In spite of the fact that Czar probably knew whatever Absinthe was going to couch in terms of speculation, his voice was mild, simply an inquiry.
“We’ve talked about it before, but the assassins the Ghost club hire to intimidate the rival clubs by killing their women, the way the assassins work, is too reminiscent of the way we were trained. We’ve seen their work. We briefly considered that they might have been trained in the same schools as we were and then we dismissed it. I think we should consider it a very real possibility. We patched in twenty-five members of a club made up of members from a school Gavriil attended. He vouched for those men because he knew them. We got to know them, but just briefly. Now we’ve got another club, members of two schools made up of men who were trained just as we were. They want to be patched over like the others, to be part of our club.”
Steele leaned in close, his eyes shrewd. “What are you saying?”
“We have to get to know those wanting to join. We’re not just going to take them on faith. We have to invite them here, to our clubhouse. We’ve got to let them near our women. These men are trained assassins, just like us. They were trained in the schools in Russia, and like us, they have banded together. I believe that the assassins the Ghosts hire also are from these same schools, displaced children set free when Sorbacov was killed. I think the man running the largest pedophile ring we know of, the one we know only as the Russian, set them up here in the United States to do his work for him.”
Once Absinthe had stated the possibility aloud, it made even more sense. There wasn’t a lot any of those trained in Sorbacov’s schools could do other than continue to kill. They didn’t know any other way of life. Where could they go? There was so much blood on their hands. They’d started so young. Some had a taste for it, a liking. Others just didn’t know how to stop. Some, like the members of Torpedo Ink, had no idea how to live in society. Absinthe figured those working for the Russian hiring out as assassins for the Ghosts and possibly others had a liking for killing.
“Keep going, Absinthe,” Steele encouraged. “Sadly, I think you’re making sense.”
Czar nodded, steepling his fingers together, those penetrating eyes fixed on his face.
Absinthe kept his expression a mask. “What better way to penetrate our club? Send one or two to join the club patching over, and once accepted into the club—which they would be—hell, they’re probably well-known to the others. They were in the school together. All they have to do is get information on us and our loved ones. They’re assassins and they’re coming after us. They’re the ones who ride as the Ghosts when they want to convince another club they’re legit.”
He’d put it on the line. He’d been working it out for a while, the pieces of the puzzle moving around in his head, until he had them all locked into place. He could see the others catching up fast. Savage was already there, agreeing with him. Ice and Storm nodding. Maestro and Keys right there. Lana and Alena reluctantly agreeing, but not wanting to think that someone might infiltrate through a possible club. The rest of the members were just as fast once he presented the idea.
Something had nagged at the back of Absinthe’s mind ever since they had first rescued Plank’s wife, and it had finally come together as Czar was speaking. The president of the Diamondback’s Sea Haven chapter had been grateful, but wary—and frankly, he had reason to be. Their club didn’t add up. They seemed benign enough on the surface, but they had been able to do what the Diamondbacks hadn’t. More than once they had caught the president in a tight squeeze. When Plank had first approached them in their bar, to tell them about his wife being kidnapped, he thought he had the upper hand, but they had him in a crossfire situation. Again, when they brought her back, they had too many weapons in their vehicles. He would have gone down in a blaze of gunfire no matter the protection he thought he had.
“I’m going to play devil’s advocate here,” Czar said. “The Russian had no way of knowing we make up Torpedo Ink. He wasn’t aware of us, at all. Even when I assassinated Blythe’s stepfather and he was part of that, all those years ago, he had no inkling that I would ever cross paths with him again. In order for him to put someone into a chapter asking to be patched into Torpedo Ink specifically, the Russian would have had to know about us. He would have had to know we were from Sorbacov’s school and that we were a threat to him.”