Page 52 of Dark Bratva Christmas
And that’s when I hear it. Abang.Right on top of us.
“What the hell?” I spin around to see Bogdin, clutching his neck as crimson spurts from his wound, littering the ground around him.
Another boom goes off, and this time I jerk sideways as another round penetrates his head, exploding out in a gory mess.
I gasp, my hand flying up to cover my mouth as I stumble backward. I choke back the tears as my instincts seem to delay taking over.
Bogdin’s phone pierces the late morning air, as his body hits the ground with a violent thud, and I fight the urge to run to him, even though I know his wounds aren’t survivable.
I take a step back, and as I do, I bump into a hard chest.
“Gotcha,” a deep voice mumbles.
But before I can scream, everything goes dark.
Chapter sixteen
Matysh
My mind is racing, and all I can do is pace back and forth helplessly in the parking lot of this empty office while I wait for Bogdin to come pick me up. Police are all over my exploded motorcycle, but I had to fucking bail. I can’t wait around for stupid reports.
I hit the call button once more on Bogdin’s name, and once again, it just keeps fucking ringing.
Where is he? Why the fuck is he not answering?
Everything is wrong right now, and I know that. I can’t reach Ivan either. Which is evenmoreconcerning to me.
I have half a mind to start running all the way back to Kings Point to go see the damage for myself.
Whoever the hell is responsible for this is going to pay. If they laid a single hand on her, I am going to rip off all of their goddamn fingers and feed them to them while I flay them alive. I'll make them regret every incarnation of their lifetimes on this earth. No penance will be enough.
But I don’t evenknowwhat’s happening for me to know what’s coming. It could be Mauricio Vitale making his move. It could be the Morokovs doing something really fucking stupid—or it could be something straight out of left field.
I don’t know, because I’m stranded when I should be dead.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I pull out my phone once more and scroll to the only contact I have left to try, and I’m not fucking proud of it.
“Yes?” Nikolai Sokolov picks up, his voice more annoyingly taunting than ever. He’s the nastiest fucking arms dealer in the city, and as much as I hate the idea of even having to deal with him, I need the favor. I’ll pay it back somehow.
“I need a ride.” I grit the words out, trying my best to ignore the humiliation and desperation laced around them. I’m not the kind of man that ever needs a goddamn favor from anyone. “The sooner the better,” I add through gritted teeth.
Nikolai is silent for a beat. “You were the explosion off 5thAvenue, weren’t you? It’s all over the news.”
“I neither confirm nor deny,” I keep my voice flat, ignoring the tic in my jaw. “Like I said, I owe you one.”
“Dangerous thing to admit,” Nik scoffs. “But for that, I’m already on my way. Send me your location.” He hangs up before I can make any comment back, and honestly, it’s probably for the best.
Because right now? I’m fucking weak. I got hit when I least expected it, and I can only assume that it’s about to get a lot worse.
At this moment, stranded in a parking lot about a fifteen-minute drive from home, I'm completely helpless. I feel like I could crawl out of my skin, I'm so on edge. My brow fucking sweats, my hands clench and unclench, and the loaded Glock in my waistband doesn’t feel like enough.
Who the fuck even uses explosives like this anymore? Didn’t we move forward to more discreet warfare?I shake my head as I think it through.Didn’t Boris say Mauricio Vitale liked the old-school gangster ways?
It piques my interest, but something about it just… It just doesn’t feel right. Yet, I don’t have any other angles. Surveillance on Boris Petrov has been uneventful.
Before I can mull it over any further, a black Mercedes pulls up along the curb, and the passenger window rolls down. I don’t even have to wait to see who it is.
