurik's bear side began to rise to the challenge. A low grumble started deep within his chest as he centered his gaze on Bill. "I will break you, little man."

Garth put up a hand. "Rurik, enough. Also, it's comments like that, that make the rest of the guys keep calling you Ivan Drago."

Rurik had been called that name a number of times as of late and still didn't know why or where it came from.

Bill sat there, mocking Rurik's accent, speaking in a voice that sounded anything but Russian.

Rurik snarled.

Garth's jaw set. "No more."

"He started it," said Rurik, pointing to Bill. "Really, he would not be missed if I ate him."

"Bigger men than you have tried," said Bill, giving him the finger before glancing him up and down once more. "Okay, maybe not bigger, but I'm pretty sure they could kick your Soviet ass, comrade."

Rurik made a move to go at the small menace of a man, only to have Garth step in his path.

Garth patted Rurik's shoulder. "I've got this."

"So you'll eat him?" asked Rurik, okay with that scenario.

"No. But only because he smells funny," added Garth with a wink.

The small man did smell like a mix of body odor and various drugs. It would no doubt leave an aftertaste. One Rurik might be willing to suffer through.

Bill made a motion that resembled jerking off. "Bite me, Viking."

Garth rubbed the bridge of his nose before facing the man. "I still don't know how you even managed to sneak out at all, let alone end up at a topless bar. Where in the hell are Mac and Car?"

At the mention of the Scottish twins Carbrey (Car) and MacBeth (Mac) McCracken, Bill fidgeted in his seat before averting his attention back to the woman on the stage. He returned to dancing in place, acting as if the men weren't there, in his way of seeing most of the show.

" William ," said Garth sternly. "Where are the twins?"

Bill grunted. "Last I saw 'em they were fighting over the last chicken nugget outside a fast food joint. All you gotta do to distract them is tell them one is better at something than the other. Stupid Scots."

Rurik nodded in agreement. The Scottish were lacking compared to the Russians. PSI was crawling with Scotsmen. Most of whom seemed to be related in some form or another to the twins. They were either blood, or clan, or blood of a clan that knew one another, and so on. Rurik didn't know for sure. All he did know as they were all annoying. And Bill was correct, the twins did have issues with sharing and trying to one-up each other.

"They took you out for fast food?" asked Garth, disbelief in his voice.

Rurik wasn't sure why his captain found that so shocking. The twins were known for their lack of better judgment.

Bill grinned. "Yep. They like to eat. Gus says they'd have come to the titty bar with us—but Gus didn't say titty; I embellished—if I'd told them that was our next stop. He says they don't like rules any more than me."

Again, the small, crazy hairy man was correct.

Garth growled lightly. "Get in the damn vehicle before I make you."

"Listen here, blondie," said Bill, defiance in his every word. "I'll take your horned helmet and wedge it up your backside if you try to touch me. I was promised a night out days ago. I'm taking it."

"Wheeler is still missing and you're partly to blame," returned Garth. "You were right there with Mac and Car when they decided to forgo the normal chain of how things run with PSI and go with a different shipping service. Had you not helped them find an alternative, none of this would be happening. Wheeler would have gotten to PSI, where they'd be trying to find a way to help him. Not lost in fucking transit. Now let's go!"

Bill narrowed his gaze. "I ain't to blame for nothing. Gus made it clear to me, and then I told them, that it wasn't safe to ship Wheeler by way of PSI means. He said bad folks would be watching. That we needed to get Wheeler to the lab another way. I told Little Bo Mac and his doppelganger not to use that two-bit shipping company. I told 'em I knew a guy who knew a guy, but they didn't listen. No. They had to use the internet. Like you can believe anything on it. It ain't my fault the Dead-Wheel is missing. Besides, he'll turn up at some point. Gus said so. Maybe he'll end up a birdbath or something like I suggested Landros use him for."

Landros Mires was the reason Rurik and his teammates were in Savannah to begin with. They'd flown in three days back when it had come to their attention that Landros's maker, an evil vampire asshole named Mirza, was back and coming for him. Since Landros was not only one of the founding members of PSI and a close friend of Garth's, but also just happened to be the uncle of Garth's mate, the team had dropped everything and come right away.

While Mirza had ultimately been defeated, it hadn't gone without incident. Wheeler had been left stuck in stone form.

Rurik couldn't imagine what that must be like but guessed it was anything but fun. If Wheeler was lucky, he was blissfully unaware of his predicament. If he wasn't so lucky, he was living a nightmare, stuck in stone while fully conscious—and currently missing.

Garth's gaze moved over to Gus. The milk drinker was something more than he appeared to be. No one seemed sure as to what, but he had a way of knowing things he shouldn't. As far as Rurik was aware, Gus had not been wrong in his predictions yet.

"Gus said it wasn't safe to ship Wheeler by way of PSI?" asked Garth of Bill.

Shrugging, Bill tried to watch the topless dancer despite Garth still blocking most of his view. "I don't know, man. He said something about shipping and PSI and bad apples. I did my best to relay that to the Scottish blowhards. Ain't my fault how they took that information. I'm just the messenger. Now, kindly get the fuck out of the messenger's way."

Garth looked to Rurik and nodded. "Get him and put him in the SUV."

"With pleasure, Captain," said Rurik, going for Bill.

The older man suddenly seemed to have springs in his ass because one second he was sitting in the chair at the table, and the next he was up and over it. He then dropped down and went under a different table, crawling, staying just out of Rurik's reach.

He scrambled under the table that Gus was at, and while Bill fit with ease, Rurik did not. Rurik's back hit the underside of the table and knocked it enough that milk spilled and covered his jean-covered ass and right thigh.

He growled and turned just in time to see Mona, the mannequin head in the helmet, land on the floor next to him, its gaze firmly locked on him. With a jolt, he came up again, this time cracking the back of his head on the table. A line of Russian curses fell free from his lips as he gingerly eased out from under the table and got to his feet.

Garth was there, shaking his head.

Everyone in the club was staring at him as well.

Rurik let out a long, annoyed breath.

Bill popped out from under a table near the stage and had money in his hand. He shoved it into the G-string of the dancer on stage. She bent, ruffled his hair, and kissed his forehead.

Bill blew her a kiss and then faced Garth. "I'm ready, but I ain't riding in back with the milk-covered commie."

Rurik managed to barely contain his temper as the human strolled past him, then bent and retrieved Mona's head before standing near Gus.

"Time to go," said Bill.

Gus didn't move or say a word. He wasn't really a talker.

Rurik could relate.

Bill drew his head back somewhat, appearing flabbergasted. "Hey, you're the one who can't hold your drink. Don't get pissy with me for making you stick with milk. Blame the commie for why you didn't get to finish it. Not me."

Rurik didn't comment on the level of crazy the two humans had between them.

Gus continued to face the exit, not moving and not speaking.

Tossing an arm in the air, Bill exclaimed, "Fine! I did lie to you about them having chocolate to put in your milk. Hey, I thought you'd buy it since this type of joint shouldn't even have milk, let alone some chocolate syrup. And yeah, I lied because I was mad at you. You didn't need a chocolate reward."

Garth nudged Rurik, a question forming on his face.

Rurik shrugged. "No clue. I stopped trying to make sense of them."

Bill lowered his arm, still holding the helmet-head under his other arm. "Listen, I know Mona is your girl. But she treats you bad. You deserve better. I think you should go back to the rebound chick and dump Mona for good. She wanted to see other people first, remember?"

There was a bust of the goddess Aphrodite at Landros's home that Gus had seemed taken with. So much so that he'd slept with it two nights in a row. Rurik could only hazard a guess that was the rebound chick Bill was referring to. Then again, it was Bill so he could have meant anyone or anything.

Garth sighed. "Oddly, I'm starting to follow the conversation."

"Careful, the crazy might be catching. I don't think they have a shot for it either," warned Rurik.

"There they are," said a deep voice with a Scottish brogue from the entrance of the club.

Rurik glanced over and spotted Car and Mac there, near the front door of the club, each looking pissed and directly at Bill.

Bill used his free hand to pull at his cheek in a dramatic fashion. "Not now, Rob Roy Boys. I got problems with my best bud. He thinks I tried to come between him and his woman."

The twins glanced at one another and then toward Garth. They blushed.

Garth squared his shoulders. "Want to tell me why it is you disobeyed direct orders to stay at Landros's place and watch these two? And how it is they came to be here? Alone?"

The twins swallowed hard and Mac shoved his brother forward. "Car will explain it."

Car grunted and then righted himself. "Well, see, they were hungry, and we wanted to be sure to care for and feed our pets…erm…humans…so we took them for a car ride and to get somethin' to eat. If you think about it, we're actually verra guid at our task."

Mac nodded. "Aye. Verra guid. The best."

"Uh-huh," said Garth, not buying it. "And how was it they ended up here, alone?"

Car glanced at his brother for assistance.

Mac looked around and a slow smile spread over his face. "Better question would be, why did they nae wait for us? We'd have loved it here. In fact, I feel like a beer and a burger. Brother?"

"Sounds guid," said Car, making a move to head toward the bar.

Garth cleared his throat.

The twins froze.

Bill strolled up to them, holding Mona under one arm. "We gotta go now. The party-pooping Viking and his commie comrade suck all the fun out of everything. Come on, Gus. You can be mad at me in the car."

Gus stood, tucked in his chair, and walked in the direction of the exit he'd been staring at.

Car zigzagged through the club and headed off Gus. "We're parked outside the other door."

Gus said nothing but followed behind Car, right past Bill, as if the man wasn't even there.

Bill shook his head and lifted Mona, looking her dead in the eyes. "You're poisoning him against me. Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

Rurik took a deep breath, wondering just how far gone the man's mind truly was.

Bill glanced back at him. "Gus says we're gonna get a call real soon from the Dragon's Fire. It will lead us to Dead-Wheel. Oh, and something about someone named Al."

"Ever considered hiring out as a code writer?" asked Rurik.

"Who's to say I haven't already?" asked Bill as he walked out of the club. "Hurry up. Auberi is looking for us. Gus said so."