24. Twenty-Four #2
Two men came off first, bodyguards probably. Then a third, heavier, slower, in a dark coat. It was too far to make out the face, but the walk was right, and the case was in the third man's hand.
"Target’s off the plane," I said into the comm, low. "Wait for the car."
They crossed the tarmac to the SUV. The interior light came on when the doors opened, three shapes loading in, the case going in last across someone's lap, and then the doors shut and the light died and the SUV's headlights came on full.
"Wait for it."
The SUV pulled away from the strip slowly, gravel popping under the tires, and came down the access road toward the gate. EJ's shape rose up by the gate as it passed him, and I watched him shove it shut behind the car, exactly like I'd told him.
The car’s brake lights went on with the shut gate, and I growled, “NOW!” Our car swung out from the hiding spot behind a bush and fishtailed as we sped into position, blocking the Italians’ retreat.
Dmitri rolled out from his position, blocking the road forward.
Both cars threw open their doors, and the crew from either side unloaded their guns into the trapped car.
The windshield spiderwebbed and then shattered along with the back window, and the bodies inside slumped over.
A river of red ran from under the rear passenger door, dripping onto the pavement.
I came out from behind my door with the Makarov up and crossed to the SUV to confirm everyone was dead. Behind me, the kids were already loose on the road behind me, running their mouths, high on it, alive.
I yanked open the rear passenger door, gun ready.
There were four dead men inside. I scanned their faces. No. No. Not him… The last one was turned away from me so I reached in and adjusted the body so I could see his face, and when I did, my blood went cold.
It wasn’t Kastelani.
Kastelani wasn’t even in the fucking car.
Then where…
The back of my neck went cold as I realized what was happening, and it was fucking genius because it was exactly what I’d have done.
“Cover,” I said and backed away. Then I turned to shout over my shoulder. “GET DOWN! GET TO—”
And then the trees around us opened fire.
I dove behind the rear of the car. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than being out in the open. But it was arguably the worst position to be in because now I was pinned down in the perfect spot to watch all my men die.
They hit Dev first. He didn’t even get his gun up before the high-speed SMG rounds tore through his chest and stomach, opening him as cleanly as a surgeon’s blade. He went down, guts half out of him before he hit the pavement.
Fuck.
"Get behind the cars!" I popped up and got a few rounds off with the Makarov, but it was no fucking use. The Italian crew was made up of cowardly ghosts, hiding in the dark. A strobe of SMG fire answered, pelting the cars and peppering my crew.
Tomas took one in the throat and went down, making a wet choking sound. All that laugh, and it ended in a sound like a drain. Leonid was firing from behind Dmitri's car and doing it right, short and low, and for a second I thought one of them at least knew how to live through this.
Then a round came through the door he was using, and he dropped.
I got the slide racked and came up over the trunk and put two into a muzzle flash and got nothing back to tell me I'd hit anything. Dmitri was still in his car, down across the seat the way I'd told him. Everyone I'd told to get out and shoot was dead on the road.
Then something hit my shoulder and sent me spinning. I hit the pavement, and the pain from that registered dull and throbbing before the hot, searing pain of a bullet wound made itself known in my ear.
Fuck, that hurt.
I put my hand over it and the whole hand came away red and gory.
A shadow appeared over me, and I tried to lift my gun, but someone kicked it out of my hand, and it went skittering across the pavement.
Someone else hauled me to my feet and shoved me face first against the back of the bullet-riddled car.
Hands went all over me, pulling out my back up pieces and my knives while someone else held my cheek against the car so hard my jaw ached.
I watched them move through the scene, kicking over bodies to check.
When they reached Dmitri, he sprang up and put a bullet in the fucker who’d opened his door, but it didn’t matter.
The guy behind him shot twice into the front seat, and Dmitri slumped over.
Fuck.
The Italians yanked me away from the car, shoved me to my knees, and pulled my hands behind me to work a zip tie around my wrists. “Da poshli vy na khuy! Strelyayte, suki truslivyye!” Fuck you. Shoot me, you cowardly bitches.
I knelt there and breathed and thought about EJ. At least they hadn’t gotten him. He had a chance. At least he was—
"Hey, boss." A voice said from behind me, clearly amused with himself. "Lookie what we found."
They dragged EJ into the light and threw him down on his knees beside me.
Fucking hell. The kid looked like he’d fought at least. He was going to have a hell of a shiner in an hour.
"Aleksi Laskin." Kastelani stopped in front of me in his spotless Italian coat. "You've cost me a great deal of money."
I snorted and spat a mouthful of spit and snot on his expensive coat. “There. Now I’ve cost you a little more on my way out.”
“Fucking Russians. This coat is dry clean only.” He scowled down at me, shed his coat and handed it off.
Then he drew his fist back and punched me in the face. I’d give him this much, the man could throw a hell of a punch. He rattled my skull good with that one.
“Where are my diamonds, Laskin?”
“Eat shit, you fucking limp dick Gucci wannabe.”
He hit me again, this time hard enough that I rocked backward and my vision flickered. Someone shoved me back into place.
“Where are my diamonds?”
“Gurgle my ballsack and find out.” Fin would be proud of that one.
He drew his fist back for a third go.
"I know where they are," EJ blurted.
My head snapped to the side to glare at him. He sat there with his chin up, blood on his eyebrow, eyes defiant.
"Shut your mouth," I said. “He doesn’t know shit.”
“I know everything,” EJ lied. “I’m the one you want.”
What the fuck was this kid doing? Was he trying to get himself killed?
Kastelani gestured to the kid with his gun. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m—”
“He’s nobody,” I snapped. “Just some dumb kid who wanted to play mafia. He’s not even part of this. The idiot followed me here. His mom’s waiting for him back home.”
The kid puffed out his chest, straightened, and said, “My name is Evander Jackson Laskin, and I know exactly where your diamonds are.”
I stared at the kid, mouth open. Laskin? What the fuck was he doing stealing my fucking name like he had some right to wear it. “His name’s Renko, not Laskin. He’s—”
“Enough!” Kastelani growled. “I’m not going to stand here and sort this shit out on the side of the road. Take them both," Kastelani said, already turning away, already done with us.
"He's not—" I twisted against the zip ties, found the kid's eyes, found Kastelani's back. "His name's Renko. You hear me? Renko. He's nobody; he's not a Laskin; he doesn't know shit about any diamonds; he's just a dumb kid who—"
Something hard and metallic struck the side of my skull.
The road tipped up white, and the kid's face went sideways in it, mouth still open, and then the white folded down to a point.
Then nothing at all.