Page 73 of Kings of Violence

“How did you know nobody was in here?” I ask. “People could have been having lunch or grabbing coffee.”

Yuri smirks at me. “Lunch at 3 p.m.?”

“Or coffee,” I repeat with a glare. “Hell, this could have been an office.”

“There was no light coming in from under the door.” Yuri leads us out again. “And all the offices are one floor above.”

“Okay, since you know it all, tell me where the server room is,” I say. I try to think. “How many floors does this building have? Three?”

“Server room is on the first floor,” Yuri says, ignoring my other question. “Stairs are… right here.” He opens the stairwell door, and checks the doorknob on both sides to make sure it doesn’t auto-lock. He grins at me. “You think I got sent to jail just because of your pretty smile? I did do a few things they could pin on me.”

“Shocker,” I say, but I find myself smiling back at him. It’s a strange moment, fraught with weird tension, and I can’t help but think that things could’ve been so, so very different if Sean wasn’t such a dick.

Then again, would I really have wanted to date someone from the Russian mob if I’d been given a choice?

My mood sours. It would’ve been nice to have a choice.

“Let’s go,” I say, my voice clipped. I brush past him to take the stairs, as light on my feet as I can manage.

“There are more people on this floor,” Yuri warns. “But it should be okay. There weren’t that many cars parked in the garage.”

“Maybe they all carpool,” I suggest snarkily.

Yuri lets out a huffed laugh. “You think they had five grown men inside each of those cars? Like in a circus?”

“You never know,” I say. “Besides, there could be women, too. You remember that we exist, right?” Except we both know it’s not very likely that there are several women here. If we’re here because it’s possible there are weapons in the warehouse itself, it’s definitely a mafia outfit — which means women shouldn’t be anywhere near the place.

Misogynistic pigs.

“I remember,” Yuri answers, a lot softer. There’s a strange look in his eye, but he shakes his head and knocks on the door closest to him.

No response.

Yuri shrugs and attempts to open the door, but of course it’s locked.

“Let me guess. This is the server room,” I say with a groan.

“It is.” Yuri runs his hand along the keypad lock. “How many four digit combinations are there?” he asks.

“Ten thousand,” I answer. “We can narrow it down by looking at the numbers that are worn a little, but that’s assuming they don’t regularly change the code.”

Yuri shrugs and inputs the numbers 4567. The top of the lock flashes red. He tries 5678, but like the first attempt, that fails.

“You can’t seriously think you’ll brute force it,” I say, frustration bleeding into my voice. Yuri keeps punching in numbers. “There is no way?—”

The lock beeps green, and Yuri opens the door.

I stare at him in disbelief. “You did not just…” I shake my head. “Yep, we’re definitely going to find a password on a sticky note.”

Yuri smiles at me. “I tried the default codes for the lock. You’re supposed to deactivate those when you set it up.”

“Computer security 101: people are the weakest point in any system,” I mutter. I follow him into the server room. “What if it had been a thumbprint lock instead?”

Yuri shrugs. “I would have found somebody’s thumb.”

“Would it have stayed attached to their body?” I ask, only to shake my head. “Never mind. I’d rather not know.”

I walk around the server room, trying to get my bearings. It’s significantly cooler in here than in the rest of the building. The server towers glow with the LED lights of the computers.

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