Page 53 of Kidnapped Bride

And if I had, what sort of father would he be? Because more and more I was sensing the reality that I must be pregnant.

My period was later and later, and the sickness came more frequently every day.

I just couldn't trust that Nikolai could love me the way I deserved, not when the only example I'd see of love was such a failure.

And how could he be a father if he couldn’t be a lover first?

I cried myself to sleep, hoping he didn't wake me when he came in this time.

I might well just break down and tell him.

And I wasn't sure what that would mean to a man who forced me to marry him against my will.

17

NIKOLAI

Yakov and I stalked across the shipping yard toward our dock as large rigs rolled past, rumbling the ground as they hauled containers toward the cranes that would stack them for storage. The wind whipped off the river making my jacket flap in the breeze and tossing my hair. With word that Markin's shipment had come in hours ago, I found it strange we hadn't heard a thing from him.

"Still can't believe he's been so quiet, Boss," Yakov grumbled, flicking the ash off his cigarette into the wind away from us before taking a long drag.

"That bothers you?" I asked him, feeling the same as him. It didn’t sit right with me how silent he'd gone, but we had taken out twelve of his men in one strike, while having lost none of ours. I knew the instant we started fighting back, we'd be winning, but we also had police presence sniffing up our ass now too. It was impossible to push our product through stores where there were welfare checks every third day.

"He's planning something." Yakov spoke and the smoke from his lungs danced on the wind. "Something bigger… I can feel it."

I didn't disagree. The silence from Markin's camp had been eating at me since the first week passed without incident. He wasn't the type to absorb a loss and let it sit. He hit back, always, and the fact that he hadn't made a move yet meant whatever was coming would be bigger than a street-level skirmish over a bodega.

But I knew we'd be prepared for it. We were all healing up now, including my side, which had mostly scabbed over, sans infection. And if we confiscated this shipment, Markin would lose whatever he hoped to push, costing him money too.

Gregg and Vlad were waiting for us near the container yard on the eastern side of the port. They stood talking to the dock foreman, Vander, and when they saw us coming Vlad broke off the conversation and met us halfway.

"What do we know?" I asked, continuing my push toward the containers Gregg was standing by.

"Vander says three containers came through two hours ago on a vessel out of Rotterdam," Vlad said. "The manifest says auto parts, but the weight doesn't match. They're about four hundred kilos heavier than what's listed."

"Where are they now?" My eyes skimmed over the horizon but there were hundreds of containers stacked everywhere, with more being hauled off the boat now. With my men standing guard on every corner, there was no way Markin had been in to retrieve his contraband, and if it was heavier than the manifest, it wasn’t drugs. We were probably looking at guns.

Vlad pointed toward a row of containers stacked two high near the eastern fence. "We pulled them aside before they could get loaded onto trucks. They're over there."

Gregg had already gotten the bolt cutters from the car, and he met us next to the containers where he snapped the seal on the first container. Yakov hauled the door open with a groaning screech that rent the air.

Inside was exactly what the manifest described. Crates of auto parts, brake rotors and alternators, and catalytic converters packed in foam and shrink wrap. I climbed in and started pulling crates aside while Yakov and Vlad worked from the other end, checking behind and underneath everything we could move.

And we found nothing.

If Markin was moving product or weapons through these shipments, he had found a way to hide it even from us, and we did it for a living too. I knew all the tricks, and not a single thing sent up a red flag.

We went through the second container the same way. Gregg and I pulled crates out and stacked them on the ground while Vlad checked the walls and floor for false compartments. I knocked on every panel looking for hollow spots and ran my hands along the seams where the floor met the walls. And I even ripped apart the foam packaging, biting off a piece to taste the composite and make sure it hadn't been impregnated into the packaging materials. And it was clean. Automotive parts and nothing else.

I stood outside the third container with grease on my hands after digging through at least fifty more crates and all I had to show for it was frustration.

"Dead end," Yakov grumbled.

"For now." I wiped my hands on a rag Gregg handed me and tossed it back to him. "But Markin's moving product through this port. Vander confirmed the chatter and I trust his ears more than I trust a clean shipment."

"So what do you want to do?" I turned to face Gregg with a scowl on my face. That was the problem. I had no clue what to do. We couldn’t very well waste the time and manpower, but it wasn't an option to let any single crate come through here if it had more product to make him more money. More money for Markin meant a better chance to recruit more hands and that meant a bigger army.

"I want every container that comes through this port tracked. Origin, destination, weight discrepancy, who signed for it, which vessel it came from. Everything. Nothing moves without my knowledge."