Page 25 of Between Power and Passion

The salty air stings my nostrils as I crouch behind a stack of wooden crates, the rough planks digging into my knees.

Alexei and the others are stationed at various vantage points around the docks, keeping watch for Sergei's men and the shipment we've been tracking. But we've run into an unexpected complication—Mikhail Kozlov is here.

His smooth, arrogant voice carries across the open space, grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"...no need to worry, Rocker. She'll be back in my possession soon enough."

I grip the handle of my knife tighter, my knuckles turning white. The thought of that bastard laying a hand on Valentina makes my blood boil.

Rocker, one of Sergei's lieutenants, chuckles. "Boss don't seem too concerned about the girl. He just wants whoever took her dealt with for disrespectin' him."

"Of course he does," Mikhail scoffs. "His precious reputation is all that matters to Sergei Makarov. Although I must admit, I still want her..." He pauses, and I can practically hear the smirk on his face. "Well, let's just say there are no more virgins left in Moscow."

The crude laughter that follows makes my stomach turn. How dare they speak of Valentina in such a disrespectful manner? She's not a piece of property to be traded and defiled.

Rocker joins in on the lewd jokes. "Yeah, I hear you have a reputation for deflowering the ladies."

White-hot rage courses through me, and I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from charging out there and putting a bullet between both their eyes. But I know it would be suicide—they're not alone, and we're outnumbered.

"You say deflower, I say take away. It's nice to take away their innocence. I bet you if you taste a virgin girl, you won't go back. When I get Valentina, I can teach her everything she needs to know about sex and maybe let my men have their way with her while I watch."

"Fuck! You're a sick man." Rocker slaps his hand on Mikhail’s back, and they cackle like gossiping teenagers.

My fingers tighten around the knife handle as I fight the urge to charge out there and tear their throats out with my bare hands. Their laughter grates on my nerves, and I clench my jaw, forcing myself to remain still.

A man strolls into the dimly lit warehouse, dragging a hefty bag behind him. It has to be the cocaine shipment we've been tracking for weeks. He pauses in front of Rocker and Mikhail, who both step forward to inspect the goods.

Rocker crouches down and unzips the bag. He cuts open a bag inside with a knife, dipping his finger into the white powder. He brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply before nodding in satisfaction. "Good stuff," he grunts, looking pleased.

"Of course it is," the man replies smoothly. "Only the best for our friends."

Rocker stands up, brushing his hands off on his pants.

Mikhail's eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the bag, and Rocker’s focus quickly shifts. "The diamond," he demands, extending a hand toward the man.

Without hesitation, the man reaches into his coat and pulls out a small velvet pouch. He hands it over, and Rocker opens it, revealing a sparkling gem that catches even the meager light of the warehouse.

Rocker examines it closely after pulling out a small magnifying glass from his pocket. After a moment, he nods approvingly. "It's genuine."

The man visibly relaxes but then stiffens again as he clears his throat. "Now for my balance," he says, holding out his hand expectantly. "Sergei said I'll get extra for bringing it early."

Mikhail's smile vanishes instantly. He steps back slightly, pulling out a sleek handgun from inside his jacket. The man's eyes widen in realization just before Mikhail pulls the trigger. The gunshot echoes through the warehouse, and the man crumples to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Rocker doesn't flinch. Instead, he rolls up the bag of cocaine and gestures for one of Sergei's men to come and take it away.

The cold efficiency with which they conduct their business only deepens my resolve. These men have no honor, no conscience—only greed and cruelty.

They walk away without another glance at their victim, carrying their illicit goods as if it's just another day at work.

I stand up from my crouched position behind the crates, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles ache. The wooden crates rattle as I kick them, sending a loud crash echoing through the warehouse.

Alexei rushes over. "What the hell, Dmitri? What happened?"

"Mikhail was here," I spit out, anger lacing my words.

Alexei's eyes widen in disbelief. "Why the fuck was Mikhail here?"

"It's obvious," I growl, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. "Sergei and Mikhail are working together now."

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