It’s admittedly an imbecilic plan. These things are basically paper and glue.
If I’m spotted, I’m dead.
Six more men file in, for a total of twelve. More than I would like.
Andrei finds a folding chair shoved along the wall and drags it to the center of the room with an awful screech of metal on concrete. He shoves it open and orders Trinity to sit.
Her body language might be a mystery to these Russians, but I read her loud and clear.
She’s acting compliant, but she’s pissed. Patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike. Though she’s careful about it, she’s watching. Scanning.
The only person among a dozen trained killers who’s peeringintothe floats.
Over here, Trinity!I don’t wave, but the impulse is damn tempting.
Grigori and two guards surround her. Two more post up near the west door to wait for my arrival. The rest, including Andrei, spread out among the floats, weaving through the maze while searching around the room and under the trailers.
Each man carries a Makarov, at minimum. Eight-rounds, semi-automatic. Lucky for me, I’ve got connections in nearly every inch of the country thanks to my former relationship with the Port Kings. Grant, a good Southern boy working at a local defense company, hooked me up.
Andrei strides back over to the men guarding Trinity. He and Grigori speak in quick, quiet Russian.
With his bandaged arm and puffy, purple face, Andrei’s the loose cannon here. He wants a war. His eyes contain a lifetime’sworth of bottled-up rage, and I can already tell he has no intention of playing fair.
Andrei’s already lost two battles against me in a short span of time. That would be bad enough, but now that I know the truth—that Andrei is Grigori’s son—I realize the sting must smart that much worse.
The two of us mirror each other. Bastard sons in overdrive who will kill ourselves to please fathers who’ll never give us our due credit.
I get it, pal. Declan had me wound tight too. But no more.
This is my edge. Andrei’s rage is my stability.
Last time, he had the advantage. This time, I have no doubt who will come out on top.
I study them, their body language, the platoon they’ve brought along for the ride. They never planned to trade Trinity for the drive. They’ll get what they want and then murder us both.
Whatever Grigori says to Andrei ruffles the younger man’s feathers. At his next words, directed at Trinity, anger surges through me.
“Yobanaya suka!” Andrei points at Trinity, then swipes an angry hand through the air as they continue to argue.
I don’t have to speak Russian to understand the derogatory term.
Andrei shakes his head, spins, and marches toward Trinity’s chair.
He pulls back a hand and slaps her. Her head snaps to the side, her cheek already bright red with his handprint. Copper curls fly around her face, covering her expression.
I clench my hands into fists, red bleeding into my vision.
You motherfucker.
Still, I maintain my position. He only did that in the hopes of luring me out of hiding. And Trinity knows it too.
She’s silent. Stoic. She lifts her head and stares straight ahead, no emotion on her face.
That’s my girl.Patient and strong.
Andrei thinks he can manipulate me, but too bad for him. My plan’s already in motion.
Though he’ll pay for that slap before the end of the day.
