Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VIKTOR
Despite the humidity hinting at an oncoming storm, the morning is cool, and the slight breeze carries the faint scent of desert blooms.
“Let’s get this shit done, yeah?” Nikolai says, snuffing out his cigarette beneath his boot heel.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead as we step into the warehouse. Twenty-three bodies lie in a row. In a few hours, acid will erase any sign they existed, but first, we’ll see what information we can gather.
“Any clues yet about who they are and who they work for?” I ask.
“Nothing yet.”
I sigh and nudge one corpse’s arm with my boot. Tattoos cover the skin, but they’re decorative and not tied to the petty gangs that fester in this area.
One body after another yields nothing. Until I crouch beside the twenty-first.
There. A small mark on the back of his neck. Recognition hits me like a gut punch.
“Turn his head,” I order.
A soldier obeys. My stomach knots. “Take a picture of that.”
“Why?” the soldier asks, confused.
I glare sharply, and he fumbles for his phone.
The design is stark and unmistakable. Fingers coiled around a dagger, the blade driven through a skull. The ink is old, the lines faded and blurred in places, but the symbol is still clear. It’s the mark of a faction I’ve seen before.
“Check the others for the same mark,” I growl.
My men scatter to obey.
My jaw tightens as I rise to my feet. Geliy has that same fucking tattoo.
I don’t like being played. If Geliy’s sudden reappearance wasn’t just about catching up with old friends, then what the hell was it?
He’s talked plenty about his work before, none of it sounding important. Until now. A freelancer with tactical skills, loyal to the highest bidder…and with an ‘in’ to the Bratva?
Coincidences don’t exist. Either this was Geliy’s old crew acting alone, or he helped fucking plan the raid. Either way, two of our men are dead. Two good men.
And Avelina and the kids were there too. I shove that thought aside before it can fully take shape.
Getting back into my SUV to return to the compound, I slam my foot on the gas as I drive, agitation churning inside me. It isn’t from being overstimulated or feeling duped by Geliy. It’s from knowing that Avelina and the kids were in the crossfire.
It shouldn’t matter.
I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
And even worse, I want to care…
But people like me don’t get to have that sort of life.