Chapter 35 – Luka
I should have brought one of Kolya’s rifles. Not that I was allowed to use them. I lost those privileges on my twenty-fifth birthday with a cartel caravan, liquid nitroglycerin, and a state forest. If it had rained the night before like it was supposed to, it wouldn’t have been so bad.
“It wasn’t like it was the rifle’s fault,” I muttered, fingers tapping the steering wheel of the stolen red Ford Focus. “The orders were to destroy the product. The extra bottles of nitroglycerin were just a precaution.”
Still, I could make the shot if I found space in the office building across the street and used a hunting rifle. It would make the escape timeframe tighter. But it was possible.
“Not as nice as a sniper on the roof of that high-rise at the end of the block.” I tugged at the back of my neck.
Of all the places Markem frequented, this one had the best possibility of ending him.
But assassinations by gunfire were messy. The police, and likely the F.B.I., would look into the matter. A quickly depressed syringe of poison was the cleanest. The medical examiner would easily rule it as heart failure. Even if there was a toxicology report, it was highly unlikely the chemicals could be traced.
There was simply no way to sneak close enough to the bastard to poke him, however. I wasn’t an assassin by trade, and there was no way in hell Dimitri would allow me to hire one.
One of the men in suits touched his earpiece. These bodyguards weren’t discreet. Markem wanted the world to know he was protected.
Who had that much security?
Someone who made deals with the mob but kept a squeaky clean public image.
“‘The important thing about a problem is not its solution, but the strength we gain in finding the solution,’” I repeated under my breath. Lifting my hand, I pointed my finger at the door that hid Laurel’s tormentor.
“You haven’t created a bomb in a long time….”
“Huh?” I slumped into the seat. My muse was right—
“As usual.”
“I should blow him up some night.” Dimitri would be pissed. “But he doesn’t have to know it was me.”
Who was I kidding? The pakhan would put two-and-two together faster than it took him to draw a breath.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t blow up things in Markem’s life,” I hummed. “A little game of cat and mouse.”
If he thought he was under attack, he would hole up. His moves would be limited. And that was when I could take him out.
My chest deflated a moment later. “But he could suspect us.”
The object of my current bloodlust stepped through the door. There was no salt in his pepper hair. The gel kept the slick brushed look seemingly effortless.
“What a douche,” I spat.
Starting the engine, I pulled out and left the scene before a crime was committed. When I did strike, it would look like some unfortunate act of nature. But there would be no question of my action: I would eviscerate this man.