Page 33 of Tangled Vows

“Not to mention we could get killed out here,” he groans, swerving out of the path of an oncoming truck. “Keep your eyes on him.”

“He’s five cars away,” I inform the moment we clear a green light.

“He just turned right.”

The rumble of the engine subsides, the car slowing down. Ivan moves over to the right lane and then takes the turn. To my relief, this side road isn’t as busy. There’s just one oncoming vehicle and Juarez’s Camaro at least fifty yards away. We get closer and closer. The Camaro’s taillights are flashing bright red as that rap music stops altogether.

A small figure exits the vehicle.

Ivan pulls over on the right side and steps on the brakes.

Anger simmers through me as I step out.

Razor steps on the sidewalk in front of an apartment building, and Ivan strides past me and I sprint to keep up.

“Razor,” Ivan yells as he lunges at Razor from the side. The two of them tumble down, their bodies hitting the small staircase that leads to the entry door.

His hands around the collar of the Latino’s jacket, Ivan yanks him up, their faces half an inch from one another.

“Shit?!” Razor snarls, jerking his arm back.

“More like hell, you little fucker.” Ivan’s fist slams into Sergio’s temple, rocking his head so much that it bangs into the edge of a step.

I reach into my pocket for my knife, bending down over them. Moonlight reflects off the surface of the blade. I grab him by the hair, my brother straightening himself up. I toss his light body forward, the back of his head bumping into the glass of that entry door.

I don’t give him the time to react. I drop down, my right knee making contact with the floor, my left one slamming hard into Sergio’s chest. Blood is oozing from the wound on his temple, a single drop passing his cheekbone.

“Look at me, asshole,” I grumble, bringing my knife to his throat. “Do I look familiar?”

“Kovalev!” he squeals. “Leonid Kovalev.”

“Right.” I smirk, jabbing just the tip of my knife into his skin.

He squeezes his eyes shut, more cries ripping from his throat.

“Who paid you to put that bomb in my car?”

“No one, man!” he shouts, his eyes open to slits. “I was just jealous of you, that’s all! You didn’t deserve that M3!”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “So, how does a dumb fuck like you get hold of a high end laser cutter? Did you sell your kidney or something?”

“I borrowed it from a friend!” He lets out another squeal, squirming underneath me.

“Hold the bullshit, Juarez,” Ivan says through gritted teeth, yanking his gun out of its holster. He pulls back on the hammer and shoves the barrel into the Latino’s mouth, giving him a cold stare. “I’ll splatter your brains all over the fucking ground if you lie to me. Nod if you understand.”

Sergio nods ascent.

Ivan’s finger is tapping the trigger. “Good. My friend asked you a question,” Ivan states. “Was it the Armenians?”

This time Sergio shakes his head, his muffled groan betraying his fear.

“I’m going to pull out my gun,” Ivan says, his tone steady. “Think about your answer.”

“Shit,” Sergio groans, his body jerking back and forth as he coughs. “He didn’t give me a business card, man. He just gave me ten grand, that cutter and the bomb and told me to put it in Kovalev’s car.”

“Fuck,” I growl, biting down on my lower lip. “Where?”

“Little Italy,” he says on an exhale. “Mulberry Street, Giorgio’s restaurant. He looked like a hotshot. His friends call him ‘Tommy-No-Nose. I swear—that’s all I know.”

---