17. Rafi
17
RAFI
T he lead is all we’ve got—a thread so thin it feels like a taunt rather than a lifeline. Dock 42. A shipment that could possibly be tied to a Russian. It circles my mind like a storm cloud as my boots crunch over the gravel, Jayson Caluna flanking me, his unease practically radiating in the cool night air.
“You sure about this?” Jayson murmurs, his eyes darting toward every shadow.
“No,” I admit, gripping my weapon tighter. “But if Igor Aslanov’s here, we can’t afford to miss him. He’s our only link to Maxine.”
Jayson mutters something under his breath, but I cut him off with a sharp look. The truth is, this doesn’t feel right. The air is thick with something more than the salty tang of the docks—something darker. But I can’t shake the thought of Tayana, of her voice when she gave me this tip. She sounded sure. And I can’t help but feel that this might be the break we’ve been waiting for.
We move deeper into the maze of shipping containers, their towering forms throwing jagged shadows under the dim floodlights. The quiet is oppressive, too perfect, the kind that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Then they appear, emerging from between the containers like ghosts. Men, too many to count at a glance, their movements synchronized. Guns glint under the harsh lights, and the unmistakable click of safeties being released fills the air.
“Shit,” Jayson mutters, his voice tight.
“Stay calm,” I snap, scanning the faces in the crowd.
A man steps forward, his silhouette broad and menacing. His voice cuts through the night, thick with a Russian accent. “Gatti,” he says, his tone dripping with smugness. “You’ve been busy.”
I don’t flinch. “And you’ve been sloppy,” I fire back, keeping my voice steady. “The docks? That’s practically an invitation for me to crash your party.”
He smirks, a predator playing with its prey. “Or a warning,” he counters. “You should’ve stayed away from the girl.”
My blood runs cold.
“The girl?” I echo, keeping my tone steady even as my grip on the weapon at my side tightens.
“You made a mistake getting involved with Tayana Aslanov,” he says, his smile widening as he savors the shock he expects to see on my face. “And now you’ll pay for it. As will she.”
I don’t let the name throw me. I can’t. But the way it rolls off his tongue feels wrong, invasive, like he’s stolen something sacred. The implications settle over me like a vise, squeezing the air from my lungs. If they know who Tayana really is, she must be in danger.
“Fuck,” Jayson hisses, shifting beside me. “If I survive this, your brothers are going to kill me.”
I force my lips into a smirk, my voice dripping with false confidence. “Take it easy,” I say, my mind racing. The odds are stacked against us—too many men, too precise in their movements. The Russians don’t do messy, and this whole setup reeks of calculation.
“Today,” the man continues, his tone deceptively casual. “We make an example of you. Then you can join Aslanov in her crate.”
A coffin. He means a coffin. Which means I’m here facing down one threat, and Tayana is probably facing down another. I hope to God her security team finally earns their keep and holds them off until I get there. Because I have no intention of dying here today. And I have no intention of letting anything happen to Tayana.
I raise an eyebrow, forcing a smirk. “I have a better idea,” I tell him, and I know that my self-assured cockiness has got the better of him. “Why don’t we forego the crates, and I feed you all to the fish instead?” An invitation.
His smirk falters for a fraction of a second, and that’s all I need. The first shot rings out, the crack of gunfire splitting the night. Chaos erupts.
Jayson and I dive for cover, bullets ricocheting off the metal walls of the containers. The air fills with the sharp tang of gunpowder and the deafening roar of combat.
“We’re fucked!” Jayson yells, crouched behind a crate.
“I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of dying here today,” I growl, scanning for an opening.
Adrenaline surges through me as I move, my weapon an extension of my body. The Russians are everywhere, their precision cutting off every avenue of escape. But I don’t care about escaping. I care about getting to Tayana.
We trade fire, the dock erupting into a battlefield. I dart between shadows, my focus razor-sharp. Each step forward feels like a small victory, but it’s not enough.
All I can think is that Tayana’s lead was a death sentence; someone orchestrated this whole thing, using her as bait, and now she’s out there, vulnerable. The thought sends a wave of fury crashing over me, hot and blinding.
The rage fuels me, turning every shot into a promise. I don’t fight like a man trying to survive—I fight like a madman trying to get to her. Every bullet I fire feels like a step closer to breaking the chains these bastards have tried to wrap around me, around her.
On my count, Jayson and I rise, sending a spray of bullets through the air towards the Russians, then dive behind another crate as we edge along the dock, stealthy against the inky night.
“We need a plan!” Jayson shouts, his voice cutting through the haze.
“The plan is simple,” I snap, my voice a growl. “We don’t die, and I get to Tayana.”
I charge forward, my movements reckless but precise. The Russians are good, but they don’t have the same desperation driving them.
Just as the thought solidifies, a deafening roar cuts through the firefight. Headlights pierce the darkness as a black SUV barrels onto the scene, skidding to a halt. The doors fly open, and two figures step out, their presence commanding. Mason Ironside and Kanyan De Scarzi - the Enforcer.
“About fucking time,” I mutter under my breath, relief washing over me, even as I wonder how they knew where to find us.
Mason wastes no time, his shotgun booming as he takes down two Russians in quick succession. Kanyan moves like a force of nature, his strikes precise and devastating. The Russians scramble, their formation breaking under the sudden onslaught.
“Gatti, move!” Kanyan barks, his voice cutting through the chaos.
I don’t hesitate, signaling Jayson to follow as we make a break for the SUV. Mason covers us, his shots unerring, while Kanyan holds the line, his sheer presence enough to stall the Russians’ advance.
We reach the vehicle, and Mason shoves me inside, his expression grim. “You really know how to pick your battles,” he mutters, before getting into the driver’s seat.
Kanyan climbs in last, slamming the door behind him. “Drive,” he orders, and the SUV peels away, leaving the docks behind.
My chest heaves as I catch my breath, the weight of the encounter settling over me. Jayson leans back, his face pale but resolute.
“That was too close,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, my gaze fixed on the receding docks. Tayana’s name lingers on my tongue, bitter and unresolved. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“Kid, what were you thinking !” Mason screeches, as he slams his hand against the steering wheel and we peel away from the docks.
“I don’t think he was thinking,” Kanyan mutters, shooting me a quick sidelong glance.
“Who is this girl again?” Mason asks, squinting at me as we roar through the streets on our way to Tayana. I’ve already called her and told her to get out of the shelter, even as Tayana’s breath hitched and she whispered into the phone “someone’s here.”
The fear of something happening to her coiled in my stomach like acid as the line went dead and I urged Mason to step on the gas.
“I’ll tell you everything as soon as we get to her. Just hurry it up, will you!”
If anyone can handle a car in an emergency, it’s Mason Ironside, I’ll give him that. The SUV flies – literally flies through the air as he hits the gas and speeds to our destination, which thankfully isn’t too far away from the docks.
“Is she pretty?” Mason asks, looking at me in the rear view mirror, when all I want him to do is concentrate on the road so we get to her in one piece. The good thing is, I know he can drive the car blind, that’s how good he is. But right now, his cocky attitude is doing nothing but pissing me off.
“Would you shut the fuck up already?” I hiss.
“You okay, kid?” Kanyan asks, without turning around to look at me. His calm self-assuredness grounds me, telling me getting angry is not going to get us closer to Tayana sooner. I take a deep breath and lean into my seat, throwing my head back in resignation against the leather head rest. I need to be level headed for what’s to come. I need to be calm, and I need to be focussed.
“I will be,” I tell him. “Once I get to her, I will be.”