Bratva Boss’s Secret Triplets by Bella King

Chapter 13

Rebel

Iknew there’d be a guard inside of the clinic, but I didn’t think there would be so many. It all but confirms what Alan told me. They’re cooking up drugs in that office, and I’m going to have to send someone in undercover to bust their operation.

I flick open my phone and check the note that I typed for myself while I was there. I have the license plate number for the first person who arrived at the clinic while I was leaving. He’s probably in on this. There must be some cooperation between the owner of the clinic and the Saint Gray Mafia for them to be procuring drugs.

Doctors and drugs – a classic story. I should check if this guy is even a doctor, or if this whole place is a front. I have more questions for April as well. It’s best that I go there now and check up on her.

I send the plate number to John so that he can get an address back to me as I drive to April’s apartment. It’s still early, so she might be sleeping, btu I’ve found it’s better to catch people off-guard if you want to question them rather than giving them time to prepare their lies.

April lives close to the clinic, so it doesn’t take long for me to get there. I pack only my pistol on me as I get out of the car and walk up to the building. Her car is still parked out front where it was last night. At least she hasn’t tried to run away, but I’d be able to find her if she did. I secured a tracking device to the bottom of her bumper.

I take the stairs up to her door by twos, noticing an odd scent when I arrive. It’s cologne, but it’s also sour and musky like someone who hasn’t showered in a long time.

My knuckles come down hard on the door, rattling it as I knock. That should wake April up.

I wait, but I don’t hear footsteps.

I knock again.

Nothing.

Thirty seconds tick by, and I try again. There’s no way she hasn’t heard me. My knocks are loud enough to wake up the entire apartment complex. She must be ignoring me, but I’m not going to play that game with her. I’m coming in.

Apartment locks are laughably easy to pick. A simple pick and something to provide torque is all it takes to circumvent the need for a key, so I’d consider most household locks useless as a deterrent to anyone who really wanted to get in. They’re good to prevent opportunistic crimes, and not much else.

I shimmy a pick from the inside of my jacket pocket and place it into the lock. Following it up with a bent piece of metal to provide torque like a key, I begin wiggling it against the individual spring-loaded pins of the lock.

I get one in place before the pop of gunfire draws my attention away from the door. Why does trouble always seem to follow me straight to April?

I spin around, but it’s not quick enough to prevent a bullet from slamming into my shoulder. I take a step back, drawing my pistol as more bullets fly through the air toward me. I don’t even know where the shots are coming from until I’ve been hit once more in the arm.

“Motherfucker,” I growl, plastering myself against the wall as I feel fresh hot blood running down my left arm.

I’m already bleeding like crazy, dripping vibrant crimson blood onto the concrete outside of April’s apartment. The shooter has stopped since I’m too close to the wall for him to see me, but I can’t stay here. I won’t be able to defend myself if he runs up the stairs and unloads on me again.

I move toward the railing on the opposite side of the building, passing two units and feeling less confident with every step. Those bullets hit me hard, and I can already feel the effects of blood loss on my physical abilities.

It’s not the pain that worries me. It’s the fact that I can barely feel my arm, and what little sensation it does have is tingling up into my neck the left side of my face. I need to get out of here before I end up dead.

“Hey you, asshole,” a voice shouts from behind me as I reach the railing.

I turn my head to see a grungy-looking man leap up the staircase, his eyes as wide as saucers and an unhinged smile on his face. Something about his posture reminds me of the video of our prisoner who escaped.

I look over the railing, considering making the jump. It’s not that far down, but in my state, I don’t think I’d be able to get up and run in time before my attacker fired his gun over the railing. I’m better off confronting him directly. I still have a gun.

“You’re the guy who was sticking his dirty cock in my girl,” the man says, waving his gun around wildly as he speaks. He’s about two yards away from me. I should probably just shoot him, but now I’m curious. I don’t think he’s with the Saint Gray Mafia.

“April,” I say.

“Yeah, that’s the woman. She’s a fucking skank too, but I’m going to fix that,” he says with a chuckle. “I saw you coming here last night.”

“Ah, so you must be her boyfriend,” I say, trying to sound conversational as I bleed out in front of him.

“That’s right,” he says, taking a step toward me. “Did she mention me?”

He sounds hopeful.

“Uh, not really, but I wasn’t there for long,” I reply. “I was just checking in on her.”

He frowns. “For what?”

“She’s a suspect to a crime,” I reply with a slight smile. “A big crime, in fact.”

“What a minute, are you a cop?” he asks, taking a nervous step back and raising his gun.

“You go to prison for life if you shoot a police officer,” I warn. “You’d better think twice about what you’re doing.”

“Fuck, shit, fucking shit,” he says, panic rising in his voice.

His gun comes down, and at the same time, mine comes up. This is going to be my only good chance to put an end to this lunatic and grab April from the apartment. He’s put a huge damper on my plans for today.

I squeeze the trigger, and he leaps down the stairs, running so fast that his body is merely a blur. I must’ve spooked him with the talk about being a cop, but there’s no telling where he’s going. He could just be returning to his car for a bigger gun, so I follow him.

I fire at his car as he dives into the driver’s seat, prompting him to floor the gas pedal and fly pack into another parked car. He takes no time to correct his direction, spinning around and flying out of the exit to the apartment complex like a rocket ship.

“Jesus,” I mutter, leaning against the brick wall beside the stairs.

I’m beginning to feel faint, which means I either need to call an ambulance or get inside April’s apartment and patch myself up before I pass out. Since I don’t really appreciate being picked up by law enforcement on the way out of the hospital, I opt for the quiet solution, but I’ll have to make it quick. I’m sure the police have been called already.

I hobble back to April’s apartment door, picking up the lock pick from the floor and pushing it into the keyhole again. Let’s try this without getting shot this time.