CHAPTER 28
Roman
The cargo port reeked of diesel, rust, and black-market business.
Essentially, it was the perfect place to steal something that wasn’t mine to help me steal back someone that was.
“Target in sight,” Lev murmured, crouching beside me behind a wall of rust-streaked cargo crates. His tone was calm, but his knuckles were white around the grip of his weapon.
Beyond the maze of shipping containers, a boat bobbed in its slip. It was long, narrow, matte-black, twin outboards, probably military in nature. Fast, sleek, built for speed and maneuverability, not luxury. It wasn’t a yacht by any means. Actually, it was exactly what we needed.
Two men were stationed on deck, smoking, rifles slung carelessly over their shoulders. Sloppy. Complete amateurs.
“Only two guards,” I said quietly.
“Two against us?” Lev smirked. “Almost seems unfair.”
“Try to leave one breathing,” I muttered. “We’ll need a pilot if the controls aren’t standard.”
“Always so optimistic.”
Before I could reply, he was moving. He vaulted over the side rail of the dock with barely a sound, landing like a cat on the deck. I followed half a breath later, drawing my silenced pistol as I hit the wood beside him.
The first guard turned, mouth opening. I put a bullet through it before he could make a sound.
The second’s cigarette hit the deck as Lev’s knife flashed. One smooth slice across the throat and blood sprayed out, dark against the black hull. He caught the body, lowered it silently.
We both froze, listening.
No alarm.
I glanced at him. “You’ve gotten quieter.”
He wiped his blade on the man’s sleeve. “You’ve gotten slower.”
For a moment, all was quiet. Then I grinned, noticing several weapons mounted on the sleek vessel, one of them being a grenade launcher mounted on the back of the boat.
“This is going to be fun,” I exclaimed.
A faint noise below deck, movement of some kind.
“Inside,” I said.
Lev slipped the lines holding the boat free and then we descended the short metal ladder heading below deck. Theinterior was cramped and utilitarian with a navigation console, fuel gauges, and several different storage compartments. I saw a man sitting hunched over the controls, headphones on, completely oblivious to the two of us descending into his domain.
Lev tapped my shoulder. I surged forward with a shout.
The man spun in his chair, eyes wide, hands lifting. “Wait?—”
Lev’s gun was already at his forehead. “You wait.”
I stepped closer, studying him. He was in his early thirties, sunburned, tattoos snaking up his neck, mercenary type. “You know how to handle this boat?”
He nodded rapidly.
“Good,” I said, then slammed the butt of my gun into his temple. He crumpled. “Now we don’t need him.”
Lev chuckled. “You said you wanted a pilot, dumbass.”
