Chapter 6
Rain lashed Sergei’s jacket, cold seeping through his shoulders.
He angled his body to shield Keisha from the street.
Wet asphalt and grilled meat from a nearby ventanita filled the air.
He scanned the Calle Ocho warehouse ahead.
It was surrounded by rusted chain-link, loading docks shadowed by overgrown palms. Blind spots everywhere.
His hand hovered near his gun. The knife, his backup if he needed it, was hidden beneath the leg of his pants.
“One of the other kids, Imani, saw a strange man three times last week.” Keisha’s voice came out softer than he’d expected. Her sneakers sloshed through a puddle, stepping past him. “Across from the community center, when the kids got home.”
Sergei grabbed her elbow. “Keep low, Keisha.”
She yanked free, eyes narrowing. “Don’t start with me right now, Sergei.”
Her hand trembled, pushing wet curls back. Exhaustion carved her face. Sergei’s gut knotted, Svetlana’s defiance flashing. Her last stand. Her end.
“We get Tiana out tonight,” Keisha said, chin lifting.
Lightning cracked overhead. The fence showed gaps, easy entry. Sloppy for Kryvaya Stal, unless it was bait. “The man Imani saw,” he said, tracking a parked van’s headlights. “Describe him again.”
“Tall, white, chin scar.” Keisha wiped rain from her eyes. “Smoking Pavel’s brand, like at the clinic.”
Sergei’s jaw locked. “Pavel’s not a friend.”
“Your old associate, then.” Her words hit hard. “The one you worked with to move kids before you decided to play hero.”
The jab landed, truth in it. He’d looked away from Kryvaya Stal’s dirt until Svetlana’s blood stained that alley, her words echoing.
You knew.
“I go in first,” he said, moving to the fence.
Keisha blocked him. “No. It’s my case. If they’re waiting, they won’t expect me. You’ve got the gun. Cover me if it goes bad.”
Rain soaked her blouse, clinging to her curves. Her eyes challenged, fire cutting through the wet chill. Sergei’s need to pull her back fought his respect, blood heating at her edge. “Fine,” he said, stepping aside. “But anything wrong, we pull out. No debate.”
“You don’t run this.” Her mouth quirked, almost a grin. “Stay back. Let me scout the dock.”
Sergei trailed two steps behind, watching the perimeter. Rain pounded harder, masking footsteps. “Keisha,” he muttered, close. “If it’s bad, get behind me. No pushing.”
Her back stiffened. “I don’t need—”
“I know you don’t.” His voice dropped. “But I do.”
Keisha looked at the building, then back at him, but remained silent.
The warehouse loomed, graffiti scarred its walls. Loading doors gaped half-open, light spilling from inside.
Sergei tensed, ready.
“This is my job,” Keisha whispered. “These kids depend on me.”
“And you depend on me,” he replied.
The door groaned open wider, light flooding. Keisha stepped forward, posture shifting to authority despite her shake. Sergei followed, hand brushing his knife, close enough to catch her scent through the rain.
A man’s face appeared in the gap. Tall, chin scar, eyes darting. “Who’s there?” His accent clipped.
Keisha didn’t flinch. “Foster services. Looking for Jalisa Rossi. She called about Tiana Carver.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, hand twitching toward his waist. “Wrong address. Leave.”
Sergei edged forward, spotting movement inside. Two more figures, one dragging a small shape.
Tiana.
“We know you have her,” Keisha said, voice steady. “Let her go, or we call in backup.”
The man laughed, drawing a gun. “You’re the social worker. Dmitri wants you too.”
Sergei lunged, tackling the man. The gun clattered to the floor. Keisha darted past, into the warehouse. “Tiana!”
Sergei’s fist cracked the man’s jaw, blood spraying as the man crumpled to the floor. He stood, scanning the area for more. Two enforcers rushed from the shadows, one barking into a radio. A woman’s voice crackled back.
“Van incoming. Secure the girl.”
Keisha reached Tiana, untying ropes around her wrists, the girl’s sobs breaking free. “It’s me, Tiana. We’re getting out.”
An enforcer grabbed Keisha’s arm, yanking her back. She twisted, knee connecting with his groin. He doubled over, but the second swung a fist. Sergei intercepted, shoulder ramming him into crates. Wood splintered, the man’s knife skittering away.
Tiana ran to Keisha, clinging. “They hurt Jalisa,” she whispered, voice small.
“We know,” Keisha said, shielding her. Her tremor showed, hand shaking on Tiana’s shoulder.
Sergei struck the enforcer again, knuckles splitting skin. The man slumped, unconscious.
The first enforcer stirred, gun in reach. Sergei kicked it away, but the man lunged, tackling him to the concrete. Pain jarred his ribs. He rolled, pinning the man, fist descending over and over again.
Keisha’s voice pierced: “Sergei, enough!”
Her eyes judged him, horror mixing with fear. Tiana buried her face in Keisha’s side. The violence...his old self...exposed.
Van headlights swept the loading dock. Sergei stood, breath ragged, blood washing off in rain. “We need to go. Now.”
Keisha nodded, scooping Tiana up, sneakers slipping on wet floor. Sergei covered their exit, knife ready. The van doors opened, more boots hit the pavement.
They burst through the exit, Tiana’s weight slowing Keisha. Sergei grabbed the girl, hoisting her over his shoulder. “Run.”
Keisha didn’t argue, bolting for the fence gap. Gunshots cracked, bullets pinging metal. Sergei zigzagged, Tiana’s sobs muffled against his jacket.
They cleared the fence, diving into shadows. Keisha’s car waited a block away. Sergei set Tiana down, ushering them in. Keisha started the engine, tires screeching.
Tiana clung to Keisha in the back seat. “You hurt them,” the girl whispered, eyes wide on Sergei.
He met Keisha’s gaze in the rearview—judging, distant. “To save you,” he said, voice rough.
Keisha’s hands shook even as they gripped the wheel. “You scared her, Sergei.”
The words cut deep. He’d broken his vow to bury the enforcer for them. Now Keisha saw the monster he could be, trust fracturing.
Lightning flashed, illuminating Tiana’s tear-streaked face. Danger trailed. He’d rescued Tiana, but the cost of Keisha’s faith might break him.