Page 35

As I predicted, Malek was closing in, setting up a base about two miles from the Galkin residence. With that, he became a direct threat to the new leadership, giving me more than enough reason to eliminate him for good.

Of course, that explanation was for those in the organization.

I’d known for a while that his actions had made him outlive his usefulness.

Don’s information proved to be true, and I cursed myself for being so blind.

The Jungles repaid their debt, providing me with solid intel on where to start the hunt.

I’d been on his trail for the past few weeks. It was a game of chase. While I tracked Malek’s movements and interactions, he seemed to enjoy being aware of my presence. Yet, it didn’t stop him from advancing with whatever he was planning.

Crouched on a nearby rooftop, I tracked his movements using thermal binoculars, one of the new toys I had acquired for the occasion. A sniper rifle would have been useful, but tonight called for a more personal approach.

I counted ten guards scattered around the compound. I had long anticipated this day: Orthodox Christmas, the perfect night for an attack. It was the one time orders were slightly ignored and guard concentration was lower.

I was packing my gear, ready to move in, when a man caught my attention.

January snow reflected off the ground, crunching softly under his boots.

The stranger, dressed in dark clothing, stuck to the shadows with purpose.

I wasn’t the only one with this idea. Malek made plenty of enemies along the way, but I didn’t expect any to be brave enough to face him alone.

Unlike me, most preferred numbers over skill.

Some help could be useful. Scratch that. His visit was scheduled. A knock on the reinforced door echoed through the empty streets. A guard slid the metal open to let him in.

I had to make a decision: stay and bide time, or follow and use him as a distraction. One extra guy wouldn’t make much of a difference, I figured.

I got up, brushed off the snow, and sprinted across the street to the entry point, a window I had discovered earlier while scouting.

With a push, barely fitting through, I slid in, landing feet first in a grimy bathroom.

I quickly left my gear behind, neatly arranging it against the wall before focusing on the surrounding movement.

This part of the building seemed quiet, unlike the rest. Malek’s idea of spreading forces involved positioning men around the entrances, in addition to the few people near him.

I never understood why people did that. Why surround themselves instead of tactically spreading out their forces? Ilya had done the same thing back in the old, sweaty gym.

If you cover your bases, there’s no need to be encircled .

I turned the dusty doorknob, peeking into the dark hallway that led to the maintenance area.

It offered a perfect opportunity for distraction.

You could disable the brakes or cause an explosion; the possibilities were endless, but I preferred the element of surprise.

I slid on the thermal glasses. Sticking to what I knew I readied my weapons and advanced.

A countdown from twelve.

Ready? Breathe and begin.

Luck was on my side, allowing me to catch the first duo of guards on a smoking break.

Didn’t they get the memo? Smoking kills.

I approached from the back, my steps steady as I searched for the perfect angle.

An arrow through the head took down the first one.

A throwing knife to the neck, the second.

The cigarette butts hit the ground along with their dead-weight bodies.

I dragged them behind the barrel they had been leaning against, covering my tracks as they gagged on their blood.

Ten to go.

A mirrored bathroom on the other side revealed a loner. The guard faced his reflection, splashing water on his face in a pathetic attempt to sober up.

Surprise flashed across his face when he noticed me behind him. Before he could react, I grabbed him by the hair and bashed his head against the porcelain. The sink chipped, a perfectly shaped piece landing next to my boot, begging to be used. I picked it up, finishing the job.

Blood smeared across my black leather gloves, which I wiped on the mirror. Through the smear, I faced my reflection. Determination and pride reflected in those blue eyes. No longer did I fear this version of myself. It was part of me now. This life? I embraced it.

Nine to go.

A medical wing occupied the left side of the building. A strange vibe poisoned the damp air, the eerie atmosphere forcing me to stay alert .

There, in one of the rooms, lay a man I’d watched get wounded last week. Something earned him a bullet to the chest, fired by Malek. A warning to those who disobey.

The blond-haired man’s wheezing echoed off the walls as I approached the bed, leaning over his sleeping form to cover his mouth. He spun into action at the intrusion, but it was too late.

“Not a sound,” I warned him.

He nodded frantically in response.

I held a knife to his neck as insurance, slowly uncovering his mouth, my eyes tracking his every move. At the first sign of trouble, the knife would slide.

“Who are you?” he whispered in a raspy voice, his breaths becoming more frantic.

I asked the more important question. “Who’s Malek meeting today?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said, panic evident in his voice. “They marked me a traitor.”

His hand made a sudden move toward me, but the knife drew a few drops of blood in response.

“Easy,” he murmured, pulling at his hospital gown to reveal the mark.

I’d seen the same mark once before. It was given to those labeled as traitors. A clear message: they were not to be trusted. A snake without a head, burned into the flesh with a hot poker. The mark was still fresh, angrily red, and possibly infected.

“How are you still here?” I asked, wondering why they hadn’t taken care of him yet.

“My punctured lung delayed the transport. They’re shipping me back to Russia tomorrow.”

Oh.

“What’s your name?”

“Lev. ”

“What will happen to you?” I asked, needing him to confirm what I already suspected.

“You don’t want to know,” he whispered.

Prostitution. Human trafficking. Illegal fights. There were many ways those who were written off found themselves used. They became currency, exchanged to settle debts and enrich the already rich.

I stepped back, sheathing the knife, when an impulse hit me. “Take the exit by the barrels,” I handed him one of the guard’s guns. “If anyone sees you, shoot.”

“I won’t blame you if you disappear,” I admitted. I probably would, too.

“But if you want to fight, I’ll hear you out.” I held his gaze. “Wait for me at the docks in Brooklyn. If anyone sees you, ask for Lorenzo and mention me.”

“Why help me?” Lev appeared shocked. He was right to question me.

“Call it Christmas spirit,” I half-joked.

An enemy of Malek could be a friend of mine, but I wouldn’t claim it was out of kindness.

I’d learned long ago that factors like age or innocent looks could be persuasive, but they’d only cost you.

In Lev’s case, though, I was his best shot.

I could only hope it was enough to prevent him from doing anything stupid.

Still, I warned him, “Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.

I could take it back just as quickly as I gave it. ”

He limped out as I helped him into the guard’s clothes before seeing him off.

“If you cross me, I won’t hesitate to end you. Now go!”

Lev took off.

Eight to go.

The others were all centered around the meeting place. I circled the space, searching for a lookout when I stumbled upon an office nearby. I helped myself to some information. A file with a picture awaited in a safe.

The combination? Malek’s birthday.

Zero points for creativity. Or maybe a hundred for acting .

Did he plant the documents? Whether intentional or not, they found their way to me.

Ravager. The man I’d seen entering the building.

I held the picture up to the light, studying the man behind the name.

His face was destroyed. Beaten and swollen, it was clear his nose had been broken one too many times, now hanging at an unnatural angle.

On top of that, a bloodied eyebrow and a black eye marred his features.

The damage the name promised had already been done to his face.

Malek’s new ally?

More players entered the game with each round, whoever had the strength and guts to join.

Leaving the office, I scouted for higher ground.

Voices carried over as I lifted my body to the nearest vent.

I crawled on all fours through the tight space, armed with only a few of my trusted knives.

A dust-filled breeze swept through the tunnel, and I suppressed a giggle at how ridiculous it would be if the dust made me sneeze.

But any humor was wiped away when I reached the room.

I could tell it was near the door through the bars of the opening on the side.

Two guards stood outside. From this angle, they looked like they were in jail, which would be a better fate than the one I planned for them.

Not wasting any time, I pulled out a knife and started to loosen the bolts. I only advanced further when I was sure it could be kicked off easily.

I lay flat, schooling my breathing, and slid rather than crawled to avoid making noise, silently praying for another viewing point closer to the center of the room.

The next vantage was almost directly above what seemed like a living room setup.

A coffee table filled with cakes, fruits, and nuts occupied the middle.

A hand reached for some of them. There on the couch, Malek sat, sporting a thick beard.

With his legs casually spread, he laughed, his demeanor unconcerned.

Suddenly, his eyes lifted this way, and I skipped a beat or two, waiting for his reaction .

None came.