Page 84 of City of Salvation

Even with all the noise, I heard the slamming of car doors. The echo joined the cacophony of clanging metal in the background. Metal wheels scraping along tracks really were the perfect camouflage for the sounds of an angle grinder. Not that Andrei really needed to hide his operation. The law wouldn’t come this way—not if they wanted their families to stay alive. While I’d never actually made it over here, I knew enough about how it worked. Andrei talked about it often enough when discussing my exit plan from St. Petersburg.

I willed my body to stay loose. Unfazed. “Boys,” I said in a lazy drawl, letting the accent I’d worked so hard to hide while in Tucson slip back in like an old friend.

The one closest to me caught my attention. His shaved head practically gleamed under the amber light, and he had a massive gothic cross surrounded by Cyrillic lettering adorning his upper arm.

Death before betrayal.God, it’d been forever since I’d read in my native tongue.

His hand moved toward his waistband, coming to rest on the gun tucked there.

I flicked my eyes back to his face, rolling my eyes at his attempt at intimidation. If only this man had seen the men I worked with at Lotería. Not to mention, I’d had a number of barrels pointed at me lately. Was this how Ryan and Scar felt? Bored?

A memory of Ryan showing me a gun popped into my mind.

Her look of surprise and pride when I shot that one Los Muertos asshole dead center between the eyes was on replayin my mind.“Babe, that was great and all, but don’t ever do that again when I’m standing in front of you.”

I forced myself to focus on the current situation. “We both know Andrei told you not to harm a hair on my head.” I gestured to my blonde hair—I’d pulled off the ratty wig and contacts the minute I’d landed at J F K. “So, open the fucking door for me like a gentleman and take me to your boss.” I moved toward the seat behind the driver’s side.

A grunt was his only response as he climbed back into the blacked-out Mercedes . A young guy held the door open for me, looking me up and down. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen, so he wouldn’t have a clue who I was. Two and a half years was a long time to be away.

Especially for the Ruska Roma.

No one spoke during the short ride, but I could feel all three sets of eyes on me as I stared out my window. Their curiosity about who I was and what I was doing here was palpable.

Gra y eyes glared back at me in the rearview mirror. “Katya always calls ahead before she sends one of her girls.”

I cocked my head to the side, holding his stare. “What makes you think I’m one of Katya’s?” My voice was neutral, careful not to reveal anything.

A scoff filled the car. “I’m not stupid, girl,” he growled. “You hold yourself like one of her dancers. Only the ones she beats sit and stand with such posture.”

I smiled at the truth of his words. It was a trait I’d never be able to rid myself of since it had literally been whacked into me, usually in the form of a pointe shoe to the back of the head. Ryan always joked that I could be blackout drunk and I’d still have perfect posture. I always laughed and played it off as her being dramatic, because it hit too close to the truth.

“Well, Katya didn’t call because she didn’t send me,” I responded, avoiding answering whether I was one of her girls or not because, truthfully, I didn’t know what the hell I was nowadays.

We pulled up to a metal door. A few moments passed before it began to rise, revealing a busy chop shop. Sparks were flying, and men with cigarettes hanging from their lips ran around, tearing apart stolen cars for parts. Not everything got disassembled. The luxury ones would go straight onto the train after their VINs were changed, then get delivered to the port before making their way to Belarus.

At least, that’s the way Andrei used to do it.

“OSHA would have a field day with this operation,” I mumbled as the roll-up door closed behind us after we were tucked inside the building.

“Out,” the driver barked as my door was wrenched open. Another young, unfamiliar face filled the doorway and hauled me out of the vehicle.

“Get the fuck off me,” I spat, pulling my arm from his tatted fingers. The back of his hand sailed toward my face as he called me a bitch in Polish.

My movements were choppy, but still, I had enough sense to duck. His arm passed overhead and I ran at him, wrapping around his lanky midsection and sending my knee flying toward his balls.

Once. Twice. Just like Ryan showed me. Well, in my mind, it looked like what Ryan had showed me, but it probably wasn’t as badass as I imagined.

Yelps of pain spilled from his mouth. His body dropped, and I was forced to rush to the side to avoid being pulled down by his weight. All the noise in the garage ceased.

"Damn, that worked,” I said, impressed. My eyes dartedaround the space, taking in the group of men now staring me down.

Fuck, that wasn’t a smart move.

I dropped down to a crouch, not entirely sure what that would do, but it felt right. There was no way that move would work onallthese men, especially since I knew driver-boy had a gun. No doubt others did, as well—at the very least, a crowbar.

Slow claps came from my right. Everyone turned toward Andrei, who was descending from what I assumed was his office at the top of a metal staircase. Maybe I was an idiot, but I relaxed at the sight of him. I didn’t trust him, but one thing I knew about him—if he wanted me dead, he’d kill me himself.

“Tasha,” his voice boomed. “The dead do come back to life, eh?” There was a sinister smile on his face as he stared down at me, an underlying tone of irritation in his words.

---