Page 33 of Devotion

“Finally some perks to being the boss’s nephew’s best friend. I was starting to think you were only good for staying warm at night.”

“Never speak of that night again.” Matvey glares at me pointing one menacing finger.

A noise in the back catches my attention. Plus the fact that this Andreev guy is taking too damn long.

“It was two nights, and it was magical.” I chuckle, easing back through the swinging doors and nodding for him to follow.

And it was a few more nights than that, trapped in the basement of the prison, hiding and fighting for our lives during a days-long riot. We nearly froze to death.

“Oy,lavochnik,” Mat hollers before we quietly ease back through the hallway.

The older man shuffles out from one of the coolers, wiping his hands and looking more frazzled than before.

“Look, you come back tomorrow, yes? Take fish in the meantime, like when you were kid,da?”

His eyes flick side to side, noting the two of us posted up inside the entry, hands on our weapons.

“I appreciate the gesture. You always looked out for us when things were tight.” Mat’s jovial attitude drops. Right along with his voice,“Grigory,chto ne tak?What is wrong?”

Another clatter echoes through the warehouse accompanied by voices, several men. None of them speaking Russian or English. Andreev swallows hard.

Without hesitation, Mat strafes along the wall, gesturing for the elder man to get somewhere safe. Raising my gun, I follow suit, covering the rear on our approach.

Fucking classic. Fucking exhilarating.

We sneak through, keeping as quiet as we can, easing open the door in the back. Pausing just inside, we wait for a few moments, watching the scene before us, the cluster of hooded, black-clad men wrenching open crates of fish, dumping others across the concrete, digging through others.

All to find sacks of what are undoubtedly drugs, adding to a stacked pallet on the back of a truck.

“Heroine?”

“Looks like it.” Matvey whispers back under his breath. I see his hand go for his phone, tacking in a quick text.

“Should we say hi?”

“Or we could shoot back at them?—”

“What do you mean—” The first bullet zips between us just before all twelve of the foreign smugglers start shouting in another language and shooting at us.

I’m diving for cover before my mind can tell my body to do it, popping off two shots low to the ground, taking a fella in the ankles. Flop, roll, bounce and I’m skidding around a forklift, kicking the first face I see right in the teeth as the Middle Eastern looking guy turns the corner, staying low.

Leaping over his projectile spray of blood and bicuspids, I spin midair, rattling off a few more shots just to cover my prima donna twirl, landing face-to-face with another rage-faced troll with the prettiest eyes I’ve seen in a while.

“Who does your eye makeup? Or is that a natural liner?” His arms close around me, lifting me off my feet.

But I’ve gotten way fucking stronger these last few months. And tougher than tits on a tiger.

My forehead shatters his…let’s just say his whole face.

Which leaves me falling from his limp grasp, back onto my heels, my ass, my back, knocking the wind right out of me. From my cozy spot on the fish gut-covered ground, I catch an eyeful of Matvey beating a dude’s head in with a frozen tuna, wielding it like a freaking baseball bat.

It also gives me a second to note a few details about the six guys surrounding me.

They’re definitely not from around here. Dark skin. Dark hair. And each one of them has a distinct mark on their cheek, and a very specific looking dagger tucked in their belts. Something in the back of my head tickles at the mark on the hilt, a memory of some job in some distant country drunk off my ass and fighting for my life.

Common theme.

And I don’t have time to revisit that dark alley as a boot comes flying for my face.

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