Page 119 of Kingmakers, Graduation

“It’s fine,” I say brusquely. “But what the hell are we gonna do now?”

Jasper casts a swift look down the dock, checking the time on his phone.

“We need to get out of here before the boatman shows up.”

“What about the supplies?”

“We could wait till he gets here,” Jasper says. “But then we’ll have to kill him, too.”

Neither of us particularly likes that idea. It’s one thing to cap someone who’s about to shoot you and quite another to murder the equivalent of a drug Door Dasher.

“We’ll have to leave without it,” I say. “We gotta get out of here. The longer we stay, the less plausible deniability we have.”

“And what, just leave them here?” Jasper says, looking down at the bodies.

“I’m not gonna chop ‘em up and bury ‘em. That’s a six-hour job for Zigor alone.”

Jasper seems to come to a decision. “Wipe down anything you touched,” he says. “Don’t leave anything behind.”

We look around the shack once more to see if there’s anything we missed. The wind sounds eerie and ominous in the dead quiet, no chatter from Zigor anymore. Not even the gentle flick of playing cards turning over.

“Let’s go,” Jasper says.

We practically sprint back to the SUV, pulling out of the dirt road and speeding back to civilization.

As we drive, I say to Jasper, “Quick, text Zigor.”

Jasper stares at me blankly. “He’s not gonna answer …”

“I’m aware. Text him something like,Where are you?Then do it again in an hour.”

“Oh,” Jasper says. He pulls out his phone, typing the message one-handed while holding the steering wheel with the other. He presses send, then says, “I don’t think Lev is gonna buy that.”

“What else are we supposed to do? He’s got no proof of what happened.”

“He won’t need proof,” Jasper says darkly.

That’s too true to argue. It’s not a court of law, and it’s pretty fucking obvious something hinky went down.

“Drive faster,” I say. “We need to tell Adrik.”

Jasper presses the gas, even though both of us are dreading that conversation.

30

ADRIK

The phone call I’ve been expecting comes two days after Jasper shot Zigor.

I pick up, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Privet,” I say.

“Adrik Petrov.” Lev’s voice is low and rasping. Every time he takes a breath on the other end of the line, I hear a rattle deep in his chest. It should give the impression of age and sickness, but instead, the sound is menacing, like a diamondback slowly shaking its tail in warning.

Preempting him, I say, “I’m glad you called. I haven’t been able to get hold of Zigor. We missed a shipment.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line.

---