Chapter 5

Five

MAXIMILLIAN

It’s 8 p.m. My hand perched behind the passenger seat, I wait in my Barracuda, narrowing my eyes through the darkness at the metal building blocking the view of the river. Derichs studies the area with me, dragging his palms down the front of his jeans. A light shines inside the warehouse, streams of yellow filtering through small gaps in the walls and doorway, interrupted at times by shadows waltzing through.

“Okay. Let’s go,” I say, breaking the tense silence. Derichs meets my gaze and nods. He’s ready.

As we approach the side door we planned to enter, it slides open with some effort. The man holding it open is wearing a black suit and a smug expression, like he’s got the upper hand. Marching in front, I keep my focus straight ahead. I approach the man in the middle of the room, standing with another just behind his left shoulder. My eyes dare a quick peek out the barred skinny windows above us, but I don’t see Aries in his position. Hopefully, he’s there.

Drumming in my neck, my pulse races as I stand in front of Antonov. His small eyes are just a hair too close together, which gives him an even more menacing look than the way he’s holding his muscular body. He’s younger than Markus alluded to, probably in his mid-thirties. Stroking his shaved chin in contemplation, his large red bull tattoo flexes across his hand as he eyes me suspiciously.

“S’not Antonov,” Derichs whispers near my ear. My brow furrows as the deep and forceful rhythm of my heart flares from a bass drum to a rapid snare beat. If it’s not Antonov, then who is it?

“Maximillian. Leon. Freidenberg. Son of Gerald Leon, who was a complete cuck. Did you know he liked to watch your mother take some big dicks? Well, before she was flame grilled, that is.” A heady Eastern European accent comes through the end of each word. I will the sweat to stop pouring from my forehead and steady my breathing. This is bait, and I’m not taking it. “I’d still have fucked her holes after, honestly. She was a beautiful woman.”

“And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with? I’m told you’re not Sergei Antonov.”

The man’s shoulders relax. Which means something has put him at ease. It was either me not succumbing to his taunt, or he feels confident in his safety. I sneak glances around the perimeter, monitoring the positions of his men. Derichs was right. They are exactly where he said they would be. His head is on a constant swivel just behind me.

“Morozov.”

“Morozov. I was told I would be meeting with someone who could get me the business licenses. Someone worth a shit.”

He snorts. “Antonov didn’t think it was worth his time to meet with you.” Holding out a palm, he adds, “I just came to collect the hundred it will cost you.”

My mouth opens slightly, but I try to school my face as much as I can. “Hundred? Hundred k?”

He laughs and pulls his hand back. Turning, he walks a few steps away from me. Everything in me screams that I’m suddenly in danger. “Oh. You don’t have the money? Hmm. That could be a problem.” With a swift spin on his heel, he turns back to me. “For you.”

“I can offer ten percent of the profits. Just like my grandfather and his father did. And I believe the father before that one.” The skin on my right hand itches to reach for my Glock in its holster. An energy travels from Derichs’s body, and I sense he’s getting the same vibe. My jaw tightens.

Opening his long arms to his sides, he asks, “How about a trade? You tell me where the rest of the armories are, and I allow you to run your business.” As he drops his arms, my eyes rest on their movement. He could reach quickly for his gun at any time. The man behind his shoulder already has a hand on his belt as I spy Derichs slowly moves his to his holster out of the corner of my eye.

“I don’t know where the armories are.”

Morozov’s head dips back for a moment before he stares me down. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t feign ignorance. It’s so overplayed.”

My muscles twitch, ready to escape. “How would I know? I’ve been gone from Gnarled Pine my entire life. My family never told me. I just want to run my car wash and body shop. That’s it.”

The air in the room condenses.

Morozov’s eyebrows raise, and he smiles broadly, flashing a wide gap between his front teeth. “Oh, well, if you don’t know… what good are you?”

His hand reaches for his gun at the same time as mine. The man behind his shoulder gets a sharp hole through his forehead as he slumps forward to his knees, then flat on his face. A red beam of light swivels through the upper window, Aries scanning to take more out. Morozov aims behind my shoulder and fires while both me and my man shift to our right, making our way to escape route one behind a set of thick concrete pillars.

Derichs groans loudly, but his legs keep running with mine. He’s been hit, I know it, but we need to move. A thunderstorm of bullets rains down on us from the second story platforms, each pelt causing a cacophony of discordant sounds. The metal walls of the building ring echoes of each whirr as they pass my head. I’m focused on getting to cover by shooting my way around the room despite the chaos and confusion.

Just before I dive behind the wall of the pillar, I lift my gun toward Morozov. He’s at a forty-five-degree angle, so my bullet only clips his shoulder. As his body jolts from the first shot, I put another in his chest, and down he goes.

Derichs creeps up beside me in a crouched position. He pushes his back against the wall and slides down it on weakened knees. His left hand presses against his shoulder, but he still clutches his handgun. Blood weeps through his T-shirt around where he’s keeping pressure.

“Hang on,” I say through gritted teeth.

His eyes frost over, but he nods.

We have to get out of here. Now. Footfalls from the rest of Strauss’s men bellow from around the corner. Quickly, I shove against the exit door nearest us, but it’s bolted shut. “Fuck!” In desperation, I heave with my shoulder against it with everything my strong frame gives me, but it won’t budge. As I scan the small area behind the pillar, I come to the horrible conclusion that there’s no way out. Our only escape route is across the open warehouse floor.

Snatching my phone from my pocket, I hit the number I was given for communications with Holland, our tank on the outside.

Heavy breaths answer me. “I’m on the move. Aries had to switch positions. You’ve got about six left standing—” A ping, then a loud groan interrupts him.

“Holland?” There’s no answer. Ending the call, I stuff the phone back in my pocket, placing my back against the wall next to my man.

Strauss’s men are moving in closer. Sliding out my magazine, I count three left, one in the chamber.

“I’ve got a few left,” Derichs manages to say as sweat drips from his forehead, now paling to the color of ash.

“Slide behind that pillar.” I point to one farther in the corner. “Hunker down over there.” Concrete explodes near my head as someone picks off my location. Dipping into my pocket, my fingers grasp the heavy grenade. This could backfire, but I pull the ring with my teeth anyway.

If I don’t die from the explosion, I’ll die from a heart attack. My chest thuds from the panic desperate to escape from within as I grip the body and lever together as tightly as my fist will allow. I rear back my arm and launch it across the room to the other door and drop to my knees, covering my head with my arms.

The impact shudders the room until the floor tilts as if we’re in an earthquake. Instead of bullets, crusts of plaster and dust plummet around us, splattering to the floor. When I look up, Derichs is still in position and the men moving in on us are down and rolling around, their moans of agony piercing through my almost deafened ears. The wall has opened for us enough to get through.

Rushing to my partner, I heave him up underneath his good shoulder. “I’m okay. I got this. I’m fine, Max,” he grunts. His feet kick repeatedly until he stumbles with me across the warehouse and out into the safety of the night.

“Rendezvous,” my voice commands steadily, so he knows where we’re heading. Darting through the alley next to the buildings, my body begins to relax as we approach my untouched Barracuda. Once I unlock the doors, Derichs collapses into the passenger seat and immediately slumps down, passing out.

The engine roars to life as I turn the key. With a squeal of the tires, I press on the accelerator fully, steering in the direction of the old car wash. Our safe harbor, one of the old armories. Holland should meet us there in a retreat.

Before I get out of the city streets, headlights blaze in my rearview mirror, blinding me for a moment. We’ve been spotted by a black Mercedes. Fortunately, I have a better car. Darting through some side streets, my enemy keeps up easily, even when I skip past red lights. Pedestrians dart out of the way, diving for the sidewalks as we speed past. The Mercedes keeps up close with a gun sticking out of the passenger window.

“Oh, hell no!” They better not hit my Barracuda. Switching pedals, I rapidly slam on the brakes and yank the steering wheel to the left. The Mercedes keeps moving forward as I pull a sharp turn, heading for the highway. I need an open road.

Once I reach it, the black car can’t keep up with the amount of muscle I’ve put into the engine. Flooring the gas, I leave it behind as we head almost beyond the city limits before I turn sharply right onto an exit ramp.

Eventually, I make it to the car wash on the east side. It’s well into Freidenberg land, but mainly abandoned now. The earth has reclaimed a lot of the buildings in the area, the asphalt cracked so deeply, I have to stop before easing over the bumps. Pulling through the old bay, I park in the middle of the ragged, dirty wash brushes. Solid concrete walls refuse a peek inside, and the door to the office hangs sideways on its hinges. It’s completely dark.

“Derichs!” I yell to wake him.

With a snort, he raises his head with some effort. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” He’s mainly talking to himself.

“Come on. Get out.”

I jump out of my side and slide to his, pulling open the passenger door as he struggles to set himself upright. Throwing a shoulder under his uninjured one, I help him stagger into the office.

“I got a girl,” he grits out. “Her name’s Hannah. Fuck! Don’t tell her I got shot.” He groans again. “She’ll just do something stupid.” I toss him on an old waiting room bench.

“You’re not fucking dying. Stop that. First time shot in the shoulder?”

He nods, his eyes trying to search me out in his dazed confusion.

“You’ll be okay. I just need to get in touch with a healer.” Other cities have their hospitals and doctors; I had never learned about such things until after we moved away. Gnarled Pine Hollow has always relied on alternatives; at least, the clans have their own. Those outside the families have their medicine people as well, but the coveted position of healer is to serve the head of a prominent family.

My finger shakes violently as I pull up Markus’s number with some effort. After telling him about the situation, he says he’s sending one to meet us in a worried tone. I haven’t met any of my healers. Guess now is as good a time as any.

While I wait, I search the shop for any supplies. It’ll take a lot of work to get the place back in shape, just like everything on the east side of Gnarled Pine. A creaking sound comes from my right, and I immediately draw my weapon. I didn’t see any headlights approaching, but someone could have followed us.

Holding up my gun, I creep down the hallway. All the doors are closed, except for one to the old men’s bathroom, which is cracked ajar. I flip on my pistol light and flash it over the open door until two shiny eyes peek out from behind it.

“Get the fuck out here or I shoot.”

There’s no movement. Aiming for the ceiling above the door, I waste a bullet as the plaster crumbles around us. Immediately, the face disappears, replaced with quick shuffling sounds. A shadow of a figure slowly emerges with arms up in a sign of surrender.

My gaze wanders up black leather pants and a tight black tank top, taking in the curvy figure of a woman topped with a tall mohawk of black hair.

“Livia?”