“Niko?”
I turn from the steering wheel, realizing how hard I’ve been gripping it. “Da. You can’t get hold of our guy. And?”
“Been twelve hours since I last heard from him. You know what that means.”
I fucking do alright. The thought makes me want to rip Aslanov’s head off. He’s outsmarted us, making us look like a bunch of fucking idiots. And on top of that, he has the woman carrying my child.
The helpless anger that courses through me is unlike anything I've ever felt—white-hot and consuming, threatening to override every tactical instinct I’ve honed over the years. But I can’t afford to lose control. Not when Lauren's life hangs in the balance. Every second that passes is another second she’s in that bastard’s hands, another second our daughter is at risk.
Blyad!
I pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to silence my racing thoughts. Too much noise in the mind is never good.
Come on, mudak!
Think logically!
“What about the chip? Did they find it?”
Timur returns to his phone, bringing up the app that gives us access to all of our men’s locations. All of our guys have microchips inserted under their skin in case of emergencies like this.
He passes the phone over, pointing at a red dot next to our guy’s last location. I zoom in on the map, my expression turning sour when I realize where he is. About ten miles north into the countryside. It looks like a bunch of buildings that were left to rot years ago. Places like this are perfect to conduct the more brutal side of Bratva business because no one looks.
Timur takes the phone back and changes the map to 3D. “Skip and Peters Industrial Park,” he mutters under his breath, bringing up Google to get more detail. He skims the search results. He finds a map of the old layout, comparing it to our tracker data. “That’s where our he last pinged.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
I step on the gas, skidding around a bend with a screech. If this is where Aslanov took our mole, Lauren has to be there, too.
“Slow down,bratan,” Timur says, looking at the speedometer. It’s already reaching a hundred miles an hour. “They won’t do anything to her until they have you. We don’t want cops on our back.”
“They’re already on my back.”
Timur turns away, sighing. “I know you want to get Lauren out of there, but you have to think strategically. Going in hot-headed with no plan might make things worse.”
“I have a plan.”
“Do you?”
“To kill the fucker.”
Timur grimaces. “Not a bad plan. Unless he kills us first.”
“Us?” I make a left at the intersection, running a set of red lights. “He wants me. He’s not going to touch you.”
Timur shoots me a look but doesn’t say anything. He’s probably thinking the same thing as I am.
The rest of the drive is spent in silence, both of us focusing on what kind of hell this day has in store for us. It’s the quiet before the storm. The kind of silence that settles in your bones and makes every heartbeat sound like thunder. I can feel the weight of what’s coming—violence, blood and the very real possibility that I might not make it out of this. But none of that matters as long as Lauren makes it out of there unscathed. As long as she and our daughter have a chance at the life they deserve, even if I’m not there to see it. The thought should terrify me, but instead it brings a strange kind of peace. I know exactly what I’m willing to sacrifice, and I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
A little less than thirty minutes later, I turn into the industrial estate. The place looks even more desolate than it did on Google Maps. The gray infrastructure have been taken overby moss, weathered badly by the harsh winds that blow into Georgia over the winter.
I make sure to park a distance away so that the car engine doesn’t bring us any unwanted attention.
Timur gives me a side-glance. Not much fazes him, but I can tell this does. His expression is uneasy, his teeth gritted. “We should have called backup.”
“No time.”
Silence fills the atmosphere, even when I step out of the vehicle and take in our surroundings. I look over my shoulder to ensure that the coast is clear—not a person in sight, for now.
