Chapter 23 – MAKSIM
Twenty-Three
MAKSIM
Uneven gravel and a shit suspension on this loaner van rocks us side to side as we pull into a warehouse lot.
I’d left my car fifteen minutes back, at the location specified in the contract.
This decoy was waiting with six crates of untraceable weapons and ammo already loaded in the back.
Tools made for a job, meant to neutralize a target, then vanish.
“So you’re here because your guy bailed?” Silas asks.
“Yeah. That pussy couldn’t hold his lunch.”
I’ll deal with Martin later.
For now, we focus on the job. Get in, get paid, and get the fuck out. We circled the perimeter beforehand. No one’s here.
“You up for this, old man?” I chuckle, sliding extra magazines into my holster.
He barks a laugh, racking the custom Glock Mom gave him on their last anniversary. “I think you forgot who sharpened your skills.”
Range time with Silas was one of the few things I used to look forward to. Him teaching me. Guiding me. It built trust between us.
But just as quickly, another memory slams through, uninvited. Pyotr’s gun at the back of my head, his voice in my ear, telling me to steady my aim or he’d put a bullet in my skull. For a second, I swear I can feel the cold press of that barrel, and my chest tightening like I’m ten again.
Some days, I really thought my heart would give out.
I shake it off. That was a different time. A different man stands beside me now.
It doesn’t take long before the groan of tires rolls through the lot, headlights cutting through the dim, washing across the side of the van.
I give Silas a look, and he nods once, already shifting his stance, one hand loose at his side, the other hovering close to his weapon.
The two vehicles slow, then idle across from us, lights blinding in the mirrors.
“How many are you expecting?” he asks.
“Martin was meeting with his contact and two others.”
If that holds, we’re only down one man. Odds I can live with. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s never to trust numbers until you’ve counted them yourself. Every deal, every exchange, it’s the same game. You prepare for what you know and bleed for what you don’t.
The headlights finally cut, plunging the lot back into shadows. Doors creak open, and boots hit gravel, more than three sets. Six to be exact. And my jaw tightens. Already, the math is off.
“Looks like your boy left out a detail.”
“Or he lied through his teeth.”
The group approaches, smug faces fixed on us, but my eyes aren’t on their expressions. I watch their hands, too stiff, not relaxed. Their tense shoulders tell me the rest. And right then, I know this exchange isn’t going down clean. I glance at Silas, and he’s already reading the same signs.
A taller man breaks from the pack and heads for the back of the van. Shane Oliver, Martin’s guy—or so he says.
“Belov,” he greets with a smirk, looking directly at me as if we’ve met before. Another red flag, and another reason why Martin is going to have a very bad day.
“I’ve heard great things about you.”
“Is that so? Funny. I don’t know who the fuck you are.”
He laughs, the humor failing to reach his eyes.
“I like to keep a low profile. Shane Oliver.” He extends his hand. I don’t move. “Around here, most people call me Ace. But since you’re new in town—or new-ish—you can just call me Shane.”
“I’d rather not call you anything.”
Pleasantries aren’t my thing. Business is business. In and out.
His eyes cut toward Silas, that same fake laugh bubbling up. “Your friend’s a funny guy.”
The edges of Silas’s mouth pull into a grin, and he shrugs, but says nothing.
Shane exhales through his teeth, whistling low as he grabs the van’s back handle and signals his men forward. My palm slams the door shut before he gets it open.
“Three men on your side. Including you. That’s the deal. Tell the others to back off, or we walk.”
His smile strains. “Six crates is a lot. No harm in a little extra manpower.”
“Not my problem your guys skipped the gym. Three. Men.”
The smile drops, frustration seeping through. He sucks his teeth and pretends to think it over.
“Fine,” he says, raising his hands. He turns like he’s going to comply, but his body language says otherwise.
I trade a look with Silas. It’s go time.
Shane thinks he’s got the jump on us, and maybe we’re outgunned and outmanned, but no matter how this ends, we aren’t going down without raising hell and dragging them along with us.
He reaches for his piece, too slow. Two rounds put him down, the back of his skull exploding outward, and he drops without a sound.
Silas takes two of his men before we break for the van and shove inside as gunfire rips the lot apart.
Two more SUVs burn into the yard, boxing us in as automatic rounds hammer the glass and metal.
“It won’t hold much longer!” I yell over the thunder of bullets.
Silas’s hand finds my arm, his mouth is a hard line, but there’s a confession pressed against it. The noise outside turns into a distant roar as I lock onto his words.
“Maksim—” he says, voice cracking. “I just want you to know I’m proud of you. You were a pain in my ass for a long fucking time.” He laughs, watery. “But that’s what being a parent is. You taught me how to be a father. I love you, son.”
My throat tightens, and I blink fast, sweeping moisture away.
“Don’t get soft on me, old man. We’re not dying yet.”
I yank the wheel, hard right toward the warehouse as the world snaps back into focus and the first bullet cracks through the windshield. I stomp on the gas and gun it for the garage door, all hope and speed and steel, trying to punch through for cover.
“Brace yourself.”
The impact whips us forward, but I don’t take my foot off the accelerator until we slam through another wall and the van stalls. Drywall and dust cloud the cabin, filtering in through the shattered windshield.
“Silas, you good?” I cough, spitting grit from my mouth.
He groans, yanking off his seatbelt and clearing his throat. “Yeah. Let’s get the fuck out of here before they pin us again.”
I’m already clawing at the broken glass, widening a gap big enough to crawl through. Shards bite into my palms as I climb out onto the hood, then drop to the ground. Silas follows close behind. The hallway we land in is almost pitch-black, lit only by a flickering floodlight in the corner.
“Watch the exits.” I check my mag. “They’ll be waiting.”
“What the hell happened back there?”
“A setup,” I say through clenched teeth, chambering a round. “That wasn’t an impulse decision. That was an ambush.”
“Your guy?”
“Either way, he’s dead.”
Silas nods grimly. “They’re probably inside by now. It’s too quiet. We need cover. I sent Leni and Santino our location.”
I whirl around. “You involved Mom? Why?”
He scoffs. “Because if there’s anyone I trust to save my ass, it’s her. And if I died without telling her first, she’d resurrect me just to kill me again.”
Despite everything, a short laugh escapes me. He’s right. Losing him…losing us both, would destroy her.
And maybe that’s part of why this feels different now. Because for once, I’ve got something to lose.
Valentina.
I told her I’d drop by. But I can’t call her now. Not yet. Worrying her won’t help.
Without warning, a man rounds the corner a half-second before we do.
He freezes, almost as stunned as we are, but hesitates long enough.
A bullet would be loud as a fucking bullhorn in here, so I don’t give him the courtesy.
I drive my blade into his abdomen and twist. He crumples, clutching at the wound, and trying to crawl away.
I grab a handful of his hair and yank him upright.
“Who set this up?” I demand.
“I-I don’t know,” he sputters, blood foaming at the corner of his mouth. “Please, I—”
I don’t wait. The knife finds the base of his skull, severs what needs severing, and he goes slack, body thudding to the concrete. I shrug. “I asked nicely.”
Silas gives a short, amused nod.
We move on, deeper into the compound, boots echoing on cold concrete until we hit a metal door that leads down into a musty cellar.
A rusted grate sits in the center of the floor.
I yank twice, the bars groaning before they give, then drop in without hesitating.
Silas hangs back a second, watching the dark below.
“You waiting to get shot in the back or something?”
“No. This just brings back some not-so-pleasant memories.” He lets out a sigh then pulls the grate aside and swings down after me.