A creak of groaning metal pulls my attention to one of the containers where a burly gangster is swaggering out of the shadowed interior. The door swings shut behind him, and I recognize him as one of Eduardo’s goons.
“What took you so fucking long?” one of the others growls out to him. The asshole laughs and palms his crotch.
“Hit the jackpot,” he says, leering. “Found a sweet little virgin and popped that cherry wide open. Couldn’t help myself…got hard again for a second round…so damn tight, I couldn’t even pull out.”
The other shakes his head. “Virgin, huh? Didn’t know there was such a thing anymore.”
“Nah,” says the other. “You just gotta find ‘em young enough.”
I feel heat rise up my throat along with bile. I narrow my eyes on the cunt. He’s still laughing.
“Fuck it, Mario,” Eduardo interrupts. “I said you could sample the merchandise, but not if you’re going to lower the value!”
Mario gives a casual shrug. “It’s okay, boss…she’s fine enough that nobody will care. And those titties will grow out any time now; she’ll be worth even more then.”
I open and close my fist, nails biting into a sweat-slicked palm as I ease a breath through flaring nostrils. I dry my hand on my pants and raise the rifle to my shoulder, cradling it with my other palm as I wait. My patience is dissipating. Jesus…as soon as this show gets on the road, Mario’s on the top of my fucking hitlist. I’m already sighting down the barrel, finger hovering. The fucking minute my uncle appears, this guy is toast.
“Don’t know how you could even see that much in there it’s so dark,” my cousin says to the guy, then turns back to the man at his side. The bastard’s big, clad in cargo pants and work boots – no fashion junkies in this group. These men are here to work. Even now, I hear the hissing of hydraulic brakes as a couple of heavy haulers cruise in. They’re going to move the “merchandise” and take them out of town – there’s no doubt in my mind. And from there, God knows where they’ll end up.
Mario has moved to the other guard he’d been joking with, reaching for the guy’s cigarette and saying something low that draws more lewd laughter.
“Quit dicking around,” says Eduardo. “My Pops will be here in fifteen minutes. Sergei and I have some details to iron out.”
“Fifteen minutes, huh?” says Mario. He glances back over his shoulder at the container door behind him. “That should be just enough time to—”
Mario’s head explodes like an overripe watermelon.
Ahh, fuck.
I shot him.
It couldn’t be helped. There’s no way I was going to stand out here while that animal went back in there and did whatever he had in mind.
Without a word from me, Raoul slides into Plan B. A volley of gunshots ring out as he picks off the sentries. Taking out anyone armed with a weapon that might pierce the plating of our vests.
Eduardo makes a dive for safety. The big, tattooed guy with him has already hauled out a pistol and is backing toward cover, popping off rounds that fly dangerously close. He’s clearly identified the source of my original gunshot and is firing with alarming accuracy. It doesn’t surprise me. This isn’t the amateur league.
From beside me, Raoul is unleashing a hail of gunfire. When I glance over, I catch a flash of white teeth as he grins like a lunatic, a pistol in each hand, mowing down anyone foolish enough to get in the line of fire. Terrified screams ring out from within the containers, reminding me of how vulnerable the occupants are. I send a hand signal to my brother, and he nods in understanding, keeping his shots clear of the precious cargo.
Meanwhile, the Russians are moving with the precision of a military unit, formidable and deadly. But ultimately, they’re just here to do a deal… here for the merchandise. While I have other plans. Because tonight, everybody who threatens my family is going todie.
Chapter 15
Dario Caraldi
When the silence finally comes, it seems almost surreal. While it feels like a lifetime has passed, it’s barely been a couple of minutes since the first shot was fired. And I know enough to be certain it’s not safe out there yet. Those men are regrouping. The opening and closing of car doors remind me that those trucks were certainly carrying more Russians. When I hear the stealthy sound of boots moving over asphalt, I know they’re planning their own offensive. And they’re a lot more organized than Eduardo and his thugs.
I ease out a silent breath, trying to get a sense ofexactly what we’re dealing with. The men in the circle were one thing, but there’s no telling how many more have arrived. And my damn uncle’s definitely not going to be rocking up anytime soon. I have no doubt he already knows that the shit’s hit the fan.
“Screw it,” I mutter, firing a quick double-tap into the air, the signal Mateo and the others have been waiting for. The revving of an engine follows almost immediately, and then the SUV is bearing down at high speed. Mateo hits the brakes as he reaches the mark where we’re still cloaked in shadows, and the passenger door flies open. I see Raoul make a bolt for it, ducking behind the armored steel just as a slew of bullets pepper the paintwork. Seconds later, Mateo and Raoul are safely inside, windows cracked just enough to return their own fire. It’s exactly the diversion I need to scope the place and get a bead on my primary target.
Eduardo has ducked into the doorway of the warehouse. I spot him as he begins sliding along the wall in the direction of his parked vehicle. He’s going to make a break for it.
Not if I have anything to do with it.
I slip around the back of the building, skirting past the line of containers and moving up toward where the G-Wagon is parked. When the motherfucker rounds the corner and jogs to the car, I’m waiting for him.
“Going somewhere, cousin?” I ask. He stops short, staring at me. My 9 mm is trained on his chest, but I’ll happily shoot out his knees then work my way up.
