The dilapidated warehouse district materializes out of the smog. Rusted metal and crumbling concrete everywhere. We’ll need to ditch the cars soon and approach on foot if we don’t want to announce our arrival with a brass band and billboard.
I ease the SUV to a stop behind a crumbling brick wall, a good half mile from the warehouse district. The engine dies with a shuddering groan. Silence crashes in, broken only by the tick-tick-tick of cooling metal.
Ahead, the warehouses loom like rotting teeth in a giant’s mouth. Rusted metal and broken windows everywhere. A maze of shadows and blind corners.
Perfect place for an ambush. Or a rescue.
Depends which side you’re on, I guess.
I climb out of the SUV, slamming the door harder than necessary. Usually, a night like this gets my blood pumping. The hunt, the violence, the inevitable bloodshed—it’s better than any drug. But tonight? My stomach’s in knots. No rush of anticipation, just a cold dread eating at my insides.
Killing’s always been easy. Fun, even. Not tonight. Tonight, it’s just a means to an end. And if I’m honest with myself, that scares me more than anything waiting in those warehouses.
Erik flips his knife, catching it by the handle. Old habit. The blade glints, hungry for blood.
Saveliy’s already checking his gear. “What’s the plan once we’re inside?”
I pop the trunk, revealing our arsenal. “Find Wren and John. Get them out. If Zimniy gets in the way…” I grab a wicked-looking knife, testing its edge. “Well, that’s a bonus.”
We arm up in silence. I strap on a bulletproof vest, tucking extra magazines into my pockets. A gun at my hip, another at my ankle. The knife goes into a sheath on my back.
Erik catches my eye as he checks his own weapons. “You good?”
I nod, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
We move out, spreading into formation. Saveliy takes the lead, melting into the shadows like he was born there. Oleg and I flank him, with Erik bringing up the rear.
The guards at the entrance never see us coming. Saveliy appears behind them like a ghost, taking them out with two swift blows. We drag the bodies out of sight.
“Nice work,” I mutter as Saveliy picks the lock. The door swings open with a soft click.
Inside, it’s dim and cavernous. Crates and shipping containers create a maze of potential hiding spots. The air’s heavy with the smell of metal and oil.
I strain my ears, catching the faint murmur of voices from deeper inside. My heart rate picks up. Wren’s in here somewhere. I can feel it.
“D,” Erik whispers, nodding toward a staircase. “Upper level. Looks like offices.”
I nod. “Oleg, Saveliy, sweep the ground floor. Erik and I will check upstairs.”
We split up, moving silently as shadows. Each step up feels like an eternity. My fingers itch for my gun, but I resist. We need stealth, not a firefight.
At the top of the stairs, a corridor stretches out. Doors line either side, most closed. But at the end, light spills from an open doorway. Voices drift out, one of them achingly familiar.
Wren.
I freeze, every muscle tensing. She’s alive. She’s here.
Erik’s hand on my shoulder snaps me back to reality. His eyes ask a silent question. I nod, forcing myself to think tactically.
We creep forward, hugging the wall. The voices grow clearer. Wren’s, tense and angry. A man’s, smooth and mocking. Not Zimniy, but someone else.
I peer around the doorframe, my blood turning to ice.
Wren’s there, tied to a chair. Her face is bruised, a trickle of blood running from her split lip. But her eyes… they’re blazing with defiance.
And standing over her, a knife tracing her cheek, is a face I haven’t seen in years. A face I’d hoped never to see again.
Elena.
