Page 7

After making sure the security cameras are all facing front, I stuff the scope into my pocket and push silently up to my feet. The two grunts groan, waddling towards the garage with the barrel between them, as dim lights on the side of the warehouse illuminate their silhouettes. Now’s the time.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I sprint to the far side of the garage, near a forklift and crooked slabs of concrete.

“ Biting cold, tonight, eh? ” The grunt backing toward the garage says.

“ When did you become bitch boy? Too many trips to Florida for you. ” The other slaps the barrel, and they both cackle, giving me the noise I need to make my next move.

As the grunt facing the garage walks right into the dim spotlight, I pivot from outside gravel to concrete floor.

There’s no one else in the garage, but the overhead light will make it difficult to stay hidden. The walls are tin and echoey, and the grunts are coming closer.

Shit.

I scan everywhere. Changing rooms now is dangerous. I’m not sure if there are any other guards or cameras beyond the doorway.

“ Ah, almost there. Last one for tonight, yeah? ”

“ Da, bitch boy. No more precious metals for the gold guinea. Italian prick. ”

“ That Italian prick doubled our pay in one year, ” the other says.

“ And double work. ” The other scoffs.

“ Now who is being bitch boy? I like that Castor man. Big gold balls. ”

I grit my teeth as the voices come closer.

Fuck it.

I rush for the door and silently turn the knob. It’s unlocked, which makes me think others are inside, so I draw my pistol and swiftly scan the next room.

Right side clear. Left side… clear.

“ Let’s drop it over there. ”

The voices at my back make my entire body momentarily numb. There’s a second of doubt—that they’ve seen me, that I’d have to fight for my life in the middle of a Russian warehouse.

Shit.

My breath hitches as the footsteps grow closer.

Whoosh.

I shut the door quietly a moment before I hear the grunts’ footsteps echoing in the garage. Too close, I tell myself while making my way over the wood floor office.

My paranoia is really getting the better of me.

Is this what retirement does?

Recalling the blueprint by memory, I know down the hall and to the right is the next entrance to the warehouse area— the big space —where any live cargo is undoubtedly kept.

Rushing down the lounge room of the office, I stop at the next hall, hearing voices echoing from the main warehouse. Three of them.

There’s a coffee drip in the kitchen area, which makes me wonder if there’s someone nearby.

I’ll have to be careful here, and make sure I’m not sandwiched by the grunts if they decide to come this way. I peek to the bathroom down the hall, right before the half-open door leading into the warehouse.

No one is visible, so I rush down the hall on the side where the door is closed, careful to move slow enough so not to alert the Russians to any moving shadows. Once I’m opposite the bathroom, I realize the storage closet beside it might be the better spot to hide.

My heartrate rises the closer one of the Russians gets to the door.

“ You, big captain cop, made a big mistake arresting him. Think you’re invincible because you wear blue? ” He spits, his voice coming and going. He’s pacing, I realize. And the other two are busy rustling their prisoner.

He’s here. Quinn’s father…

By the resonance of the bratva’s voice, I surmise his back is to me, so I dash to the other side and slip into the storage closet. It’s pitch-black, and when my foot touches something that teeters, my reflexes spring into action. I catch the falling broom inches before it makes a sound.

Losing your touch, Aros.

When I hear mumbling and spastic movements, I take note Captain Dall is gagged.

“ Right now, you probably thinking… ‘Hm, which man I put away comes back for vengeance?’ ”

Whack!

A groan resonates.

“ Does Viktor Patrovski ring any bells? ”

Shifting in my crouched position, I glimpse the man bending down with a big smile. He slaps the captain lightly in the face, telling him that it will all be over soon.

“ Well, his brother has something to say about all this. Do not worry, you will meet him soon. Just hope you are not too connected to your fingers, or your eyes. Hah. Get used to that blindfold, Captain. It’s how the whole world will look soon. Hah. Hah. ”

The others laugh as another whack shakes the whole space.

“ Come, boys. We have cigar and vodka while we wait for next transport. ” The main bratva snaps his fingers. “ Our job is done here. ”

Thmp. Thmp. Thmp.

Three sets of footsteps head toward the concrete stairs and up to the hallway. My pistol is drawn in case one of them decides to get a mop on their way to the lounge.

My veins grow hot as I picture Quinn sprawled on my floor, crying her eyes out. She has no one to rely on.

Why do I even care?

My stomach goes weak, because in this moment, I realize how far I’ve come simply to help her. I had enough information for Donny since the card game. Now I’m sitting in a damn warehouse, mere feet away from the grand prize.

I’m only supposed to observe. If I’m not careful, I could start a fucking war over the grief of a woman I just met.

Thinking of how daunting my life has become since I lost my family… maybe I just want to prevent that for someone else.

Fuck that.

You’re not a fucking caretaker, Aros.

My anger flares within me, and I have a stray thought to make a mess out of the lounge room and rid the world of a few more bratva thugs.

Hearing them cackle and open the windows in the other room down the way, I have prime opportunity to put three silenced bullets in their heads and let the grunts clean ’em up.

That’s not how I do things, though.

I’m the ghost.

With a quick dash, I slip beyond the door leading to the warehouse and down the concrete steps. I’m careful to listen to the voices down the way. They have to remain far and muffled, otherwise the bullets fly.

Scanning the open space, I see cinderblocks, barbed wire, copper rungs, and some black tarps. The garage door is half-open. It’s one of those old-school, heavy chain-operated ones. If I wanted to slip out of here right now, I could.

The question is… should I steal Captain Dall back before the Russians have their way with him? This would be the last time he’d be intact.

I grit my teeth and run up to him.

He’s bloodied, head hanging low. Hm… might be unconscious. His breath sounds a bit gurgled, like he’d been punched in the ribs one too many times. When his mouth twitches in pain, I surmise he’s awake.

“ Nod once if you understand what I am saying, ” I speak in a harsh Russian accent. Blindfold and gag will help keep me invisible during this whole process.

His brow furrows, but he nods.

“ I am going to cut your legs free. You are not going to make a sound, and you’re going to follow my every direction. I am breaking you out of here. Understand, svin’ya?”

He grunts and nods with confusion.

“ If you try anything, I will put a bullet in your head. ” I shift my gaze to the door, hearing laughter down the way.

“Mph,” he grunts his understanding.

Whipping out a knife, I slash the wire keeping his legs tied to the chair.

“ Move slowly. No sound, ” I say, guiding him to his feet.

He’s wobbly, probably because both his legs are asleep, and from being knocked around.

“ Come. ” I drag him out of the doorway line of sight and move toward the tarps. I can’t afford the cameras having any inkling of my body-type or my height, so I eye the black tarp and consider covering us as we escape.

That’d be far too noisy, so I look to the left for the dirtied paint sheet under a ladder. That’ll do.

I knife the sheet while keeping a close eye on the big bear of a cop.

Draping the sheet over us, I tell him to crouch as low as possible and suffer whatever aches until we’re out of the vicinity.

The cameras are going to see us going north, but I’m a master of misdirection.

As soon as we’re in the woods, we’re going to widely circle the warehouse until we’re headed south…

back towards my hidden car a couple miles out.

Not a trace.