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She probably won’t call. Proud, stubborn.

But I feel better trying. The same way I feel right leaving a couple of bills tucked under my plate for her trouble.

Heading back towards the compound, I realize the sun’s just peeking over the horizon.

Great. Maybe I can get an hour or two before someone attacks me or drags me out of bed for sparring. Seems like everyone wants a shot at me.

I’m about to knock on the pedestrian door beside the gate when it suddenly rattles open, a car rumbling right inside. And what a delight, the guy behind the wheel glares at me, pointing one finger as he lurches a few more feet to pull alongside me.

“Hey Fyodor. Looks like somebody shit shards of glass this morning.”

“Get in,” he barks.

“Uh, I was gonna?—”

“Get in, or I will have to whip your ass.”

“Whoop my ass,” I correct, very politely.

“What?”

“The saying.”

“I am saying I will get whip and give you lashes, ah? Get the fuck in the car.”

“Cool.” I duck in, snapping my seatbelt as he guns the engine of his sleek burgundy Porsche.

“So…Flattop’s looking extra flat today.” It dawns on me that maybe the reason he has a flattop is so that he can fit his colossal ass in this tiny sports car.

Fyo’s nostrils flare, but he ignores the jibe. “Got a tip. Another secret shipment. Movement all over docks. I want to check it out.”

“Without backup?”

“There’s you and me. We are each other’s backup. Or are yougandon?”

“I will never understand that insult. So I’ll just say, no I am not chicken shit.”

“I disagree. You are all the shits. But I know you can fight.Da?”

“Da.”

Several quiet minutes later, we’re in the dock district, easing along behind a warehouse.

“What’s the game plan?” I ask, rubbing my hands together.

“You tell me. You’re a newbie. I want to see what you have. You’re apparently expert in all of these ways. Show me I can trust you.”

Not sure how me having to make sleepless tactical decisions equates trust when he made me come here…but.

“Super. I vote we call in an aerial assault. Drones. That way we can go back to bed,” I mumble, getting out of the car.

Fyodor growls something filthy in Russian as he hands me a piece and I give him a coy smile and bob a curtsy of thanks. Tucking the gun in the back of my pants, I lead us around the side of the main building, across the yard toward a maze of shipping containers and pallets.

A quick assessment says this is a terrible plan.

Too many places to hide. Too many vantage points.

Asshole probably brought me out here to kill me and hide my body.