Page 14 of Confession (Constantine Brothers #2)

TWELVE

Vitali

Quinn is going to be pissed when he learns what Joe’s call was about and where I’m headed right now. I probably should have told him, but I just couldn’t. Not with his cock in my hand, not with him so open and vulnerable. Not when I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to him.

This could be a problem, considering what his job is. But I’m not ready to have him doing that job, not today.

I didn’t tell Sasha either because she would have told Quinn. That’s why Roman is with me.

Besides, it’s hard for me to think about anything but Quinn when he’s around, and I do need to think this situation.

Something is bothering about all this shit with the DiMaggios. Something just keeps striking me as off , and I don’t know why.

Hopefully I can get some answers from the assholes that Joe’s crew got cornered after they tried to rip off one of my vans after it left the transfer station this morning.

Imports come first to my warehouse, but product is then moved to my transfer station outside the city.

There, it’s loaded into vans that transport the orders all over New England.

It’s a complex network to manage, but dispersion keeps the heat low—and distant from me.

I don’t distribute in Boston, only outside of it.

But the DiMaggios hitting a van that left the transfer station means they know the location of the station. That means I need to activate my backup station, relocate all product, and replot all routes.

What a pain in the ass.

The only good news was that when DiMaggio’s guys rammed the van, they fucked up their own truck so much that they had to abandon it. Joe’s crew chased DiMaggio’s guys through the woods, and they’re now holed up in an abandoned barn.

I want those assholes because I need to know where the hell they got their intel. The transfer station is a well-buried secret. But according to Joe, all options for getting to them risk casualties.

That’s why I brought the bulletproof Jeep. I probably shouldn’t have brought Roman though.

I wasn’t going to. He intercepted me in the garage. He must have seen me heading to my room to change and somehow been alerted. When I asked him what alerted him, he just shrugged. He still doesn’t talk to me much.

It frustrates me. Roman talked to Quinn so easily when they were sparring, but we’ve been riding in silence for forty minutes.

Why can’t he talk to me? Quinn, I can kind of bully into talking to me, but that’s not my dynamic with Roman.

It never was even before he spent four years in hell, but we used to be able to talk to each other.

Now … fuck. There’s a void between us, and I don’t know how to reach across it.

I think he hates me. He should. I didn’t see the truth about my uncle. I didn’t figure out what had happened to him. I didn’t find him, didn’t save him, didn’t help him at all.

I glance at him in the passenger seat. He’s so damn still, so damn silent, way more so than Quinn. Where Quinn is deliberately reserved but always busy, Roman is like a damn rock—but one that could explode at any moment.

What’s going on in his head? His dark eyes, staring through the windshield at the road, give nothing away.

Following the GPS to Joe’s location, I turn onto an overgrown road that bumps and dips through the woods until I reach Joe’s truck. In a little clearing ahead stands a rotting barn.

Joe comes walking out of a cluster of trees with his rifle angled down. I open the driver’s door so he can stand behind its bulletproof protection.

“Cotter and Martini have the perimeter here,” he informs me with no preamble. “I’ve got two more guys in the woods on the other side and another two watching the roads for the DiMaggios in case they send backup. No sign of them, at least not yet.”

“No trouble at the transfer station?”

“Clear for now, but we’ll need more trucks to move everything.”

“That’s gonna have to wait until I know how compromised we are.”

Joe’s paunchy face scrunches. “No way there’s a rat on my crew—”

“I’m not saying that, Joe, calm the fuck down. Let’s just get shit done here and put the pieces together later.”

Joe looks toward the barn. “Safest option is fire. We torch the barn and force them out into the open. Then we pick them off.”

“A fire big enough to force them out will have the fire department here before we’ve cleaned up. There are only three of them?”

Joe nods. “With one rifle, multiple handguns.”

Through the bulletproof windshield, I study the rotting barn. Then I doublecheck my weapons. I’ve got two .45s in my chest holster and a backup strapped to my thigh.

Joe stills as he realizes what I’m thinking. “If that’s how you want to do shit, you could’ve just ordered it—”

“You don’t have an armored vehicle.”

“Then let me take this one! This is my fucking job—”

“Get over your pride, Joe. Get the men ready to sweep in during the chaos.”

“Vitali—”

I shove Joe out of the way with my foot and yank the door shut. Glaring at me through the window, Joe whips his radio from his belt. Barking orders, he goes storming back to his position.

I tell Roman, “Get out.”

My brother doesn’t even look at me. He draws his guns and rests his scarred hands on his thighs.

“Roman. Get the fuck out.”

“No.”

I stare at the side of his face and watch him tap into the deep reserve of strength, endurance, and brutality inside himself. It gathers in his dark eyes. It makes a muscle bulge in his jaw.

“Goddamn it.” I don’t have time to fight him on this. I put the Jeep in drive and creep past Joe’s truck.

From the woods, Joe’s hand signal—a raised middle finger motioning forward—tells me the men are ready and that Joe is still pissed.

That’s fine. He’ll still do his job.

I breathe out and let my mind empty. I hit the gas.

The Jeep roars into the clearing, and we barrel toward the dilapidated barn, slamming into the slatted doors. They burst open. One is ripped off its hinges and goes flying into the dim interior. Shots fire from several directions.

I slam on the brakes and let the Jeep slide in an arc until it slams into a row of support posts, rocking me and Roman inside the vehicle.

The hayloft collapses, bringing a section of rotting loft down on the Jeep.

The guy perched up there comes down with the wood and goes rolling across the dirt floor.

Roman’s door is jammed up against the remains of a post, but mine is clear. I throw it open and spring out, snatching my guns from my chest holster. I fire at the guy who fell from the hayloft as he scrambles for cover, winging him as he dives into a stall.

I hunt for the other shooter, but I don’t spot him in time. Pain flashes across my left arm as shots fire. I locate the asshole, but he’s already falling from the rafters with his rifle—because Roman is firing from the Jeep’s sunroof. He spares a moment to glare at me.

More shots fire, some from the stall and others from the shadows under the collapsed hayloft. Roman ducks down into the Jeep as bullets pepper it, and I dive around to the back for cover.

Joe and the others swarm into the barn as I’m firing at the rotted side of the stall. A scream says I hit something, so I hustle out from behind the Jeep, staying low as I cross to the stall.

I have to duck back as shots meet me at the door, but when there’s a click, I sweep in. The asshole is reaching for another gun, so I shoot his hand. He screams.

I don’t want to kill him, so I holster my guns and go after him.

He’s injured, but his adrenaline is running high. He lunges up to meet me. I grab him, kick the side of his knee, and slam him to the ground.

Shots are still firing elsewhere in the barn as my opponent scrambles partway up. I wrestle him into a headlock, and he uses the last of his strength to slam me into the wall. Boards crack and fresh pain flashes in my arm, but I take the fucker down onto his face.

Joe and Cotter rush into the stall and help me get the guy in cuffs. I let them take over as I go out into the dusty, dim space of the barn to check on Roman and the others.

My brother is nowhere to be seen.

“Where the fuck is Roman?”

“Outside,” Martini tells me with a jerk of his head then adds, “He’s fine!” when I take a running step toward the door. “Leave him, Vitali, he’s cooling down.”

I can’t do that because I need to lay eyes on my brother, but I do slow to a walk. The instant I’m outside, hands grab me. I’m spun and slammed into the side of the building. Reflexively, I bring up my knee and slam it into my attacker’s hip, but it’s Roman.

“What the fuck!” I shove him hard. He’s rocked slightly but doesn’t let go. His dark eyes bore into me. His lip curls back from his teeth.

“You did that on purpose. Jamming my door.”

“I hardly had time to plan that.”

“Bullshit.”

It is bullshit, but I don’t admit it. I just glare back at him. He got what he deserved for refusing to get out of the Jeep.

All this shit is my responsibility. All this mess is my fault. It’s on me to fix it.

Roman shoves back from me and goes stalking off.

“Stay close!” I call after him, but he doesn’t reply. “Fucker,” I mutter and return to the barn.

“This is the only one alive,” Joe informs me, nodding to the man I subdued in the stall. He’s kneeling on the dirt floor with Joe’s gun at his head.

I pull my hunting knife from the back of my belt. “Then he’s the one who’s going to tell me how the hell he targeted my shipment.”