20. Aiden
Aiden
Climbing out, I stare down the long, winding dirt road toward the building Rurik specified as our meeting place. The sun is directly above us. The only sound comes from the rustling of the tall grass in the breeze, stirred by the wildlife all around us.
I don’t like this.
It’s a long walk to the barn, and we’re exposed the whole way.
Driving up the narrow lane limits our options.
No space to turn around should things go cock up.
Walking gives us more control. If shit hits the fan, we can break into the fields.
I’ve been in fields like this many times.
Tall grass, uneven ground. Perfect cover if you know how to use it.
That works in our favor.
Rurik’s focus will be on the road, not the fields. He’ll expect us to roll in, nice and predictable, giving him time to set the stage.
So, we flip it.
We go in a way he won’t expect, even if that means I have to beat it into Silas, who I know will dismiss it the second I suggest it.
Zanders’s gaze meets mine, and a bright, knowing smile unfolds. “What’s the plan?”
I walk to the back of the vehicle and pop the boot to access the extra guns and supplies.
As I gear up, strapping on my tactical belt and loading it, Silas steps up beside me, watching. “What the fuck is all that shit?”
“Smoke bombs, flash-bangs, grenades.” I lift each one to show him as I stash them where they go. With my boot braced on the bumper, I tug up my pant leg and strap on a holster. “Backup weapon.” Then I grab the heavy, leather-sheathed knife and secure it to my thigh. “Knife.”
Reaching in, Silas snags a grenade and tosses it lightly into the air. “Why do you need all this? It’s overkill.”
Zander joins us. He quickly gears up, muscle memory kicking in from missions long past.
Silas chuckles heartily. “You guys are fucking crazy. This isn’t some damn op from your glory days. All you need is a few guns and nerves of steel.”
“I don’t like surprises. Better to have too much than not enough.” Once we’re set, I nod toward the boot. “You sure you don’t want more than just your gun?”
Being his usual arrogant self, he waves me off before pulling out his gun. “This is the only thing I need.”
“Suit yourself.” I slam the boot and head for the tall grassy field directly in front of us.
Zander falls in behind me without hesitation.
Silas, however, heads for the road. When he realizes we aren’t, he questions our sanity again. “What the fuck are you doing now? I’m not about to walk in through that shit. We’re taking the road like reasonable blokes.”
“Not me,” I say right before disappearing into the overgrown meadow, leaving him behind.
“Me, either.” Zander slips in behind, a quiet snicker following. “You think he’ll follow us?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” I move with practiced ease through the tall grass, careful to avoid any rustling that might give us away.
“Goddammit, you wankers are paying for my dry cleaning and buying me new shoes,” Silas grumbles as he tramples his way through the grass, swatting at it like it’ll move out of his way if he hits it hard enough.
“Stop.” I catch his arm and lock it in place. “The key to this working is not to alert the arseholes waiting to shoot us we’re coming. That means we move slowly. You keep doing that and you’re going to ruin the element of surprise. Now get behind Zander and step where he steps.”
He jerks his arm free, finger jabbing into my face. “I should shoot you for talking to me like that.”
Refusing to be intimidated, I confront him. “You can shoot me later. Right now, get behind Zander and shut the fuck up. No talking.”
He won’t last. He never does. The man loves the sound of his own voice.
Five minutes later, Silas proves me right. The wind picks up and a flock of birds takes flight three hundred yards out.
“What the fuck was that?” He raises his gun, then lowers it when he realizes it’s just birds.
I throw up my hand, fist closed, the universal signal to stop. Not that Silas would know that, but Zander does. He plants a hand against Silas’s chest to halts him.
Birds don’t spook just because the wind shifts. Something else set them off. The question is what?
“Why the fuck didn’t you drive us up to the barn?” With a grunt of annoyance, Silas slaps Zander’s hand away. “Jesus, look at my loafers. They are fucking ruined. Do you know how much these cost? Five thousand pounds. Bet you wish you’d driven us, don’t you?”
“Hush,” Zander grunts, a warning low and firm.
“Don’t fucking tell me to hush.” Silas’s voice climbs, his words sharp and edged with irritation.
The crunch of footsteps walking along the gravel road has Zander tackling Silas to the ground. On the way down, he clamps a hand over his mouth, making his next words come out muffled.
“What the fuck, man? Get off me.”
“You want to get shot?” On his knees, Zander points to the road. Two men stand there, aiming their guns at where the birds took flight. “Now shut up.”
We hold our positions. No one moves until the men head back up the road toward the barn.
Once they are far enough away, Zander leans closer. “Think they saw our vehicle?”
“No.” I flick my hand forward. “You parked far enough down the overgrown road. It’s hidden. Move.”
“I know what I’m doing.” Zander snickers and then grunts when Silas shoves him from behind. “Do that again, and next time I’ll let you get shot.”
I turn around. Both men are giving the other a death glare. “How about you both wait until after we get this shit taken care of before you go killing each other?”
“You two are on my shit list,” Silas snaps, nodding us forward. “Perhaps it’s time to let our newest bonesmen throw some punches your way. Haven’t had a proper street fight in ages. How many do you think you can handle at once? Four? Five?”
Neither of us bothers to answer. He’s blowing off steam, reminding us he’s the warlord. And he is, even if he doesn’t always act like one. One day he’ll take over. Hopefully, by then, I’ll be long gone.
The rest of the walk is torture. He doesn’t shut up. Grumbling on about respect, loyalty, and what happens when you cross him. Threats wrapped in ego. At one point, he even jabbers on about demoting us back to the bottom and making us work our way back up.
Jesus, I’m tempted to shoot him just to shut him up.
We’re almost clear of the meadow near the barn when someone strolls out of the main entrance. Zander and I drop low, disappearing into the tall grass. Silas actually follows this time, finally shutting up.
The man checks his watch, then looks down the long road running beside us. After a few beats, he pulls out his phone and brings it to his ear.
The phone pressed to my chest vibrates.
So this is Rurik.
Silencing my phone, I take the next several seconds to study him. He’s nothing special. Not nearly as big as me, but he’s no wimp, either. Still… there’s something familiar about him.
It clicks the second he turns.
“Oh, shit.” Zander mumbles next to me. “Tell me you see it too.”
“I do. You don’t think?” I glance over my shoulder just enough to study the man behind us.
He’s glaring at the man with fire in his eyes.
Hell, they could be brothers.
Silas shifts forward, and I catch it immediately. He’s about to do something stupid and get us killed.
I tap his leg and give a sharp shake of my head, warning him off. For once, he listens, sinks back on his haunches.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
After several unsuccessful attempts to get me to answer, Rurik shoves his phone back into his pocket. Lifting his head to the sky, he draws in a few slow breaths, rolls his neck, then disappears back inside.
With him gone, I shift my attention to the man fuming beside me. I need to calm him down so we can regroup and devise a solid plan.
Keeping my voice low, I ask, “You know him?”
His jaw clenches tight, the cords in his neck standing out as his muscles bunch beneath his shirt, causing a vein to throb at his temple. “It’s been several years since that fucker has dared to show his face. It’s been so long that I’d forgotten his name until just now.”
Silas’s frown deepens as he spits out his full name, each syllable laced with venom.
“Rurik Vetrov, a fucking Del Markov Russian. Twenty years ago, his uncle, brimming with delusional confidence, believed he could resurrect the Del Markov bratva. It was my job to make sure that never happened. Rurik ran like a coward after witnessing me slit his uncle’s throat. He got away once. Not this time.”
Silas spits and mutters a curse in Gaelic, “Tá tú marbh cheana féin.”
I don’t speak Gaelic, so I have to ask, “What does that mean?”
“You’re already dead.” His voice goes cold and menacing as he utters a phrase I recognize—the words the Doyles always repeat before snuffing out a life. “You just haven’t stopped breathing yet.”
Then he’s moving.
Silas stands with that arrogant certainty only a man like him carries. He walks straight out of our hiding spot and heads for the barn.
I try to stop him without drawing attention. “Silas, fuck, wait.”
Does he listen? Hell no.
Because he’s a fucking prick who’s been taught to believe the world moves when he tells it to.
Zander and I are up a second later, jogging after him. “He’s going to get us killed.”
“Not if I can help it.” I lengthen my stride, already knowing Zander’s right.
Bollocks.
I catch up, then try to de-escalate the situation before he turns this into something we can’t come back from.
“Think this through. Marching in there gives him leverage. We have all this shit you said was overkill we can use to our advantage. The second you open that door, this turns into a suicide mission. You can’t become the captain if you’re dead. ”
Turning to face me, Silas grabs the front of my shirt. I’ve got height on him, but that doesn’t stop him. He gets in my face like he owns the space.
“Fine. Use your toys to draw them out. But let me make one thing perfectly clear: that fucker is mine. You don’t kill him. If you do, I’ll kill you just because I can.”
Before I can respond, a scuffle breaks out inside, then loud shouts in Russian. Abruptly, it cuts off.
Silence.
The three of us stand there, listening, waiting for something. And then…
Bang!
The sound is unmistakable.
A single gunshot. Then, nothing.
Zander and I exchange a look. No words, just quick hand signals, mapping out the next move.
Thankfully, Silas doesn’t feel the need to talk. He falls in behind Zander as we move.
As soon as we’re at the barn, I signal them to hold and start inching forward toward a knot hole. But before I get there, the unmistakable roar of multiple engines, one after another, echoes from the back of the barn.
Shit.
Time to speed things up.
Zander takes point, and we circle around to the back just in time to catch four ATVs tearing off, leaving a cloud of dust chasing them as they disappear.
Nothing about this sits right.
What the hell happened in there? Who got shot? And why the hell did they bail before we got here?
“Can I fucking go inside now?” Silas snaps, already making a beeline for the door.
I don’t waste time telling him to stop. Not when I see what he doesn’t. He’s not trained to notice the details like I’ve been.
I surge forward at a pace that will hurt when I slam into him. Better that than dying. Because if he opens that door, we’ll be blown to smithereens.