I have a migraine and today has been awful
Me:
I’m coming to get you
Zaychik:
No, you don’t have to
Zaychik:
It’s okay… Really, I promise
Me:
It’s raining. I’ll be there
Zaychik:
But my bike
Zaychik:
I can’t leave it someone will steal it
I glance up at my father who’s still explaining something to Mikhail and Daniil. “Can I borrow your SUV?”
My father stops mid-sentence and gives me a curious look. “Fine.” He waves his hand dismissively and continues talking about police databases and access points.
Me:
It fits in the car
Zaychik:
Are all Russians this stubborn or is it just you? Okay I’ll be waiting for you outside
He’s one to talk about stubborn.
Me:
One hour zaychik
I pocket my phone and tune back into the conversation just long enough to catch the tail end of Father’s instructions about surveillance schedule. Kelly’s having a bad day, which means I’m not wasting time on strategy meetings that can happen without me.
I’m about to stand up when someone knocks on the door and then opens it. All our heads snap that way. A guy gets shoved down to his knees, and a gun presses against his head. Three of our security guards stand behind him. My father’s main security officer steps forward and clears his throat.
“Apologies for the interruption, sir. Found this one outside, attempting to gain access to the club. Claimed he was meeting someone, but we caught him trying to reach the garage tophotograph the vehicles. We searched him and found a camera and phone. What would you like us to do with him?”
My father’s expression doesn’t change. Without even glancing at the guy on the floor, his eyes cut to me. “Alexei. Handle it. Get everything out of him, then clean it up before you leave.”
Son of a bitch. I don’t have time for this. I wanted to be there early to pick him up. Instead, I’m stuck dealing with some idiot photographer.
I push up from the chair and walk over. He’s young, early twenties, haven’t seen him before. I grab him by the shoulders and haul him to his feet, then slam my fist into his face. His nose breaks with a crack, and blood sprays across his mouth. He tries to drop, but I don’t let him, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing until he chokes. Then I throw him back down, and he hits the floor hard, gasping for air.
I grab his hair and yank his head back. “Start talking. I’m already pissed off, and you’re making it worse. What were you doing here?”
He coughs, spits blood. “Someone hired me for intel, man, please. They said it would be quick, in and out.”
