Chapter 13 Xander #2
At the warehouse's side entrance, I pause to check my weapon.
The Makarov rests comfortable against my ribs, loaded and ready.
"How many men do you have?" I ask quietly.
"Four, positioned around the perimeter…" Stepan chambers a round and I feel my chest tightening.
Good they're contained.
If they try to escape, our men will dissolve the problem for me.
But I want Sokolov myself.
Slaughtering the son of my enemy is the best way to show him I'm not fucking around here.
I push open the side door slowly.
It creaks once, then goes silent.
Inside, the warehouse stretches out in shadows broken by harsh fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling.
Stacks of wooden crates create a maze of hiding spots and blind corners.
Voices carry from the center of the space—Russian mixed with accented English and what sounds like Chechen.
Business voices, discussing prices and delivery schedules.
Stepan and I move through the shadows between crate stacks.
Neither of us makes a sound as we advance, using the stored goods as cover.
Twenty meters from the center of the warehouse, I can see the meeting clearly.
Yaroslav stands beside an open crate filled with automatic weapons, gesturing while he talks.
Four of his men stand in a loose perimeter around him.
The Chechens examine the merchandise, their leader running his hands over an assault rifle.
Everyone is focused on the deal so intently they don’t hear or see us coming.
I signal Stepan to take the left flank while I move right.
We separate, circling around opposite sides of the group.
I take the first shot—a clean hit to the chest that drops Yaroslav's lieutenant where he stands.
Before anyone can react, Stepan's weapon barks twice, taking down two more Brotherhood soldiers.
Chaos erupts.
Men dive for cover behind crates, shouting orders and curses.
Muzzle flashes light up the warehouse as return fire comes from multiple directions.
I move between the crates, using them as shields while I pick off targets.
One of the Chechens tries to flank my position, but I catch him in the open and put two bullets in his torso.
Stepan's voice calls out from across the warehouse.
"Yaroslav moving toward the loading bay!"
I see him—the blond hair bobbing up and down as he runs in a crouch toward the front exit.
Two of his remaining men provide covering fire, their bullets sparking off metal shelving.
I break from cover and sprint parallel to his route, using the crate stacks to stay hidden.
At the loading bay, I position myself between Yaroslav and his escape route, all the while listening to the eruption of gunfire outside as Stepan's men posted around the building catch the fleeing cockroaches.
He rounds the corner at full speed and runs directly into my line of sight.
His eyes go wide when he sees me.
"Alexander Morin," he says, breathing hard. "We can make a deal—"
My bullet takes him in the forehead before he even finishes his sentence.
He drops backward onto the concrete, blood pooling beneath his head.
The warehouse goes quiet except for the ringing in my ears, and the gunfire outside slows until it, too, fades.
I count bodies as I walk back through the space.
Yaroslav, four Brotherhood soldiers, two Chechens and based on the shots outside, I'm assuming all are accounted for.
Stepan appears from behind a stack of machinery, reloading his weapon.
"It was a clean sweep."
"The driver?"
"My men handled him when the shooting started."
I note the walkie on his belt and check my watch.
Twelve minutes from start to finish—as efficient as we could be but now the real work happens.
"Get the cleanup crew here," I tell Stepan.
"We're going to need full sanitization and fast."
"And the weapons?"
I look at the open crate Yaroslav had been showing off.
High-quality automatic rifles, enough to arm a small war.
"Load them in our van. Leonid will want to see them."
Stepan nods and starts making phone calls.
I walk back toward the side entrance, stepping over bodies and spent shell casings.
The warehouse will be clean by dawn, the bodies disposed of, all evidence of the meeting erased, and nothing will be tied back to me.
Igor's car sits exactly where I left it, exhaust visible in the cold air.
Through the rear window, I can see Nadya's silhouette waiting.
I slide in beside her, and she turns to look at me, taking in my appearance with careful eyes.
"Is it done?" she asks quietly.
She knows, just by looking at me, she knows how much bloodshed there's been.
"Yes," I feel nothing, but judging by her expression she feels it all.
The fear, the anger, the anxiety.
"You have blood on your coat," she points out.
I look down.
She's right.
Spatter across the front of my jacket, probably from close-range work.
"I'll need to change clothes," I tell her.
"And the warehouse?"
"Will need cleaning."
Understanding dawns in her eyes.
I lean forward and tap Igor's shoulder.
"Drive closer and park at the loading bay."
"Sir?"
"There's work to do."
Igor nods and pulls the car forward, and Nadya sits straighter, her hands smoothing down the fabric of her dress.
"You want me to clean it. Tonight."
"The scene needs to be handled before authorities show up and start asking questions. Evidence removed, blood cleaned…"
It was supposed to be a special night for us, a way for me to show her my world isn’t all about the killing and business.
And it didn't go at all the way I hoped.
She's quiet for a long moment.
When she speaks, her voice is steady.
"What do you need me to do?"
Pride smells in my chest at her response.
As twisted as it is, her willingness to yield to me and follow my orders is a gift.
"I can let the men handle it…" I tell her, offering her the only way out of this that I can.
If I were to cut her loose, really set her free, Leonid would have her erased in a matter of hours.
It's only business, after all.
But she's stubborn, and probably wise enough to understand the incredibly difficult position I've put her in.
She stiffens and lifts her chin.
"And let them fuck it up? You'll be caught…" Her sigh is acknowledgement enough.
Nadya really is mine and she knows it.
And maybe she doesn’t hate me for it.
"Igor has supplies in the trunk. Gloves, bleach, plastic bags, industrial cleaners. You know the routine by now."
"And the bodies?"
We slip right into the natural partnership we've established over the past five weeks and I feel more confident in my future within this organization than ever.
"Stepan's crew will handle removal. You focus on cleanup—blood, shell casings, anything that connects tonight to us."
We pull up to the warehouse loading bay.
The building looks quiet from the outside, but I know Stepan and his men are already inside preparing the scene.
Igor pops the trunk, and I turn to look at Nadya.
Still beautiful in her expensive dress, still wearing my diamonds, but now something else too.
A hardness around her eyes that wasn't there when we left the party.
The transition from Leonid's elegant gathering to a bloody warehouse floor, and she's adapting without breaking.
"Get your supplies, Ptichka. We have work to do.”