Chapter Fourteen - Markian
The city is never truly dark. Even under rain-heavy clouds, every street blinks with restless neon, every alley shimmers with secrets.
I watch the glow of Manhattan blur past the armored glass, the world reduced to a tight cocoon of steel, Kevlar, and men who trust me with their lives.
Alexei rides beside me, jaw clenched, his hand steady on the grip of his pistol. We say little as we run through the plan for the tenth—no, the hundredth—time.
Three vehicles, black and sleek, weaving through traffic like predators on the hunt.
Oleg and Anton lead in the first car, eyes cold, nerves humming beneath their stillness.
My men in the last car are quiet, focused, radio static crackling in the background.
Every detail has been mapped, every route double-checked.
Chris Jenkins won’t see us coming.
“Once we’re on the block, we split,” Alexei murmurs, voice barely above the engine’s purr. He taps the blueprint on his lap, tracing the entry points. “Oleg and Anton take the kitchen. We hit the back stairs fast and quiet. Lui’s team sweeps the alley. No bystanders. No witnesses.”
“No witnesses,” I repeat, turning the phrase over in my mind. There’s always someone left to see. Someone who remembers the wrong face, the wrong car. Tonight, there’s no room for mistakes.
Alexei glances over, studying my face. “You ready for this?”
I nod, but my mind is elsewhere—flashing through every way this could go wrong.
Chris has been a headache for months, all charm and ambition and slippery loyalty.
He thinks he’s clever, hiding secrets behind his smile.
He’s been dealing with our rivals, feeding Sokolov’s men just enough to buy time.
We’re done waiting. He’s a liability, and in my world, liabilities are cut loose.
I check my weapon again, fingers running over the familiar metal. The magazine is full, safety off, one in the chamber. The calm before the storm settles over me. I can feel the anticipation in my bones—a tautness that means blood is coming.
The convoy slows as we approach Chris’s block.
The street is nearly empty, the wet pavement gleaming in the glow of the club’s neon sign.
A couple of Chris’s bouncers smoke under the awning, looking bored.
Perfect. Our plan depends on speed—hit hard, hit fast, then vanish before the city knows we were here.
Alexei leans forward, murmuring into his earpiece. “Two minutes. All clear.”
I watch the club’s front doors, waiting for a sign. Some careless move, some hint of suspicion. Everything looks right. Too right. I should be reassured, but the knot in my stomach just gets tighter.
As we roll to a stop at the curb, my phone buzzes. Not a message. A call. Lui’s name flashes on the screen, urgent. I almost let it go. Almost.
Instinct makes me answer, bringing the phone to my ear. “What is it?”
Lui’s voice is pure adrenaline, crackling with panic. “He knows, Markian! Chris fucking knows! He’s armed and waiting for you. Somebody tipped him!”
Everything inside me goes cold. Chris knows. My plans, my soldiers—useless if we walk into a trap.
Alexei looks at me sharply, reading the danger in my face. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t have time to answer. I slam a fist against the dash. “Abort! Pull back, now.”
It’s already too late.
Muzzle flashes stutter in the alley beside the club, bursts of light bright enough to blind. The first round hammers into the hood of our lead SUV, metal screaming as it’s torn apart. Another round blows out the side window, showering Alexei and me with glass.
“Down!” I bark, grabbing Alexei and dragging him below the window. Shouts ring out from the front car. Oleg’s voice, Anton’s—gunfire. The bouncers scatter, ducking behind cars as figures in black pour from the club’s side doors, rifles raised.
I wrench my own gun from its holster, pressing my back to the door. The engine roars as our driver floors it in reverse, tires squealing on the wet asphalt, but more shots slam into the rear windshield, webbing the glass with cracks. “Go, go, go!” I shout, but chaos is blooming everywhere.
Alexei’s face is white, jaw set. “We’re boxed in. There’s two cars coming up behind.”
I peek up, ducking another bullet, and see them—black sedans sliding out of the shadows, blocking our escape. The alley glitters with broken glass and spent shells. My men spill from the last SUV, returning fire, trying to push through.
For a second, all I hear is gunfire—the world reduced to the sharp snap of rifles, the thunder of pistols, the whine of ricochets. Chris’s men have the advantage; they knew we were coming. They’re dug in, fighting for every inch.
“Lui!” I bark into my phone, voice ragged. “Where the fuck are you?”
He answers, gunfire in the background. “I’m on my way!”
“Hold position!” I snarl, head pounding. “We’re coming to you.”
Alexei is reloading, blood dripping down his sleeve from a cut I hadn’t seen. He meets my eyes, and for a moment, I see the calculation there. We might not walk out of this. Not all of us.
“Window’s our only chance,” he mutters, nodding toward the far end of the alley.
I nod. No time to second-guess. “On my mark, move.”
I throw open the SUV’s door, using it as a shield. Bullets tear through the panel, inches from my head. I squeeze off three shots, dropping one of Chris’s men before he can reload. “Now!” I bellow.
Alexei is out next, gun blazing. I cover him, firing in quick, controlled bursts, heart beating like a war drum. My men rally, pressing forward in a desperate push. We’re in the open now, targets painted on our backs.
Chris’s voice rings out from the club’s doorway, mocking, triumphant. “Didn’t expect this, did you, Sharov? Should’ve stayed home!”
I grit my teeth, fire again, rage burning through the fear. “You want me, come get me, you son of a bitch!”
Somewhere to my left, Oleg goes down hard, a cry lost in the chaos. Sirens begin to wail in the distance. Someone’s called the cops. We have seconds, maybe less.
I duck behind the shattered SUV, Alexei at my side, both of us reloading, breath ragged.
“We need to move!” he snarls.
“I know.” My mind races. No time for regret, no time for fear. We push forward again, every step a gamble, every second bought with blood.
Bullets rip through the night, spitting sparks and fire across the slick pavement. Glass shatters overhead, raining diamonds into the back seat as the armored SUV jerks and spins under the impact.
Men scream and fall.
The sharp metallic tang of blood mixes with the choking stench of burned fuel. Everything blurs—the strobing muzzle flashes, the echo of gunfire hammering off the walls, the bone-rattling thud of grenades tossed into the kill zone.
The ambush is total, clinical, the kind of slaughter you only get when the enemy knows your every move.
Chris has the playbook. He’s waited for us, every piece in position, every angle covered. It’s not luck. It’s not even just skill. It’s knowledge. He knew exactly where we’d be and when. Someone gave him the script.
Oleg goes down first—three rounds to the chest as he scrambles from the lead vehicle, blood fanning out over the white lines in the road.
Anton drags him behind the car, then takes a bullet to the leg before he even hits the ground. In the rear, Lui’s team pushes up the alley, but a grenade arcs overhead and explodes, flinging two men backwards like broken dolls.
Alexei and I are pinned behind the SUV, hearts pounding, lungs burning with every shallow breath. My gun is warm, almost empty.
I slam in a fresh magazine and risk a look around the tire.
A dozen of Chris’s men are sweeping forward, rifles at their shoulders, faces painted with grim determination.
I see Chris himself, grinning under the awning, his suit immaculate.
He lifts a pistol and fires twice, the rounds pinging off our cover.
Rage boils through me, raw and dangerous. There’s only one way this could’ve happened. Only one person who knew the exact details, who could’ve given Chris every detail he needed to build this trap.
I can’t let myself think about her. Not now. Not while my men are bleeding out on the pavement and death is stalking every shadow.
“Ammo?” I grunt to Alexei, ducking low as another burst of gunfire tears through the car.
He checks his pockets, hands shaking. “One mag left. Maybe twenty rounds.”
“Make ’em count.” I grit my teeth, searching for an opening. The alley is closing in. We’re boxed, surrounded. The sirens are closer now, a distant scream promising salvation or another kind of execution.
Another grenade lands near Anton’s group, sending a shower of debris across the tarmac. Lui yells over the radio, voice raw with desperation. “Boss! We can’t hold! They’re everywhere!”
I press the mic, words tight and clipped. “Fall back if you can. Regroup at the fire exit. Anyone who can walk, move now. No heroes.”
Shots crack past my head, tearing holes in the SUV’s door.
The metal groans. The engine coughs and dies.
I duck again, heart hammering in my throat, sweat stinging my eyes.
I think of all the men we’re losing—Oleg, Anton, half a dozen others.
Friends. Brothers. I taste the bitterness of it on my tongue.
Alexei nudges me, pointing to a fire escape just above the alley. “If we move now, we can make it.”
I nod, forcing myself to focus. The plan is gone. Survival is all that’s left.
We go together, covering each other as we sprint across the blood-slick street. Bullets chase us, chewing up the brick, sparking off metal. Alexei stumbles, grunting as a round grazes his arm, but he keeps moving. I empty my pistol in the direction of the shooters, just enough to buy us a second.
We reach the ladder, breathless. I haul Alexei up first, pushing him ahead of me as more shots slam into the rungs. Blood drips from his sleeve, painting streaks on the metal. I climb after, muscles burning, lungs screaming for air.
At the top, we duck onto the rooftop, hearts racing. The gunfire fades below, replaced by the rush of wind and the distant wail of police. I press my back to the wall, chest heaving, mind spinning. We’re alive. Barely.
Alexei leans against the brick, pale and sweating. “He knew, Markian. He fucking knew.”
I don’t answer. Not at first. I stare out over the city, rain streaming down my face, the lights blurred and distant. I can’t stop replaying the details in my head. The timing is too perfect. Someone betrayed us.
And the only person who knew the plan—the only person I trusted with the details I never share—was the girl who haunts my every thought.
Jessa.
For a second, the world goes silent. No gunfire, no rain, just the crushing realization that she’s the reason half my crew is dead or dying in the street. The girl I’ve held, fucked, comforted. The girl I let too close.
Alexei looks at me, jaw tight. “You know who did this?”
My hands tremble. “Not now,” I mutter. “We need to get out first.”
He studies me, seeing more than I’d like, but nods. “We move on your mark.”
I try to focus on the next step. Survival. Escape. Revenge. In the back of my mind, her face won’t let go—soft, hopeful, too innocent for this world. I want to believe she was scared. That she didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But fear is a luxury. In this world, mistakes get people killed.
We slip away across the rooftops, hearts pounding, pain and fury burning in every step.
I know, even as we disappear into the city, that this war just got personal. And when I see her again—when I find out the truth—there won’t be any more mercy.