Page 164 of The Devil's Thorn
Thecityoutside the car window was quiet, too quiet for Cartagena. The usual echoes of music, of life, were swallowed by the thick heat of the night. I rolled my sleeves up to the elbows and leaned back in my seat, the engine’s low hum vibrating through my spine as the docks came into view.
Beside me, Nikolai lit a cigarette, the tip glowing red as he cracked the window. Yuri sat in the back, lazily stretched out, twirling a knife between his fingers like it was a toy.
“I still think we’re wasting time,” Nikolai muttered, eyes narrowing as we approached the warehouse. “Shipment should’ve been handled tomorrow, not at fucking one in the morning.”
Yuri chuckled. “Don’t be such a romantic, Kolya. Midnight deals are how legends are born.”
“You’re the kind of legend mothers warn their daughters about,” Nikolai said, exhaling smoke.
Yuri smirked. “They’re not warning them hard enough.”
I let their banter fade into the background, my eyes locked on the building up ahead. The warehouse loomed, lights casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Two men were stationed at the entrance, both armed but relaxed, just nodding as we approached.
I didn’t return the gesture. Something was…off. But I said nothing. Not yet.
The car rolled to a stop, and I stepped out, gravel crunching beneath my shoes. My boots hit the ground with a weight that echoed louder than it should have. The air here was different. Still. Expectant.
Nikolai stepped up beside me, flicking his cigarette onto the ground. “What’s the count?”
“Two guards. No movement at the side entrances,” I murmured, scanning the shadows. “Where the fuck is everyone?”
Yuri was already pacing forward, arms loose at his sides, eyes gleaming in the dark. “Maybe everyone’s asleep and we’re the only idiots pulling overtime.”
Nikolai drew in a slow breath. “Feels wrong.”
I nodded once. “We check it anyway.”
The guards didn’t say a word as we passed them. Just another sign. I could feel it in my bones now—the silence wasn’t the kind that comes from peace. It was the kind that comes before blood.
Yuri glanced at me from the corner of his eye, smirk dropping. “This better be worth the drive.”
“Won’t be,” I muttered, pushing the heavy steel door open.
The scent hit me first—dust, stale air, rusted iron. Only one crate sat in the center of the otherwise empty warehouse floor. Just one.
My pulse ticked up. And I smiled—cold and slow. Because now, it all made sense.
The echo of the steel door clanging shut behind us was too sharp—too final. Like the clang of a coffin lid.
I didn’t turn right away. I just looked at Nikolai and Yuri, each of us catching the shift in the air like wolves scenting blood on the wind.
Nikolai’s jaw clenched as his hand slid inside his jacket, gripping his gun. He didn’t speak, but I didn’t need him to. I was already doing the same.
Yuri’s humor faded. The knife he always had somewhere on him was suddenly in his hand, casual, quiet. His posture didn’t change, but his gaze swept the dark like he was waiting to see a ghost.
We weren’t alone.
“I’m going to shoot Damyen in the knee for this,” Yuri muttered under his breath.
“You’re assuming he’ll still be breathing by the time I’m done with him,” I said coldly.
“Still think this was worth the drive?” Nikolai murmured, eyes flicking toward the far end of the warehouse.
I ignored him. Instead, I stepped toward the crate in the center, every muscle coiled. Each footfall echoed like a gunshot in the silence, and still… nothing.
Too empty. Too neat.
No scuff marks around the crate. No trail of movement. No dust disturbed. Not the kind of mess you expect from smugglers moving shipments in and out of Cartagena under cover of darkness.
