Chapter 8 - Vlad

The car was dead silent, and I was about this close to punching Ivan in his stupid fucking face. I would have if I hadn't gotten the short stick and been forced to sit in the back with our gear.

"Look, it was for you. You need to get…all that out of your ass. You've been less and less fun to deal with, and I don't want to think about what could happen in an emergency if you aren't going to talk to anyone."

Ivan's little diatribe did nothing to ease my fury. I had the perfect opportunity to let off a little steam when he leaned around the driver's seat to look back at me. Aiming away from his face because I wasn't going to hear that kid of his cry because he had a black eye, I smashed my fist into his shoulder.

"Ahh!" He pulled back, glaring at me. "You fucker. I'm trying to help you."

I had saved a few phrases in my phone's clipboard so that I didn't have to type them, and the TalkBack could read them off at a moment's notice. As I glared right back at Ivan, I chose the perfect one for the current situation.

"Get fucked."

The robotic voice didn't do the insult justice, but it got the job done.

"You know what, fine. Be that way. You're still going. Even if I need to drag Adley out to help."

I hated that Ivan knew how much I liked her. I'd pretty much do anything for the woman, whom I considered the sister I wished I had instead of his dumb mug.

"Let's work," read the TalkBack, and I stopped paying attention to Ivan and went back to keeping an eye on the Italians for Lev and Sergei.

Being cooped up in this car with my brothers had already proved to be a test in both physical and mental constitution—what with Abe's constant farting and Ivan's uncanny ability to stick his nose in other people's business—and it was only worse now that I was apparently going to see Emory again.

It was a bad fucking idea to see her. I'd already proven as much with my little solo session last night, and the nightmares had been just as bad as I had predicted. I didn't want to be dragging up this shit. I needed all the sleep I could get, and being exhausted while we were out on a stakeout for our employers wasn't good.

"Why you gotta keep pestering him about the talking shit? I mean, we're the only people who have to deal with Vlad, and if I can muscle my way through a conversation with the guy, you certainly can."

I wasn't a fan of Abe speaking for me, but it was something I got used to, thanks to that "talking shit" he'd so tactfully brought up.

"Shut up, Abe."

Ivan clearly wasn't in the mood to talk anymore, and you know what? Good. Fuck him. I was sick of him treating me like I was fucking broken or something. It had been a long month of dealing with his pestering, and when I didn't show up for the next appointment and he got saddled with that sweet no-show fee, maybe he'd finally give up.

We all went silent, keeping an eye on the building in front of us while we tracked what was going on through the remote listening equipment. The conversation the Italians were having with one of the local suppliers didn't sound like it was going well. We'd used the crew before, and the Vadims had even contracted with the group to get arms and protective gear.

"They don't sound pleased with the increase in prices. We're going to want to inform Lev and Sergei."

I grunted in response, agreeing with Ivan's assessment even if I didn't want to be dealing with his dumb ass right now.

"These assholes have been price gouging for weeks. It was just a matter of time before it started trickling up to the highest families. If they're increasing on the Italians, the Vadims are next for sure."

Abe had actually offered quite the astute observation, and I reminded myself that for as much as the guy was a grade-A dick, he was also smart. He knew this business, and he was ruthless when it came to exploiting opportunities or closing off loose ends.

The air was tense in that building, and we could feel it even from here. Listening to the conversation, I could pick out Emiliano's voice. He was furious with the suppliers, and we'd pegged the ring leader as Marcos.

The local suppliers went through generals like fucking toilet paper, and Marcos had just come up from the lower rungs of their "corporate ladder." He was clearly trying to make a name for himself on the scene, but he was pissing off Emiliano in the process. That likely wouldn't bode well for him.

As if on cue, the first shot rang out—guessing it was from the Italians—and chaos erupted behind the closed doors of the renter-free office building.

"Dammit. Well, there's no harm in helping rid the Vadims and ourselves of a few riff-raff. See who you can take out without getting spotted. Meet up at the house or send word if we get separated. Let's go."

Abe and I filed out of the car after Ivan's go-ahead, and we stalked across the street, sticking to the shadows. Getting in and out of place unseen was a specialty of all of ours, but I was the damn king.

I slipped past the north side of the building, plastering my back to the wall and keeping a close eye on both exits just in case. Shotgun blasts and the quieter moans of silenced pistols rang out from inside the building.

Our intel said that the meeting was at the back, and I rushed silently in that direction as Ivan and Abe took the other side of the building. Two windows looked into the hallway just outside the defunct conference rooms. I spotted the overeager Marcos with his back toward me at first glance.

Palming my gun, I leveled it through the window and made sure to fire only when there was enough other fire to cover the sound.

Pop, pop.

Two quick shots, and the guy was down. One problem for the future was taken care of. Still, the Vadims—and the Unholy Trinity—would have the following general to worry about once these rats regrouped.

With my primary objective for this impromptu mission completed, I looked around the back of the building for anything else that might be of interest. Marcos and Crew had parked their car at the rear, and I was curious to see what they might be carrying along with them. It didn't hurt that the Italians' cars were just off to the northwest, not even a block down.

The car the arms suppliers had brought with them contained nothing of interest, so I abandoned the search there and proceeded to the first black Escalade parked in the group of license plates I recognized from previous work.

The thing was locked, of course, but it didn't take long to hook up my code cracker to the door and get the thing open. Technology really was such a wonderful thing most of the time. It made the job of a thief or hitman so much easier in most cases.

Not at all what the sellers want you to believe.

As the lock disengaged, I pulled open the door, sure to be quiet in case there was anyone around. The thought prompted me to look over my shoulder and check, but the coast seemed clear, and I turned my attention back to the inside of the car.

And then my mouth fell open.

Inside the Escalade, there weren't weapons aplenty or drugs. There was no one sitting just inside leveling a gun at me, which would have sucked but potentially have been manageable since I was wearing a vest. No, what I found tucked into the seat in the back was somehow worse.

A kid?

The blood drained from my face as a small boy about five or six looked up from their tablet and made eye contact with me. What in the absolute fuck were the Italians thinking bringing a child to something like this? Were they insane?

My gut tightened, and when I blinked, the image of my dead mother hit me square in the face. Flop sweat immediately poured from my brow, and I nearly threw up. I'd been about his age when I'd seen her killed. I'd looked so much like this innocent kid sitting in the back of a mobster's car when my father had raised his gun and taken away the only person I ever truly loved with all my heart.

Older brothers are usually bullies, and Ivan and Abe hadn't been any different.

Everything spun, and I was frozen in place, unable to look away or blink as the terrified kid just stared at me. It was possible I looked just as freaked out as he did, and my grip on the car door squeezed reflexively.

The squeak of my leather glove against the door was so loud in the suspended moment of silence between me and the boy—so loud, in fact, that it startled him, making the kid jump and yelp. The tiny scream echoed against the brick building surrounding the alley.

Fuck.

As I shut the door, another sound whizzed through the air. Pop . I looked over to my right as my nerves recoiled from a burst of burning electricity, finding one of the Italians standing just a few feet away with his gun raised. He was breathing hard, having clearly just run here, and I took a step forward, lifting my own weapon.

Pain roared through my hip, but I had to ignore it since the asshole here was looking like he planned to fire again since he hadn't killed me. I beat him to the punch, squeezing the trigger, grateful for the suppressor and the muffling that it provided since I was firing right in the damn street.

My aim was much better, and the guy went down in a heap, suddenly bones as the nerve signals were abruptly cut off.

I looked back to the car. The windows were tinted, and the door was closed. The kid hadn't seen that.

Thank fuck for small miracles.

But when I started to move again, more pain blazed through the skin and muscle of my right hip. I looked down. The Italian shot had grazed me, but the tear was clean through my pants and flesh and bleeding up a damn storm. Dammit, not good. I need to stop this .

Putting a tourniquet on to staunch the bleeding from my hip wasn't going to work very well, and I needed to get moving. I couldn't stay there in the alley. More people would be coming, and I could already tell that I needed stitches.

Boom!

I was shunted back against the car door as a massive shockwave rocked the building up ahead. Abe had clearly gotten creative with the explosives, and that was most definitely my cue to get the fuck out of there. The remaining threats in the building were either neutralized or are now running because the police will respond to them.

Right on time, the pound of footsteps and shouted orders started filtering down in my direction. The Italians were coming, and I was currently bleeding all over their ride.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Looking around, I went for immediacy first. A place to hide was essential. I could deal with getting back to my brothers later. About a block up was a thick dumpster pulled up to the loading dock of one of still in-use buildings. I did my best to hurry over to it, my fucking leg throbbing with each clumsy step.

Running was going to make me bleed out that much faster, but I had to get out of sight fast, so my options were limited. The crew was right behind me, getting louder by the second, and I dove behind the dumpster, landing hard on the asphalt right as they rounded the corner behind me.

The ache was immense, but I remained silent, pulling on every ounce of training and experience I had to stay quiet while the Italians hopped in their cars and drove off.

It took forever, which in reality was likely under a minute. Still, every second I lay there on the ground, my hip pulsed harder, leaking more of that important red stuff all over the cement and grime.

When the sound of their engines was finally quiet enough to assume they were out of eyeshot, I pulled myself up, thanking my exceptional preparation skills for reminding me to wear gloves. The dumpster was disgusting. I could smell the decay so strongly that my nausea from earlier was just getting worse.

However, that could have also been the blood loss.

Okay, Vlad. You need to go. Where are you? Got a safe house nearby?

I eyed the space around me, trying to figure out just where I'd veered off to. I knew where the meetup was, so if I was about two blocks down, that put me on 2 nd Street. Hobbling down to the main road connected to the alley, I looked left and right to confirm my hunch.

Yup, 2 nd . Okay, No safe house around. I'm downtown. Where can I—

Just as I asked myself where to go, the answer became clear, and I stopped. I was about three blocks from the heart of downtown, where Emory's office was located. Mother fucker .

But I was walking on foot, and the number of places I could successfully get to while I was bleeding was extremely diminished. The closest hospital was about eight blocks away, the nearest safe house was about twenty, and any Vadim property was even farther than that.

Emory was looking like my only option right now, which fucking sucked. I didn't want to drag her into all this, but as I stood there looking left and right, my strength wavered, and a wash of dizziness hit me, forcing me to lean against the building to my left.

You need to get the bleeding stopped. They'll have a first aid kit at the office. Just…goddamn it .

Slipping off my leather jacket, I took off the button-down shirt I was wearing underneath and tied it around my hip. Squeezing the thing tightly against the wound made me hiss, but it was better than nothing.

I pulled my jacket back on and started hurrying for Emory's office. I hoped that it would be as quiet as it was before. Running into concerned citizens wasn't on my to-do list. I just need to get there and get this fucking bullet graze sorted out.

The trip down the three blocks to the psychiatry offices was a lesson in nonchalantly masking pain that I would have happily done without. The injury pulled when I moved, and my vision started to go fuzzy as I got closer to the glorious beacon of those bronze revolving doors.

Almost there. Just wait for the right moment.

Leaning against a building again, I watched the door. After not long, a person came through them. I hopped into action, though my speed was definitely suffering, thanks to the bullet graze. Pushing into the revolving doors, I timed my exit so that no additional turn was necessary after the other person left.

I also ensured that the main entry to the building was empty enough for me to slip inside and duck off to the hallway on the right. The elevators to Emory's office were down this hall, and I just needed to get there without being spotted.

As I passed down the hallway, a janitor was loading up their cart, so I tucked myself around a corner to hide until they left. As the employee walked off, I caught the door to the closet before it closed completely and snagged a jumpsuit.

Pulling it on hid the quick patch job that I did on my leg, and I followed the slim placards posted in the hallways to navigate my way to the stairwell. As much as it sucked, I couldn't trust the elevators. People avoided the stairs for the most part, so it would be the better bet if I were trying to stay out of sight.

Emory's office was on the third floor. I just had three sets of stairs to climb with a bullet injury flaring in my hip with each step—piece of cake.

After so much longer than usual, I finally reached the third floor, and I was about ready to throw up or pass out, maybe both. I cracked open the door to the stairwell, checking to see if anyone was waiting in the reception that I needed to avoid.

Just the receptionist. Good.

The door people usually entered was just past the desk to my right, and Emory's office was down the hall to my left. I would still be visible for just that split second of exiting the stairway and walking to her office, so I needed something to keep the woman busy.

In the hallway outside the office, there was a small fire extinguisher and a garbage can just outside the elevators. It was an older model, still possessing an ashtray on top, even though smoking indoors had been illegal for some time.

It was a solid option for a distraction, though, even if it meant that I'd be walking those same damn stairs again.

Slipping back inside the stairwell, I walked to the second floor and took the elevator to the third. I leaned out enough to reach the astray when the elevator doors opened.

I didn't smoke, but it had become a habit of mine to carry around a lighter and a pack of cigarettes to bribe people. Using them, I lit up a cigarette and placed it in the ashtray without letting it extinguish. There was a slim paper wrapper in the garbage, and I quickly snatched it to lay in the ashtray section as though someone had just gotten lazy.

There was a mirrored surface across from the elevators that you could see from the counseling offices. The orange flicker wouldn't take long to be noticeable to the woman at that desk, and I just prayed that she would be brave enough to come out and deal with it herself.

Sneaking back to the stairwell and back up to the third floor, I cracked the door again and watched the desk.

Come on, lady. Leave.

Thankfully, the woman was a good Samaritan. As soon as she noticed the reflection of the flames, she hurried out of her seat and rushed toward the elevator. With her away, I silently slipped out the door and hurried to Emory's office.

Please don't be with a patient.

Pausing a split second to listen at the door, I didn't hear anyone, so I pushed inside, tumbling to the floor as my leg finally gave out.

"What the hell?!" Emory was out from behind her desk in a heartbeat. "Vlad?"

I just looked up at her from my position on the floor, nodding a silent "Hey."