Read Sons of Anarchy: Bratva for Free Online Page B

woman step in. Tanned and weathered, she wore her own variation on Aaron’s sport coat, complete with the bulge of a handgun. How many were there? Trinity wondered.
    “Antoinette, there you are!” Temple said happily. “Could you give Miss Dunphy a pat-down, please? When you’re done, Aaron can do the same for her friends.”
    “They left their guns at the door,” Trinity said. “And I’m not armed.”
    “Could be that’s true,” Temple said. “But Antoinette is searching you for cameras or listening devices…”
    He paused, studying Oleg before moving on to Gavril.
    “Though, judging by your companions, I’m certain you’re on the up-and-up. Our federal friends are never quite this convincing,” he said, finishing with Feliks. “Russian, aren’t you?”
    Trinity had told them to keep quiet, and they heeded her advice, saying nothing.
    Temple glanced at her, reached up, and tapped the back of his own neck. “The tattoos, my dear.”
    She glanced at Oleg, thinking of the crude images in the flesh at the back of his neck, remembering the times she had stroked that skin.
    “Russian gulag is the only place you get something like that,” Temple said. “Do they still call them that, gulags? Or are they just prisons now?”
    Gavril inched toward him, menace rolling off him in waves. “Do you have issue with Russians? A rule, maybe? You don’t do business with us?”
    Trinity wanted to cuff him around the head but didn’t let her irritation show.
    Oscar Temple held his hands wide to show they were all friends. “Not at all, tovarisch . Politics ain’t my game. I’m a businessman. Anyone willing to pay me in U.S. currency is American enough for me.”
    Gavril nodded, perhaps reconsidering his decision to speak up. He glanced at Oleg and Trinity. Feliks had hung back, staying as close to Temple’s mustachioed bodyguard as possible.
    “Go on and pat me down, then, Antoinette,” Trinity said, hoping she sounded friendlier than she felt.
    The woman went about the task thoroughly enough that Trinity figured it qualified as her first girl-on-girl experience. When Antoinette finished, she retreated into the hallway from which she’d appeared, and it was Aaron’s turn to pat down the Russians. Oleg and the boys shifted uncomfortably as Aaron took his time.
    “What about the old man?” Aaron asked, nodding toward Carney.
    Temple smiled beatifically. “You armed, John?”
    Carney frowned. “’Course I am. I’ve got that old Beretta you gave me when I turned seventy.”
    “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Temple said.
    Aaron shrugged. “All right, then. No wire, and no other guns. But that one has a knife,” he said, pointing at Oleg.
    Temple smiled that devilish grin. “’Course he does.” He glanced at Oleg. “You look like a knife man, Ivan.”
    Oleg chuckled softly.
    Temple’s mask slipped a moment. “I say something funny?”
    “Nobody calls us Ivan anymore. Ronald Reagan has been out of office for a long time,” Oleg said.
    Trinity sighed. Okay, Temple was an asshole, but when you wanted something from an asshole, you had to let him peacock around acting like King Shit. She glanced at Carney, who stood only a couple of feet from her. The old man looked nervous as hell.
    “You’re in my house,” Temple warned. He rested his right palm on the gun handle jutting from the holster on his right hip. “I guess I’ll call you whatever I want, particularly since you didn’t offer up your names.”
    Carney took a step away from Trinity, marking himself out as separate from her and her friends.
    “Listen, I did my part,” he said, his voice a tired rasp. “I made the introductions. But you’re all a little too wound up for me, so I’m gonna be on my way.”
    Trinity’s skin rippled with gooseflesh as if a malign presence had just entered the room. She didn’t believe in evil spirits the way her grandmother always had, but she certainly believed that bad intentions carried a weight,