Old Russian money that survived the Soviet collapse. Manages billions for oligarchs, politicians, anyone who matters. He can freeze accounts, bury secrets, destroy lives with a phone call. Never has to leave his office. The ports and the clubs are just the arms. The investment firm is the heart. And we control every beat.
The meeting drags on for another hour. I find myself thinking about Kelly waiting at his apartment. I won’t make it back tonight, not with the prep and the reconnaissance before tomorrow.
The thought of him sitting there alone, probably worried sick about where I am, makes something twist uncomfortably in my gut. But this is the life I chose, the family I was born into. Kelly’s going to have to learn that sometimes the family business keeps me away longer than expected.
Chapter 14
Alexei
My fingers tap against the side of my thigh while crouching behind cover. My eyes locked on the stash house my father wants cleared and searched for intel.
It’s somewhere past midnight. The compound sits about two hours outside the city. Lit up like a damn Christmas tree with floodlights covering every angle. Shipping containers are stacked around the fenced lot. Calder and I counted at least eight guards outside, probably more inside handling the actual product.
I push to my feet and glance over at Calder. He’s checking his weapons. We’re both wearing the tactical gear we use for jobs like this, loaded for a firefight in case things go sideways.
His tattoos make him look even more disturbing in the shadows, his shaved skull covered in some nightmare design of skulls that morph into screaming faces with blacked-out eyes. The ink bleeds down his forehead and onto his chin like blood dripping from a fresh wound. I don’t understand how Yulian can call him his best friend. I’m fucked up, but Calder’s in a category of his own.
I crack my neck and roll my shoulders. “Let’s just get this over with.”
He hums in agreement. We start moving along the path we mapped out earlier, staying in the tree line to avoid the lights. We cut through the chain-link fence with bolt cutters and crawl through the gap, then split up to handle the perimeter guards.
I pull my knife and move in behind the first man, clamp a hand over his mouth, and slice his throat in a smooth motion. I keep the sound trapped in my palm while blood runs down his neck, then lower him to the ground and drive the knife into his back to make sure he stays down.
The next guard goes just as quietly.
Across the lot, Calder makes his kills unnecessarily complicated. He’s grinding his boot into some guy’s skull long after the man stopped breathing. He can never just kill efficiently and move on.
Two guards patrol near the shipping containers. The first one turns, sees me. Reaches for his gun. I close the distance before he can draw, grab his wrist, twist until bones crack. He opens his mouth to scream. I drive my palm into his noseuntil bones crunch. He goes down.
The second guy swings at me. I duck under his arm, sweep his legs, drive my boot into his throat. Once. Twice. Until he stops moving. Then I slit both their throats.
We clear the outside without raising any alarms, then approach the main warehouse. Through the cargo door, I count seven more targets moving around inside. I hold up seven fingers to Calder. He nods, grinning manically.
The warehouse is packed with shipping crates and stolen cars and makeshift office spaces built into the back corner. Tables line the center of the space, covered in stacks of cash and vacuum-sealed bricks of product waiting to be distributed.
I grab the first guard from behind, clamp my hand over his mouth, and sink my knife into his kidney. He screams into mypalm. I yank the blade out and stab until he goes limp. I drop him and wipe my knife on his shirt.
I crack my neck and move toward the next target, but he spots me and opens his mouth to shout. I flip my knife and drive it up through his jaw into his skull, grabbing his shoulder to lower him quietly to the ground while stabbing him over and over again into his jaw.
Across the warehouse, Calder’s stalking his own target. He kicks the back of the man’s knee out, drops him hard, then slits his throat while catching the bodybefore it goes down.
I keep moving behind cover and spot three more targets grouped near the cash tables. Two are talking while the third stands behind them with an AR, keeping watch.
Calder appears beside me without a sound and studies the three men. “The one with the rifle. He’s left-handed but holding it wrong. Nervous. New to this. He’d break in under three minutes.”
“Go distract one. I will take the other two. You can do whatever you want to the one you distract.”
His mouth curves slightly. “This is why I don’t mind working with you.”
I grunt and take position behind a stack of crates.
One of the men separates to check a noise. I grab his head, twist hard and fast. Neck snaps. He drops. The other guard sees me, brings his AR up, shouts.
I throw my knife. Blade sinks into his throat before sound comes out. He stumbles backward, clawing at the handle. I close the distance, yank the knife free, drive it under his ribs. He goes down gurgling.
When it’s done, Calder’s leaning against a post with the third guard on his knees, hands zip-tied behind his back. Blood drips from the man’s nose. “Would have been more fun to have a chat with all of them.”
I wipe the blood on my pants. “We’re not here so you can experiment. Focus. We need information, not a fucking show.”
