Page 66 of Stricken

"Hide," he whispers urgently. His hand finds mine in the dark and I'm pulled back to the side and away from our diversion.

Seconds pass, faster than expected. Then, with a hiss and a pop, the sparklers ignite. Shouts of alarm erupt from the guards, and I see them converge on the source of the unexpected pyrotechnics.

"Move," Vlad commands, and we're running, bent low, toward the side door left unattended. We have a very narrow window to get inside.

There's sweat beading on my brow as I grab the lock with the jaws of bolt cutters. I try to stop the sweat from getting into my eyes by blowing at it, knowing full well how stupid I must look right now.

Without a word, Vlad reaches over and brushes his thumb over my forehead to remove perspiration.

"Thank you," I murmur, applying pressure to the handles.

The lock snaps like a plastic tie and when I glance at Vlad, I see a smile. A wicked and deadly smile of a predator who's been allowed to leave his cage to go on a hunt. A spark rushes down my back and wraps around the base of my spine.

"Let's go, Romeo." He nudges me to the side and quickly removes the remnants of the lock from the door, then swings it open. Immediately, we're inside, enveloped by darkness and the musty scent of disuse.

My senses feel hyper charged. Every shadow seems to writhe with potential danger. The faint echo of our footsteps sounds deafening to my ears, even though I know the three dummies outside are preoccupied with Vlad's pyro. By the time they figure out what's going on, we'll be done.We should be done.

"This is not going to be as fast as I hoped," Vlad whispers in the darkness. "Looks like they just brought in more merch."

"What do you mean?"

"Hector said he only saw six containers."

"Let's starts from the front and work our way backward," I suggest.

"Good idea. Let's."

To avoid wasting another second of precious time, we start checking the shipping containers one by one, row after row. There are several trucks in the middle, which I scratch off of our proverbial list.

Another row cleared, my eyes lock onto a truck parked in the shadowy recesses of the warehouse, its side emblazoned with a garish logo forOcean's Bounty Seafood. It's almost comical, this flimsy veneer of legitimacy. I recognize it immediately. This is one of Uncle's businesses he uses as a cover for moving products he can't move legally across the border.

"Vlad?" I whisper in the direction of his footfalls. "I think I found it."

He rushes over and points the flashlight on his phone to the lock on the back of the vehicle to inspect it. "Bolt cutters won't work. Not enough grip," he supplies, then produces a small toolkit from his jacket's pocket. "Do me a favor," he murmurs. "Hold this steady."

I set the bolt cutters down and grab the lock, every nerve on edge. Vlad slips a thin knife-like instrument into the keyhole and I don't even get a chance to blink before the lock yields. He wrenches the door open and climbs into the cargo area, then extends his hand to me. I grab it and allow him to pull me up even though I don't need his help, but the fact that he's this considerate with the danger hanging over our heads has my dick hardening.

Fuck, seeing Vlad Solovey in his element turns me on so bad.

Inside, stacks of nondescript boxes greet us. I shift my focus to the task at hand and I tear one open. Nestled within layers of packing material, I find small, tightly-wrapped bricks. I pull out a pocket knife, slicing into one package.

"Merda," I mutter, rubbing a small amount between my fingers, my nostrils flaring at the unmistakable scent. "It's pure."

The logo stamped on each brick truly chills my blood–a stylized jaguar head, its cartoonish grin mocking me. The Brazilian shipment. Here. Stolen.

Salvatore is a fucking disloyal rat.

Vlad's voice cuts through my shock. "Your cousin's handiwork?"

I nod, bile rising in my throat. "Yeah. Thatfiglio di puttana."

"Quite the elaborate scheme," Vlad muses. "Stealing from your own family to provoke the Armenians. Bold move."

"I should have seen this coming."

"The question is, why? What does he gain by pitting your family against the Armenians?"

"I don't know, but if he's willing to betray his own father just to get to me, he can't be trusted with family business. He'll ruin it. He's already cleaned up our cash reserves."

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