Chapter 4
Sergei rubbed his eyelids as he tried to shake off his drowsiness. He checked his burner phone. Four hours of sleep. He rolled his neck, counted knives: one under the pillow, one in his boot, one strapped to his thigh. He craved these quiet moments, before Keisha’s face slipped past his defenses.
“You awake?”
Sergei sprang up, then froze.
Keisha.
“How long have you been up?”
“Long enough,” she replied. “Couldn’t really sleep, being worried about Miguel and Tiana. Especially after finding that brick with that symbol on it, on the front porch of the Rossi’s.”
Guilt cut sharp.
He crossed to the window, scanning the alley.
“It was just a brick,” he lied.
“Bullshit.” She stepped closer. “I saw your face when you picked it up. You recognized that symbol.”
His jaw tightened. Two crossed vines on the brick. Kryvaya Stal mark. His old life, bleeding into hers. “Drop this, Keisha,” he said, voice flat.
“So you can play hero while lying?” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain that symbol.”
His jacket creaked, arms folding. “I’m keeping you safe.”
“By hiding the truth?” She closed the gap, coffee on her breath. Her tremor worsened. “That brick was for you, not me.”
She was right.
Kryvaya Stal’s message.
Betrayer.
Keisha was too close, collateral in their hunt.
“You’re tied to them,” she said. “The ones trafficking kids.”
“No.” Too quick. “I’m not with them.”
“But you were.” Her gaze dropped to his tattoos. “Those marks on your arms.”
His fingers flexed, tracing hidden ink—loyalty, rank, a past he couldn’t erase. “You want truth?” He loomed over her, voice low. “It can lead to your death.”
“Kids are disappearing.” Her voice steadied despite her shaking hand. “Tiana’s in danger, and you know why.”
Svetlana’s accusation echoed. You didn’t protect me.
“I left years ago,” Sergei said, throat raw. “They don’t let go.”
Keisha sank onto the cot. “Coastal Futures...they’re part of it?”
“A front.” He sat beside her, words bitter. “Adoption scams, weapons, kids moved for cash. I was their muscle.” He met her eyes, showing the darkness. “Until I wasn’t.”
Her breath hitched. “What happened?”
“I let Svetlana, my sister, die.” The confession burned. “She found out what I did, threatened to talk. I hesitated. Someone else didn’t.”
Her face softened, then hardened. “That’s why you’re hiding things. But Tiana—”
“I know what’s at stake.” His voice snapped. “That’s why you need to stop before they target you.”
“It’s too late.” She stood, toe to toe. “They left one for me, too. Different symbol.”
His gut twisted. He hadn’t known. “When?”
“When they slashed my tires and broke out the windows of my car.” Her eyes burned. “The brick they used was sitting in the front seat with a symbol on it. I dismissed it until now. You can’t protect me by lying.”
“Fuck.” He ran a hand over his face. “You can’t go home.”
“I’m not staying here.” She crossed her arms.
“Then you’re dead.” No sugarcoating.
Her eyes flashed. “Because you won’t tell me everything.”
“Because of who I am.” He stepped closer, backing her to the wall. “I’ve killed for less than your questions. Everyone I care about dies.”
Keisha didn’t flinch. “Then we’re not so different.”
The air crackled—not just anger, but recognition. Two people carrying too much loss, forced to trust. Sergei sank onto the cot, defeated. “One night. Stay here while I track who’s watching.”
Her tremor shook her hand, fatigue causing her to slouch. “Then you tell me everything.”
He nodded, guilt heavy as his knives. “One condition. Why’s Tiana so important to you?”
A shadow crossed her face.
“Deal,” she said, voice firm.
A knock on the door filled the room. Sergei reached for his knife as he checked to see who it was. Spotting Nadia on the other side, he relaxed a little before opening the door and stepping aside.
Nadia slipped in, arms full of gauze and antiseptic. Her scarf slipped, revealing a star-and-lines tattoo—Kryvaya Stal, high rank. His stomach knotted as he hoped that Keisha didn’t pay close enough attention to notice the exact markings.
“Supplies from Carmen,” Nadia said, too casually, setting them down. Her eyes flicked to Keisha. “I didn’t expect company.”
“She’s with me.” Sergei took the supplies for the clinic, blocking Nadia. “Bandages, antibiotics. The good stuff.”
“I’ll try.” Nadia’s fingers tapped her thigh. Three quick, pause, two. A Kryvaya Stal signal. Danger close.
Keisha stepped forward, spotting a tattoo. “That’s like the brick’s symbol.”
Nadia’s hand covered her neck. “Old mistake.”
“Funny,” Keisha said, in a clinical voice. “Looks fresh to me.”
Sergei moved between them, warning in his eyes. “Check the supplies, Nadia.”
“Sure.” Keisha didn’t back down. “After you explain why she’s marked like Tiana’s hunters.”
Nadia froze. “Who’s Tiana?”
“No one,” Sergei said sharply.
“The foster kid your friends are watching,” Keisha said, ignoring him. “Black SUV, neck tattoo.”
Nadia paled. “Mikalai’s in Miami?”
“You know him,” Keisha said, eyes darting between them. “You’re both in this.”
“I was,” Nadia said, too quick. “Not anymore.”
“But you wear their mark,” Keisha pressed.
“Enough.” Sergei grabbed the bottles. “Nadia, check the back. No tails.”
Nadia hesitated, then slipped out. Keisha turned on Sergei. “She’s one of them.”
“Was.” He shelved the supplies, precise. “Like me.”
“And I can trust her with Tiana?” Her voice rose, tremor worsening.
“Some marks don’t fade.” Sergei rolled up his sleeve, showing his own stars. “Doesn’t mean we’re theirs.”
“You should’ve told me.” Her voice dropped, dangerous.
“I’m telling you now.” He lowered his sleeve. “Nadia gets supplies, tracks society moves. She’s kept me alive.”
“What’s her price?”
“Protection. Atonement.” He glanced at the curtain. “She patched their enforcers, faked death records. Her brother paid for it.”
Keisha stepped back, disgust flickering. “Jesus.”
“We’ve all got scars.” He closed the gap, voice low. “She knows Mikalai’s patterns. That’s what we need.”
Nadia returned, face tight. “Two men at the bodega. One’s Dmitri.”
Sergei cursed. Dmitri—a Kryvaya Stal boss, above Mikalai. They weren’t just tracking. They were closing in.
“How long?” he asked.
“Minutes.” Nadia’s eyes hit Keisha. “They know she’s here.”
“How?” Keisha’s breathing quickened.
“I don’t know, but they do,” Nadia said. “Otherwise Dmitri wouldn’t be this close.
Sergei grabbed his jacket, checked his knife, pocketed a burner phone. “We go to the second safehouse.”
“Where?” Keisha grabbed her bag.
“Calle Ocho warehouse.” He faced Nadia. “Can you—”
“On it.” She pulled her phone. “I’ll say you went west.”
Keisha’s eyes narrowed. “Why should we trust you?”
“I’ve seen what they do to defectors,” Nadia said, meeting her gaze. “Sergei’s the only one who got out.”
Sergei grabbed Keisha’s arm. “We move. Now.”
“Not without answers,” she said, pulling back. “What designs did they find?”
“Evidence,” Sergei said, grip tightening. “Names, places, kids they’ve moved.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ve been tracking them.”
“Yes.” It cost him. “And they know.”
Nadia checked her watch. “Two minutes. Take the roof exit.”
Keisha’s tremor spiked, stress winning. “Why hide this?” she asked Sergei.
“The last person I told died.” He pulled her to the stairs. “Not again.”
Nadia pressed a key into his palm. “The warehouse was stocked last week.”
“They’ll know you helped,” Sergei said.
“They already do.” She fixed her scarf, tattoo hidden. “Go.”
“I like her,” Nadia whispered, for Sergei alone.
The words struck him as he pulled Keisha into the Miami heat.
Thankfully, it didn’t take them long to reach the warehouse.
It smelled of dust and stale coffee. Sergei bolted the door—three heavy locks.
Keisha stood in the center, arms wrapped tight, breathing fast from their sprint.
A mattress sat in the corner, medical supplies along one wall, a table with Sergei’s sketchbook on the other, its black cover catching dim light through boarded windows.
“Check for bugs,” Sergei said, sweeping outlets, vents. “Small black devices.”
Keisha didn’t move. “This where you keep your secrets?”
“I’m making sure no one followed.” He faced her, ignoring the jab. “We’ll be safe till morning.”
“Safe.” Her laugh cracked. “Not with tattooed killers hunting us.”
She reached for the sketchbook. “Don’t,” Sergei snapped, too sharp.
Too late.
She flipped it open to study the vines, stars, circles, labeled with names, dates, places in his tight handwriting.
“Society codes,” she said, tracing the brick’s symbol. “You’ve mapped them.”
Sergei shut the book, sliding it away. “Evidence. To end them.”
“Or your next job.” Her eyes challenged. “How do I know your side?”
“If I were theirs, you’d be dead.” His voice was flat. “They don’t keep witnesses.”
“Except you and Nadia.” She stepped closer.
“We paid in blood.” He checked the locks again, needing distance. “Svetlana. Nadia’s brother.”
“You killed them,” she said, voice tight.
“I hesitated.” He leaned against the door, forehead on cool metal. “Svetlana threatened to expose Kryvaya Stal. They ordered me to kill her. I didn’t. Someone else did.”
Her breath caught, feet shuffling back.
“Nadia’s brother was collateral,” he continued, facing her. “In the way when I hit a target.”
Keisha’s face paled, tremor shaking her hand. “So you tracked them.”
“Two years.” He nodded. “Names, codes, kids moved.”
“Until me.” She moved to the table, steps heavy. “I brought them to you.”
“I didn’t know they were watching you,” he said. “Not till the brick.”
“Tiana’s just collateral in your fight?” Her voice cut.
“No.” He opened the sketchbook to crossed circles. “She’s in their next shipment. No relatives, easy to move.”
Keisha studied the page. “These symbols were in Coastal’s files. Tiana’s transfer papers.”
“You saw them?” Sergei’s voice sharpened.
“As clerical marks.” She flipped pages. “They’re on all Coastal’s docs.”
“You were auditing their trail,” Sergei said. “That’s why they targeted you.”
She stopped on two stars, a line between. “This was on Tiana’s approval.”
“Handler mark. Dmitri.” Sergei pointed to the name. “He runs Miami’s pipeline.”
A knock rattled the door—three quick raps. Sergei drew his knife, pushing Keisha behind him. Another knock. Two slow, one quick. Nadia’s signal. Or a trap.
“Who?” Keisha whispered, breath warm on his neck.
He shook his head, knife ready, edging to the door.
“Sergei,” a voice called.
Nadia.
“It’s me. They found Mateo.”
His blood froze. Mateo, moving Tiana.
Keisha pushed forward. “Let her in.”
“If it’s a trap—” Sergei started.
“Every second counts,” Keisha said, hand on his over the bolt. “Together, remember?”
Her touch broke him. He slid the bolts, knife up, opening the door. Nadia stumbled in, laptop clutched, blood streaking her cheek.
“They hit the safehouse network,” she gasped. “All of them. They’re moving tonight.”
The door clanged shut, a death knell. Keisha’s hand shook. Sergei met her gaze, guilt and purpose locking them together. They’d save her, or die trying.