Page 82 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

“I don’t like the look of this kid on the bike. Lose him.”

“Yes, sir.”

The SUV in front of me immediately veers off onto the shoulder of the highway and accelerates past the standstill traffic. I follow suit, as does my trail car.

But the biker stays with us.

We make a quick exit onto a back road, some arbitrary turns here and there as we lose ourselves in a sleepy commercial stretch of warehouses, shops, small factories. It appears that the motorcycle is gone. But I want to be sure we have ditched him before I lead him to the door of a valuable Bianci property. I remember a hidden alley not far from here. That’ll do.

“Split up,” I bark into the walkie-talkie. “Reconvene in Koreatown.”

The three vehicles immediately diverge. I head west, smoothly accelerating and cornering at high speed. The car I’m driving is built for performance like this, so it responds instantaneously. One more left turn and then I see my destination in sight. A quick glance in my mirror shows no sign of the motorcyclist. Good.

Pulling up, I whip the wheel to the right and hide my car in the small open-ended alley I remember from some random errand years back. I kill the ignition and wait. My right hand finds the gun in the glove compartment. I grip it tightly, savoring the reassuring weight. It would be insane for the Russians to strike now, with their leader due to arrive soon for negotiations. But perhaps they want to take me hostage for leverage. I start to wonder whether splitting up was a tactical error. It’s just one biker, though. How much harm could a lone wolf do?

For a few long minutes, the adrenaline surges through my veins. I am ready for a fight. If this is the end, then I am prepared to go down guns blazing.

But nothing happens.

Once I’m satisfied that enough time has passed, I ease my death grip on the gun and start up the engine again. Business calls. I want to finish this final errand so I can return home and have a fucking drink.

I’m too keyed up. This will all turn out to be much ado about nothing, I’m sure. The kid on the bike was probably just admiring my vehicle. It was the sight of my father’s ghost in my own reflection that has me so wired. A stiff drink will do me a lot of good, no doubt.

Releasing the brake, I ease the car forward to the other end of the alley. I’m about a yard away from reemerging and joining the early evening traffic once more when I hear the cough of a motorcycle engine.

The biker pulls across the mouth of the alley.

My first thought, sharp and clear in my mind’s eye, is that I deserve to die for my idiocy. I abandoned my guards and pulled my vehicle into an alley? What kind of fucking moron does that?

I wait for the biker to pull out his gun and light me up where I sit strapped into the driver’s seat of the car.

But he doesn’t do that.

He just sits on his bike, idling there on the sidewalk, staring at me. The bandana across the lower half of his face hides his expression, but I could almost swear he is grinning.

Then he kicks the bike into gear again, merges back into traffic, and disappears.

It takes me a long time to catch my breath. Not because I could have been killed. Not because I made a series of stupid decisions, the kind of decisions that make me question everything I’ve been doing since Father died.

But because I swore I recognized those eyes.

I’ve only ever met one person with eyes that violet.

And that man is dead.

Right?

* * *

By the time I meet up again with my security detail on the southern rim of Koreatown, I’m doubting my own observations. There’s no way that that was Sergio on the motorcycle. The sun was playing tricks on me, surely. Or perhaps it was just my own heart that caused me to see what I wanted to see.

I can’t deny that I want badly for Sergio to still be alive. But if he were alive, he wouldn’t be haunting me on a motorcycle like a fucking ghoul. He would have returned home to where he belongs.

Maybe I really do need that drink.

“You okay, boss?” Umberto asks cautiously as I step out of my vehicle. “You look a little wan.”

I open my mouth to reprimand him for daring to ask such an invasive question, then think better of it. He is a good man. No need to put him on his heels right now.

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