CHAPTER SEVEN
DMITRY
I track her location to a warehouse on the outskirts of Moscow. I drive through the heavy countryside until I’m among a vast industrial estate. The blue dot blinks showing me her location—she’s inside the warehouse in front of me.
Fuck this is my fault.
Why the fuck didn’t I leave you alone? And now you’re in danger. I promised I’d keep you safe.
Fuuuuck.
I slam my hand on the steering wheel and try to fight my thoughts.
Breathe, Dima. One breath, two breaths, three breaths.
She needs you calm. We can’t fuck this up.
Grandpa’s voice echoes in my mind like the old war time hand cranked radio he’d bring with us whenever we went hunting. It hits me loud and clear, ‘Dimitry, remember what I taught you. You have to stay calm, move like a leopard. One movement at a time.’
I steady my breathing and park my car out of sight.
I grab the small knife I’d kept in my bag, unclip the sheaf but keep my knife inside of it and slide it into my boot.
I strap my bigger serrated knife to my thigh, then take my Lebedev pistol, add on my suppressor and tuck it inside my waistband.
As I exit the car, I grab two magazines already loaded with ammo from my bag and stuff them beside my pistol in my waistband.
My grandpa’s Tokarev stares back at me, and my gut tells me to take his old gun with me, so I do.
I feel like fucking Rambo right now, I just need a bigger six-pack.
I chuckle as I remember watching Rambo take down his enemies like a badass.
Be serious. Fuck, Dima, Natalia’s life is on the line, what the fuck is wrong with you?
Leave me alone, I play around when I’m nervous, it calms me a little.
Well, fucking stop. Get your shit together and say a prayer, we’re going to need it.
My feet kick up chalk as I head toward the security gates.
A cargo container acts as a security hut and blocks the view of the warehouse behind it.
I scan my surroundings looking for security cameras and spot one pointing down at me from a metal post. I can tell they can’t see anything through it by the bird shit covering the lens.
I wonder if my little sparrow from the asylum did me a solid. Did she know I needed her help? Or perhaps she told her friends to look out for me.
I chuckle at my own ridiculous thoughts. But hey, who knows, the world works in strange ways, right.
I’m cautious so I knock on the side of the cabin then skip to the other side.
I’ve played video games before. I peer around the corner as he walks in the opposite direction to investigate the noise.
Then I push open the metal door, slip inside and pray this guy is alone.
And with luck on my side I see that he is—there’s no one else in here.
I wait with my back against the wall, steading my breath and slide out the bigger blade from the sheath on my thigh.
The door cracks open, and balaclava wearing security man enters. Before he can turn to close it, I step from the side and throw my hand over his mouth while pressing my blade against his throat.
“I’d say this isn’t personal, but you’re a fucking scumbag. I know what men like you do.” I spit and press down hard against his throat.
He mumbles some bullshit and tries to struggle but we both know it’s useless. I’m a master at execution. I learned from the best. Slaughtering a human is easier than an animal. With these monsters I feel nothing. With animals I always thank them for sacrificing their lives to feed my family.
“Nighty night,” I say taunting him and press my blade further into his carotid artery, angling it just right so the cut is deep but clean like a surgeon saving a life, except I’m taking one.
You’re fucking nuts, Dima.
I know, I know. Aren’t we all?
I don’t like making a mess in these types of situations. A mess would alert others to my presence.
I grab a rag from his desk and wrap it around his neck. Not to save him but to stop blood spilling all over the place.
I hope this isn’t what I think it might be. Fucking pig.
Once he’s unconscious, I drag his body and roll it underneath the desk, pushing chairs across to hide him out of view. I don’t know if these idiots check on one another.
A clothes rail with spare black jackets—their uniform stands at the back of the cabin. I walk over, take one from the hook and slip my arms inside. An open drawer beside it is stuffed with a pile of balaclavas.
What a nice little find.
I take one and put it into my pocket and grab a second and roll it over my head and pull it down over my face.
Fuck ... yes. I’ve hit the fucking lucky box in here, now I have a disguise.
The sound of static and a man’s voice hits me.
What the fuck? Where is that coming from?
I scan the room and listen again.
“Igor, you fat gorilla answer me. Are you there? Don’t make me leave my post. Igor?” The voice groans.
Shit, the radio on the desk is buzzing with noise as the voice repeats the message. I dart over and answer.
I lower my voice and reply, “I was taking a piss.”
“Igor, is that you?” The voice questions in an uncertain tone.
Fuck.
“The signal is shitty in here. Why do you sound like a robot?” I ask in a bid to throw him off.
“This new system is a piece of shit. You want your usual for lunch?” He asks.
“Not today,” I answer.
“The fat gorilla turning down food. You feeling okay?”
Fuck. Did I just fuck things up?
One. Two. Three. Four. Breathe, Dima. Fucking breathe.
“My throat is a little ... sore. I’m good. Now let me get back to work,” I reply and try to hold in my laugh.
“Don’t complain to me when you’re hungry,” he retorts and the static noise shuts off.
I look down at the body beneath the desk.
Fucking fat gorilla.
These assholes don’t even respect each other.
I shake my head.
I turn the radio all the way down and tuck it into my jacket pocket, zip it up and pray I survive this. These men aren’t smart but there’s also a lot of them. From the stories Natalia told me about these warehouses I know I can’t just walk in and get my girl and leave without trouble.
Fuck it. I came here for my Little Sparrow, and I won’t be leaving without her.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and the screen’s lit up with his call. It’s my grandpa.
Not now. I can’t drag my grandpa into this situation. It’s too dangerous.
The vibration stops but then a double vibration hits with a message on the screen.
Grandpa: Where are you?
My mind races. It’s Grandpa. I never lie to my grandpa. I don’t know what to do.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Breathe. Count. This is fucking bullshit.
I put my fist to my mouth and bite down hard, stifling a scream.
I’m fucking angry right now. I’m spiraling.
The phone vibrates again—Grandpa is calling again.
I move my fist from my hand, take a steady breath then answer.
“Grandpa. I’m a little busy right now. Can we talk later?” I ask, my voice shakes.
“What’s going on, Dima?” He asks.
“Nothing. I’m just ... busy that’s all.” I lie and feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
“I know you, my boy. Something’s wrong. Tell me.”
I don’t know why I thought I could ever try to hide my emotions from my grandpa. He knows me all too well.
I swallow hard before answering. “Natalia left, she’s in danger.” I confess.
“Explain,” he replies, calmly.
“She’s gone to one of the warehouses. I don’t know what she’s thinking.”
“Where are you? Give me the address.”
“It’s not safe. You can’t come here Grandpa.”
“Dima, don’t make me ask twice.”
“I’ll text it to you but please be careful. There are guards. I’ve took one out in the green cabin marked with security, but I know they’ll be more.”
“I’ll be there. Send it over now. I love you,” grandpa replies.
“I love you too,” I tell him and he ends the call.
I type out a text with the address and fire it off to him, underneath I add: please be careful and let me know when you’re here.
Knowing I’m bringing my grandpa into a dangerous situation makes me nauseous. I don’t want to but knowing he was in the Ropes and seeing some of his work over the years I know he can handle himself.
I tuck my phone into my back pocket, take a breath and exit the cabin and head toward the entrance to the warehouse itself.
Two heavies stand at the entrance. I give them a nod, and they don’t bother to question who I am.
Fucking apes.
I walk inside as though I belong here, but I also know that at any moment I could be caught.
The warehouse smells of oil, sweat, and blood. My boots echo against the concrete as I stalk down the dark blue corridor, my heart a fucking war drum in my chest.
“Natalia,” I whisper.
Wherever she is in this place she won’t hear a fucking whisper. Not thinking straight, I shout for her. “Natalia!” My voice shreds through the silence. There’s no reply, just empty corridors with multiple steel doors.
Fuck, I don’t know if to be angry that she didn’t reply or relieved that no one else heard me.
I don’t know which door to take.
Choose a door, Dima. Fuck.
My gut tells me to choose the third door on the left.
I hold my knife firmly in my hand, wondering if I should trade it for my pistol.
I have no fucking clue what’s behind this door.
It could be nothing; it could be a fucking army, but it could also be my girl.
I hold my breath, slip my pistol from my waistband and strap my knife to my thigh.
Here goes nothing.
I push down on the door handle and gently crack the door open. Scanning the room, there’s no men but instead a row of metal cages side by side like prison cells.
“No, please. Not again,” a young female voice whimpers from one of the cages.
Sickness floods through my chest as I realize this is the nightmare Natalia told me about. This is a fucking trafficking house.
Fucking pigs.
“Please not today, please, please. Just one day,” another voice pleads.
“Shush,” I say. “I’ll help you but be quiet.”
They’re going to get you caught Dima, get out of here.