Chapter 10 Kiren #3
The warehouse lights pulse once overhead before settling back into their dull glow.
The space between us grows quiet, the hum of the fixtures and the distant noise from the train yard filling the pause.
Then Ivan glances toward the crate line behind me.
The movement is small and deliberate, but it changes the atmosphere in the room immediately, tightening the tension across the warehouse floor.
“Of course,” he adds lightly, “you weren’t the only one planning for tonight.”
The faint scrape of boots travels through the warehouse like a quiet warning. I don’t turn immediately.
Ivan watches me with open amusement now, as though the realization spreading through the room belongs entirely to him. His shoulders loosen slightly, the tension he had been carrying during our conversation easing now that he believes the advantage is his.
“You really did come alone.” His tone reflects the satisfaction of a man who has just confirmed something he already suspected.
I glance past him letting my eyes move along the shadowed crate rows behind his men.
There’s motion there now, slow and careful, silhouettes separating from the darkness as they step forward into the thin warehouse light—six of them, maybe eight.
The lighting makes it difficult to be certain, but the number is enough.
Ivan notices the calculation happening behind my eyes.
“You see,” he continues, spreading one hand slightly as if presenting the situation to me, “a meeting like this requires preparation.”
I take a slow step forward. “So does a war.”
He chuckles softly. “Yes,” he agrees. “And that’s exactly what tonight becomes.”
Behind me, one of his men changes position, and Ivan’s attention slips past my shoulder for just a moment. That’s the moment that matters. Not the movement itself, but the confidence behind it. Ivan believes the trap has already closed.
He lifts his hand in a small, almost casual gesture.
From the shadows along the crate rows, his men step forward together, weapons rising as they move—rifles, pistols, a couple of shotguns.
Eight of them now, spread across the warehouse floor.
Two behind me, three along the right wall, and three more near the loading bay.
He smiles.
Then I lift my hand slightly. The gesture is almost identical to his. And a breath later, the warehouse doors explode open.
The blast of cold night air slams into the building as the steel doors crash against the walls with a thunderous metallic bang. Headlights from outside flood the interior in harsh white beams, cutting through the dim industrial lighting.
Ivan’s head snaps toward the entrance, but it’s too late.
Gunfire erupts from the doorway. The first burst shatters the silence, the sound echoing through the warehouse like a series of detonations. Muzzle flashes strobe across the interior as Mikel and six of my men storm through the entrance in a tight formation.
Two of Ivan’s men go down before they even turn around. The third dives behind a stack of crates, firing wildly toward the doors as splinters of wood explode from the pallet beside him.
Chaos erupts across the warehouse. Ivan’s confident smile vanishes as men start shouting and gunfire ricochets off the metal walls.
I move.
The first man behind me raises his pistol just as I turn.
My hand closes around his wrist before he finishes lifting the weapon, twisting hard enough to break the angle of his aim.
The gun fires once into the ceiling with a deafening crack before I wrench the weapon free and drive my elbow into his throat. He collapses backward.
The second man fires twice. The shots tear through the air inches from my shoulder as I step sideways behind a crate stack. The bullets slam into the wood behind me, sending splinters across the concrete.
Across the warehouse, Mikel advances steadily through the center lane, his rifle rising and firing in short bursts that keep Ivan’s men pinned behind cover.
Another of Ivan’s soldiers attempts to flank along the loading bay. Karp intercepts him before he gets halfway there. The exchange lasts less than two seconds before the man drops.
The warehouse fills with the smell of gunpowder and hot metal. Ivan backs away two steps, scanning the room rapidly now that the situation has moved in a direction he didn’t anticipate.
His hand moves inside his coat. I step forward into the open aisle. Our eyes lock across the warehouse.
“Not alone,” I remark.
His jaw tightens. “You arrogant ublyudok,” he mutters. Arrogant bastard.
Gunfire erupts again as one of his men attempts to rush the entrance. Mikel drops him with a single shot.
Ivan’s gaze sweeps across the room, calculating distances, exits, and remaining enforcers. The smug confidence that colored his voice earlier has vanished completely now, replaced by a colder, more practical tone. He begins backing toward the far wall. I move faster.
Two more shots crack through the warehouse as one of his men fires blindly from behind a forklift. The rounds ricochet off the steel frame beside me with a violent metallic clang before embedding themselves in the crates behind.
I step around the forklift and fire once. The man collapses.
Across the warehouse floor, the fight is already ending. Three of Ivan’s men lie motionless between the crate rows. One more crawls toward the loading bay with a crimson trail following him across the concrete.
The remaining soldier throws his weapon down. “Stop!” he shouts, dropping to his knees.
Mikel’s rifle remains trained on him as he approaches.
Ivan sees the change in momentum at the same time I do. And then he runs.
The movement is sudden enough that even I lose half a second reacting.
He bolts toward a narrow service door along the back wall, already reaching for the handle as I start across the warehouse floor.
“Stop him!” I shout.
One of my men fires. The bullet punches through the metal frame, inches from Ivan’s shoulder. The door slams open, and he dives through it.
By the time I reach the doorway, the yard beyond is already alive with movement. An engine roars to life somewhere behind the adjacent warehouse. Headlights flare. A vehicle tears out of the service lot and vanishes into the access road before anyone outside can intercept it.
I stand there watching the empty stretch of pavement where the car had been. Ivan knew this place too well. He prepared an exit long before the meeting began.
Behind me, the warehouse grows quieter as the gunfire fades. My men secure the remaining prisoner and check the fallen bodies.
Mikel walks up beside me a moment later, lowering his rifle as he looks out into the yard.
“Son of a bitch planned his escape,” he remarks.
I drag a hand across the back of my neck, watching the open doorway where Ivan disappeared. “Of course he did.”
“You want us to pursue?”
I shake my head once and turn back toward the interior of the warehouse. “No.”
Because chasing Ivan right now accomplishes nothing. Rowan matters more.
The captured man sits on the floor near the center aisle now, his hands bound behind his back with a plastic restraint, while Karp stands to the side of him. Blood runs down his face from a cut near his hairline. His breathing comes in fast, uneven breaths as he watches me approach.
I stop a few feet in front of him. “Where is she?”
He stares up at me without answering. Mikel steps forward and drives the butt of his rifle into the man’s ribs. The crack echoes through the warehouse. The man gasps, folding forward.
“Try that again,” Mikel mutters.
I crouch so the man has no choice but to meet my eyes.
“Rowan,” I repeat calmly. “Where is she?”
The man hesitates just long enough for fear to break through whatever loyalty he thought he had.
“Warehouse seven,” he chokes out. “Other side of the yard.”
My pulse slows. “Who’s guarding it?”
“Four men,” he replies quickly. “Maybe five.”
I straighten slowly. Warehouse seven. Inside this train yard.
I glance toward the open doorway, where the cold night air continues to spill into the warehouse.
Rowan is still here. And this time Ivan isn’t between us.