NIK
We have an approximate location.
The taxi crawls through a maze of crumbling, empty buildings. Their windows are like black eyes staring down at us.
My hands grip the seat so tight my knuckles ache, and my stomach’s twisted into a permanent knot.
Two hours.
Two long, suffocating hours.
The cabbie drops us off at a building on the edge of a dead street.
No security in sight.
Perfect.
I glance at Dom, and he nods. We move along the shadowed line of abandoned structures.
I catch the glint of eye reflections in the dark first. Then shoulders shift, shadows peeling away from brick and rusted scaffolding.
The Barkov men.
Already here. Already waiting.
They’re scattered like wolves, every one of them poised for the kill, their presence coiled and silent, waiting for the order.
One crouches on a rooftop, rifle angled low. Another lingers at the corner, hand hidden beneath his jacket, eyes locked on the warehouse doors. They don’t twitch until Dom lifts a hand.
“Down,” he mouths.
The shadows obey. Snipers melt back into the skyline. Ground men press themselves into alcoves, swallowed by brick and rust.
Dom leans in close, whispers. “They’re ready, boss. One word, and this place is ours.”
My jaw tightens. “We do this clean. My signal only.”
Dom nods, relaying the command through his phone. “Ghost formation. Stay low. Wait for Barkov.”
Static silence follows. No arguments. They know who’s in charge tonight.
My blood pounds like war drums. Vince won’t walk away from this.
I adjust my grip on the sidearm. Loaded and ready. Dominic keeps his weapon holstered, eyes locked on the coordinates glowing on his phone. He tips his chin, guiding me toward the lone building hunched at the end of the block.
The black Mercedes gleams against the wall, smug in its stillness.
Leanna could be inside. Or worse, broken somewhere behind those steel doors.
My gut twists.
“That’s it,” I whisper.
Dom raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. He knows. Leanna’s roommates had said she was thrown into the trunk of a black Mercedes. This has to be the one.
But the thought claws at me, what if she’s already gone? What if she’s hurt so badly she can’t bear to be alive?
My chest tightens. My jaw aches from clenching it so hard. I hate that I can’t just storm in and save her.
