A shiver runs up my spine that isn’t entirely fear. I nod my agreement. I wish I were the kind of woman who could be offended by him calling me “hellcat” in two different languages. I’ll save that fight with myself for later.
The driver rolls us to a crawl as we slide past a loading dock. We turn in under a pier where, even from inside the SUV, the wind smells like metal filings and cold salt water.
The meet is supposed to happen in this weed-choked parking lot of a forgotten warehouse. It’s a tall stack of bricks with a line of broken windows that look like sharp teeth. The SUV slowlybumps over the cracks in the asphalt before coming to a stop in the shadows of the building. The other vehicle settles behind us obediently.
“It’s time, and he’s late,” Viktor says.
“We’re two minutes early,” Dominik replies with a glance at his phone before putting it away. “Hopefully, he doesn’t keep us waiting long.”
He opens his door and climbs out. When he rounds the car to my side, I have the sudden urge to grab his arm and keep hold of it. The thought embarrasses me enough that I reach for the handle instead.
Dominik is already on the concrete when I step out, his dress shoes brushing over the grit. In the shade, the air is colder than it was in the city. It comes off the water in windy gusts that find the gaps in my clothing.
Viktor takes point, his head on a swivel. He even keeps an eye on the empty sky above us. Petrov crosses behind the SUV with another man I haven’t met. The four of them and two drivers spread out around us, covering all sides.
Viktor checks his watch and makes the announcement. It’s now one minute past the meetup time.
Then two.
“Soon. He’ll be here soon,” I whisper. It comes out sounding more like a prayer than a truth though.
“Three minutes is generous,” Viktor remarks. “Five is sloppy. Seven is suicide.”
“He’ll come.” I sound like a child, one full of hope and innocence.
Where the hell is Archer? Doesn’t he realize what’s at stake?
“Either he will in two minutes, or he won’t, and we leave,” Dominik replies.
Around the five-minute mark, something shifts in the building’s shadows. My fingers go numb from the cold.Dominik’s weight changes almost imperceptibly in front of me. “Eyes open,” he orders his men, quieter than a whisper, and I see more men than I knew were there move along the edges of shadow—our guys. Or Dominik’s.
Viktor announces in the silence, “Three vehicles together coming from the west. Rolling slow.”
My mouth dries. “Archer said he would come alone, right?”
Dominik doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. I know. I know before the first low rumble of engines reach us. I know before the smell of hot oil bleeds into the salty air. I know before the shape of three boxy vans nosing into the lot become real enough to hate.
Archer lied.
His betrayal breaks something inside of me as the vans roll to a sudden stop with way too much confidence. Too close. The driver and passenger doors open. Men spill out wearing black leather vests, patches, and cocky smirks.
This must be the biker crew Archer sold the guns to.
More men step out of the shadows, showing themselves from the edges of the building, so many, as if they suddenly appeared out of thin air. They’ve been here too. Waiting. Watching us.
“Back,” Dominik says to his men, but I feel him move closer to me. His hand finds the curve of my shoulder and presses. “Get down.”
“Archer,” I try again as I search the faces. “Where is he?”
Dominik doesn’t answer. A man at the front of the biker knot steps forward with an enormous gun in his hands and calls, “Dominik Morozov!”
I try to catalog his features so that I don’t have to look at the guns. He’s in his late thirties or early forties, with a stomach that’s punishing his belt, a tattoo running up his bare bicep with a cartoon face that might be a familiar sailor. His long chestnutbeard in the summer wind is wild, messy, and his eyes say he thinks holding a big weapon has turned him into a king.
“Popeye,” Dominik replies, almost polite. “You should have kept your men in Newark.”
“Newark’s boring.” The man grins. He’s got three teeth too gold for the rest of his mouth. “And I thought it was time for you and me to finally have a meeting.”
“Sounds like someone told you when and where to find me and gave you two handfuls of courage. I wonder who that could be,” Dominik remarks coolly.
