Page 16 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

I lean forward and peer through the windshield. It is difficult to make out much in the night. “Goggles,” I say. Sergio places a pair of night-vision goggles into my hand. I pull them in place over my head and look once again.

Still, there is not much. The warehouse in question is long and wide open, with two wings flaring off towards the east and the west, respectively, at the far end, forming a massive T-shape with us near the base. The entire structure is maybe a quarter-mile long and sixty to seventy yards wide. The end facing us has a huge garage door that is inexplicably rolled up. Why that would be, I have no idea. But it makes me uneasy.

We are approximately two hundred yards south of the opening. Our two vehicles are parked behind a large concrete structure, some sort of embankment that runs in a ring around the entire property. One way in, one way out. Any sentries stationed within the warehouse itself would not be able to see us, though there is no telling what other posts the Russians might have set up around the industrial park. Manned or electronic, it makes no difference—there is a reasonable chance they have already noted our arrival and are prepping accordingly.

I don’t like any of this.

A straight-on charge leaves us vulnerable to enemy fire from the rafters or from deeper within the warehouse. There is no way to flank the location, either, due to the wide swathes of empty concrete expanse that surround the warehouse like an asphalt moat on both sides. I have to congratulate the Russians on that, at least—it is a well-chosen fortress. Innocuous in the daytime, impenetrable under the cover of darkness.

There is only one possibility.

“All right, listen up. We have limited options here. We have to go in the front, as much as I don’t like that. We detonate flash-bangs and throw smoke bombs as soon as we’re in range. I’ll arrange Father’s lieutenants as supporting fire along the ridge of the embankment we’re parked behind here, but we’re going to have to lead the charge. We spread out, ten-foot separation between each of us, and sweep through. As soon as we’re in, we break left and look for cover. There’s no telling what is waiting for us, so await further instructions once we’re able to establish some kind of sweep pattern. Understood?”

The clack of guns is my only answer.

I send a quick text to Father and his lieutenants, outlining the plan. I don’t wait for a response. They know how this is meant to go.

“Then let’s move out.”

I open the door and step out into the night. The air is warm and sticky. Not a peep breaks the stillness. The unease that has been gnawing at my stomach since Father first proposed this foolish assault is building higher. But I have been trained far too well to let those types of things actually affect my behavior.

On my signal, my brothers and I spread out into a V with me at the head. We stay low as we sprint across the sea of concrete separating our parking spots from the mouth of the warehouse. I stay braced, waiting for the deadly whine of a sniper’s bullet to greet our arrival.

But there is nothing. Only silence on top of silence.

We reach the left-hand side of the garage door entrance and lean against the wall to catch our breath. I inhale slowly and force myself to hold it, to let my heart rate come back down after the sprint. When I am satisfied, I look to my brothers. They all hold up a fist in response, letting me know that they are ready to proceed.

Then, it is showtime.

I unclip a flash-bang from my belt, pull the pin, and lean around to hurl it into the yawning darkness of the warehouse without exposing myself to any enemies who may have noticed our approach. Each of my brothers does the same.

Silence—thick, heavy, unrelenting—as it soars through the air …

Until it hits the concrete, skitters once, twice, then explodes. I have earplugs in and my hands clapped over my ears, but I still wince as the sound pierces deep into my skull.

There is no time to wait though. “Move, move, move!” I roar.

We fan out into the warehouse, guns at the ready, maintaining our spacing as we sweep ten, twenty, thirty yards into the building, ready to fire at the drop of a hat. Each of us is looking through a night-vision scope, scanning the rafters and the towering stacks of shipping pallets for enemies.

But there is no one.

The place is empty.

Still, we do not relax yet. The five of us huddle behind one of the pallet stacks and reconvene.

“What the fuck is going on?” Leo drawls.

“Shut up. Listen to me. Leo and Dante, move down the left side. Sergio, Mateo, and myself will take the right. Check everywhere. We meet up at the intersection with the wings. Something about this isn’t right.”

“Maybe they just aren’t here,fratello,” Dante suggests. He looks almost mournful. He must’ve been looking forward to slicing some Russian throats.

“We don’t know that until we look,” I snap back. “Orders understood?”

Everyone nods.

“Good. Let’s go.”

We split up into our two groups. With Sergio and Mateo at my sides, I race over to the other side of the warehouse and we sweep our way down. I’m expecting Russians to be waiting behind every barrel, every stack, every garbage can. But all we find is nothing. No trace that they were ever even here.

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