Page 93 of Power's Fall

“Your footage was good, Dahlia. I’ll admit I didn’t get your job at the beginning, but I do now. You’ve been working hard since we got here and despite this place being dangerous as fuck, you found genuine beauty. I understand the appeal of your show. You offer people an inside look at a world they’ll never see. I didn’t want what you’d done here to go to waste. Besides, that’s the only footage we have of our honeymoon.”

Despite the danger surrounding him, Vadisk had gotten one hell of a kiss from their wife for saving her camera…and their memories.

After the recon of their villa, they’d made their way up to the main resort and split up, each of them taking a slightly different route to the forgotten utility parking area where Vadisk had spotted the van. Montana was the most at risk of drawing attention, between his distinctive red hair and still-damp clothes that clung to his chest and shoulders.

Vadisk knew he wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, given his size, but he hunched his shoulders, bent forward a little, and walked like he knew where he was going.

Dahlia had beaten him to the van, and by the time he got there, she’d found the key, old-school tucked in the sun visor. There were two seats up front, while the large back compartment held a couple of massive canvas laundry carts and shelving units bolted to the walls.

By the time Montana joined them, Dahlia had snuck into a storage room adjacent to the small parking area and grabbed supplies they’d need to sell this charade, including stacks of clean towels.

Vadisk had wanted to take the carts out so he and Montana could sit in the back with towels thrown over them. Neither of his spouses had liked that plan and had proven it wouldn’t work when Montana climbed in and sat, Dahlia threw a towel over him, and he just looked like a man with a towel over his head.

That was how Vadisk had ended up wedged into this fucking laundry cart.

The carts were large, but Vadisk was larger. His legs were jammed up against his chest, his shoulders wedged painfully against the metal rails of the cart structure, and his ass had gone numb.

Every time Dahlia hit a bump in the road, he got another bruise on his butt.

Montana was squished into his own cart, but unlike Vadisk, he wasn’t stuck, as evidenced by his climbing out to take a picture. If this whole mission went to shit, Vadisk wasn’t going to be much help because it would take him five minutes to get out of this fucking thing.

“Get back in your cart,” Dahlia scolded from the driver’s seat.

“I am,” Montana assured her. “But I felt we needed a picture of Vadisk.”

He growled and tried to get one arm out so he could reach over and smack Montana. His fucking arm was stuck.

Montana laughed. “Remember that time you made my claustrophobic ass walk through a cave?”

Vadisk snorted. “We’re joking about that already?”

“I’m just saying…karma, baby.”

“Quiet,” Dahlia said, voice serious. “I think…yes, we’re almost there.”

Vadisk snapped into security officer mode. “Remember, if it feels like it’s going wrong, you are armed. This vehicle is a weapon. Don’t be afraid to use it.” He’d given Nikolett the same coaching more than once. He had no doubt Nik would run someone over if she felt the need, but despite Dahlia’s amusingly bloodthirsty hostage suggestion earlier, he was worried she’d try to talk her way out of trouble if things went wrong rather than gunning it.

“I know,” she said, but this time in Russian. “I can do this.” She normally spoke Russian with a faint American accent that marked her as a foreigner, but now that was gone. She sounded like she was from Moscow.

They’d worked out this part of the plan as they walked, and while Vadisk wanted to box both of them up and keep them safe, his partners were too fucking brave and wonderful to ever let him do this alone. Knowing they would always have his back felt incredible.

And frustrating.

But there was no arguing because this was a good plan. And it would take all of them.

Towels weren’t the only thing she’d grabbed from resort storage. She also found a plain white uniform that looked almost like scrubs. The resort’s in-house spa logo was embroidered on the chest, but she’d covered it with a black chef’s apron. The makeshift uniform was a bit odd looking but clearly belonged to a service worker. She had ripped up a sheet to fashion it as a scarf to hide her hair. They were banking on situational blindness in anyone they encountered because no one would expect Dahlia to walk into Sinaver’s house.

He and Montana adjusted their towels to make sure they were fully covered as the van slowed and turned. If the gate guard opened the back, he’d see two carts heaped with towels. If they dugintothe towels…

Montana would have to take care of it, at least until Vadisk could get out.

A second later, the van came to a stop and Dahlia rolled down the window.

“Who are you?” a male voice said in Russian.

“Laundry.” Dahlia’s voice was irritated and a little aloof.

“No. The cleaner brings the laundry.”

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