33. Logan

CHAPTER 33

LOGAN

Two days. Forty-eight endless hours since Sasha vanished into the jaws of the people working for Toro, leaving only a void. Sleep is a stranger and worry is my sole companion as I stare at the peeling paint in the corner of my apartment ceiling.

Every muscle in me is tight and my teeth clenched like a vise when I call Stan, asking him to meet at our old spot. Maybe he can dig up something, anything, to point me in the right direction.

The sports bar is a dingy refuge from Vegas's manic glow and stepping inside is like crawling into the belly of a dying whale—dim, cavernous, the air is all cheap alcohol and dashed hopes. Stan's already there, tucked in a back booth, two beers set in the center of the table. I slide in across from him, the worn-out vinyl of the bench sighing under my weight as if greeting me.

Stan grabs one of the beers and eyes me over the rim of the bottle. "You look like ten miles of rough road, brother. What's good? What are we doing here?"

I match his gaze, unflinching, while some old rock tune is rattling from the crippled speakers in the background. "Got a situation. Need some additional intel on Toro and Vlad’s business. And need to know where Shtyk is holed up these days. Anything you can shake loose."

"Hell, you're thick as thieves with Solovey these days, ain't ya? Since you’re in his employ. Figured you'd have the better inside scoop on the Russians."

"I need deep background, Stan. The kind of dirt that doesn't see daylight. Toro and Vlad...there's history there. Bad blood. You know it. And Shtyk is in the middle of it all now."

Stan sits back, his bench creaking. He sweeps a hand over his close-cropped hair, frowning. "This is heavy shit, Logan. The kind of skeletons made men don't want rattled. I told you to keep to yourself before, right? If Toro's soldiers and the Arellanos go to war, everyone in between will be done for."

"Yes, yes, I do understand. But things have changed. And I gotta know what I'm stepping into here. Before the bullets start flying and the bodies stack up." I lean in, my voice low and urgent. "C'mon, man. For old times' sake."

The seconds stretch out, taut as piano wire. Finally, Stan blows out a breath. "Alright. I'll see what else I can dig up. I'll do what I can. But no promises, brother."

I feel a trickle of relief, the first in two days. It’s not much, but it's something. A scrap of hope in this festering wound of a city.

"Thanks, brother. I owe you one."

"Shit, you owe me a damn sight more than that," Stan grumbles, but there's a glint of our old camaraderie in his eyes. "Watch your six out there, y'hear? I ain't lookin' to attend your funeral."

I muster a grim smile. "Roger that."

Stan takes another swing. His brows furrow, eyes studying me intently. "Why the sudden interest in Shtyk’s whereabouts? What's this really about, Logan?"

I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat like shards of glass. But I need any help I can get right now, and that means laying my cards on the table. "It's Vlad's little brother. Toro’s crew snatched him. Vlad’s certain it’s on Shtyk’s orders."

The atmosphere in the bar seems to thicken even more, the gloom pressing in around us as Stan processes the news. He leans back, shaking his head. "Vlad kept his bro under the radar, no?"

I nod. "He’s not part of the ‘family business’ if that’s what you’re asking."

"Hell, no one remembers Solovey Senior had two sons. They hid the bastard well."

My stomach twists at the tone of Stan’s voice. "He’s an innocent bystander," I reply, feeling the need to protect Sasha’s image even now. "Not like the rest of them."

"Sure." Stan shrugs. "Why are you getting your hands dirty, anyway?"

"It was my fucking job to keep him safe."

"Shit, Logan. If you say he is a civilian and caught up in this beef, it's gonna get real bloody, real fast. I warned you about Shtyk."

My fingers tighten around my beer bottle. "Sasha’s just a kid, Stan. He wants nothing to do with Vlad's dealing."

A kid you’re fucking , my conscience immediately laughs at me in the privacy of my mind.

Stan shakes his head, an unamused chuckle escaping his lips. "Wake up, brother. If the kid's a Solovey, he's part of this war whether he wants it or not. Ain't no such thing as innocent blood in this game."

The truth of his words washes over me. I've seen it before, the way this life swallows people whole, chews them up and spits them out broken and bloody. But Sasha... the thought of him caught in the crosshairs makes my gut churn.

I take a long pull from my beer, the bitter liquid doing little to wash away the taste of dread on my tongue. Outside, a siren wails in the distance, punching through the rock music blasting in the bar. It’s the sound of the city, a mournful cry that seems to echo the desperation biting at my insides.

I have to do something. Get my hands on some sort of information. I can’t just sit and wait for those fuckers to call back and tell Vlad their demands.

"Did they say what they wanted?" Stan asks.

"Not yet."

"There's gotta be a way to get him back," I mutter, more to myself than to my buddy. "Some angle we haven't played yet."

Stan sighs, his expression a mix of sympathy and resignation. "In this business, there are no angles, Logan. Just moves and countermoves, and may the most ruthless bastard win." He leans forward, his elbows on the scarred wood of the table. "So, what's Vlad doing about all this?"

"He's putting the word out. Calling in favors from some of his shadier contacts."

"The kind of favors that come with a price tag and a body count?"

"Is there any other kind in his line of work?"

Stan huffs out a humorless chuckle. "Fair enough. So, what's the reward?"

"Vlad's offering a hefty bounty. On the street and on the dark web. For anyone who can bring him Shtyk, Toro, or their crew. Dead or alive." I take another swig of beer.

"Shit," Stan breathes. "He's not playing around."

"Would you be? If it was your family?"

Silence settles between us.

Stan breaks the quiet first. "Remember when things were simple? When it was just us against the bad guys, and we knew which side of the line we stood on?"

"Seems like a lifetime ago. Back when the world was black and white, and the badge on our chest meant something."

"And now?" Stan prompts, his eyes searching mine.

I shake my head, my gaze drifting to the small window and the neon streets beyond. "Now, everything's just shades of gray. The lines are blurred, and the rules we used to play by don't mean shit anymore."

"Is it worth it?" Stan asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Working for the Russians, getting caught up in all of this?"

I don't answer right away, the question hanging between us like a loaded gun. Is it worth it? The money, the power, the chance to make a difference in a world that's gone to hell?

I think of Sasha, of the way his eyes light up when he smiles or when his fingers hit the piano keys or hold the pencil. I think of the softness of his skin beneath my fingertips. I think of the promises I've made, the vows I've sworn to keep him safe, to stand by his side no matter what.

And I know, with a bone-deep certainty, that there's no going back. Not for me. Not anymore.

"It has to be," I say at last, my voice raw with the weight of the admission. "Because if it's not... then what the hell am I even fighting for?"

Stan nods, understanding in his eyes. "I'll do some digging. See what I can find out about Shtyk's whereabouts or Toro’s guys. I'll be in touch."

"Thanks, brother. I appreciate it."

We clink our bottles together and take one last sip. Then a few minutes later, Stan is gone, disappearing into the jaws of the city, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the taste of regret on my tongue.

I sit there for a long time, staring into the depths of what's left of my beer as if it holds the answers I'm looking for. But there are no easy solutions, no clear-cut paths to follow. There's only the road ahead, winding and risky, leading me deeper into the heart of darkness with every step.

Three days. Seventy-two fucking hours since Sasha vanished, and the walls of Vlad's basement feel like they're closing in on me. The glow of the computer screen sears my eyes as I scroll through the cesspool of the dark web along with Andrey, desperate for a lead, a whisper, anything that might point us in the right direction.

Stan’s been quiet too. A quick phone call earlier today only confirmed my biggest fears—Shtyk and Toro with his men have gone underground.

Something’s brewing.

Something big.

Vlad paces behind us, his presence a suffocating mass in the air. I can feel his gaze boring into the back of my skull. He keeps the information about Sasha and me to himself. The photos are safely hidden away from his crew. The only person who’s aware is Ivan. The rest are oblivious to what’s really going on and why Vlad’s attention keeps coming back to me.

The ring of one of Vlad's many phones shatters the silence, and I feel my muscles lock with dreadful anticipation. He snatches it up, his voice a dangerous growl. "Talk."

The room falls into stillness as everyone freezes.

I strain to hear the voice on the other end, but the words are lost to me. Vlad's face remains an impassive mask, but I see the hint of something in his eyes. Hope, maybe. Or perhaps just the cold, calculated fury of a man who's used to getting what he wants.

He ends the call with a curt "I’ll handle it," and turns to face the room. "We've got a lead. An abandoned industrial park near Moapa Valley. That's where they're holed up."

The new information is like a live grenade, and for a moment, no one dares to breathe. Then, the basement erupts into a flurry of activity. Ivan barks orders at the men, his voice a harsh staccato of broken English sentences and some Russian against the clatter of weapons being checked and magazines loaded.

A thought rushes through my mind–call Stan to double-check if the intel is true. But before I can act on it Ivan approaches me and all my attention is on him.

"Here." He shoves me a Glock and a holster. "You will need this."

Moments later, I feel Vlad's hand on my shoulder, his grip a vise. "You are with me and Ivan, McKenna. We are going to get Alexander back, and God help anyone who stands in our way."

I nod, my throat tight. The weight of the Glock is a familiar comfort against my palm as I slide it into place.

My heart’s pounding in my ears as I follow Vlad and his entourage out of the basement.

The mansion is a hive of activity, men swarming like angry bees as they gather their gear and load up the SUVs parked in the driveway.

"Wear this," Ivan calls out, handing me a Kevlar vest. "We move fast and quiet, hit them before they know what is coming."

I catch the vest, strapping it on with practiced efficiency. Vlad is already sliding into the back seat, his face a grim mask of determination. He motions for me to sit next to him.

"Ready?" he asks, his rage-filled eyes meet mine for a second.

"Always," I reply, my own anger simmering just beneath the surface of my skin, hot and useful.

It's not just about Sasha anymore. It's about the betrayal and the lies that have led us to this moment. And the knowledge that, no matter how this ends, there will be blood on our hands.

The SUVs roar to life, and we peel out of the driveway, one by one, tearing through the night like the hounds of hell are on our heels.

We leave the city behind, entering the domain of the desert where dust and cacti are our only companions on the way to the place where we’re not certain what awaits us. From time to time, Vlad would take a call. He’d say something in Russian and return to being his brooding self.

Ivan’s quiet behind the wheel. The man occupying a passenger’s seat beside him, whose name I don’t know, is familiar. I’ve seen him around the house. I’m not sure he speaks English. I’m also not sure he needs to. Violence is a universal language. Everyone understands it.

Under the cover of darkness, our vehicle skids to a stop on the unassuming gravel road that leads to an isolated industrial park, located in the middle of nowhere.

I grip my Glock tighter, trying to calm my pulse.

I’ve always been the kind of guy to keep it together on the job. I knew how to trample down my emotions and just be a shell of a person until the situation resolved itself. I can’t seem to do the same now, can’t seem to make all these feelings—especially fear—disappear.

"Ivan, take your team and sweep the perimeter," Vlad orders, his voice urgent. He adds something in Russian, then switches to English, "We will wait here."

Ivan nods curtly, signaling to his companion as they melt into the desert night. I spot several more shadowy figures slipping out of the cars to follow him.

"We will have a conversation," Vlad says a bit later, "once we get my brother back."

I take a moment to respond. My mind is chaos and I don’t want to say something that’s going to amplify Vlad’s rage. It’s not a good time to make him even a bigger enemy. "I care about him," I supply simply. "He’s important to me. You can fire me instead of accepting my resignation if that makes you feel better. Fine by—"

The door swings open and Ivan’s voice cuts me off in Russian before I get all the words out. More Russian speech follows from Vlad.

He glances at me over his shoulder, climbing out of the vehicle. "Let’s go."

I fall into step beside him, my senses heightened, every nerve on fire.

We move silently, a group of roughly ten men. A small army of people working for Vlad. The only sound is the soft crunch of sand beneath our footsteps and the occasional rustle of fabric. There’s a series of what looks like abandoned buildings, appearing ahead. Shattered windows are staring down like soulless eyes, darker than the void itself.

My own eyes dart from corner to corner, searching for any sign of movement. I'm still convinced running this by Stan would have been a good idea. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, a primal warning of danger lurking just out of sight.

As we approach the first building, the tension reaches a fever pitch. My heart pounds in my chest, pushing adrenaline through my bloodstream. Beside me, Vlad's jaw is clenched, his finger hovering over the trigger of his gun.

The silence is absolute as we press up to the wall, blending with its shadows. Somewhere ahead, Ivan and the rest of the crew are scouring the corners.

Suddenly, the night erupts in a hail of gunfire, the sound deafening in the stillness. Flashes strobe in the darkness across the crumbling walls.

"Get down!" I yell, tackling Vlad to the ground as bullets whiz overhead. We scramble for cover, pressing our backs against the cold concrete of the building.

"It's a fucking ambush," I growl, risking a glance around the corner. Why did I not consider the possibility?

"No shit," Vlad spits, furious. He fumbles for his phone and I see him dialing Ivan.

Ivan's voice crackles over the speaker just a second later, "Pinned down on the east side. Count at least six hostiles, heavily armed." He adds something in Russian at the end.

Vlad curses under his breath, his eyes scanning the surroundings, "Hold your position. We're coming to you."

He turns to me, his expression grim. "We need to flank them, hit them from both sides. You take the north, I go south. We meet in the middle and fuck them up."

This is the first time I’m seeing Vlad being more than a guy in an overpriced suit. "It’s too dangerous," I supply. "We don’t know how many more of them are hiding in that building." I wave my hand toward the structure where the bulk of gunfire came in.

Vlad's lips twist in a humorless smile. "Are you suggesting we remain sitting fucking ducks, McKenna?"

"I’m suggesting we remain fucking alive," I counter. "Sasha’s not here."

"How do you know?"

"They wouldn’t have sent us where they hold him. Besides, the tip felt suspicious."

Vlad's quiet as if he’s waiting for an explanation. Somewhere in the distance, guns rattle again.

"Why didn't you say something?" he whispers angrily.

"I don't know."

"You do not know? Huh? Why the hell did I hire you in the first place?"

I ignore the jab, sensing that he doesn't really mean what he's saying right now. "The source it came from… We should wait for Stan’s intel and not rely on the street. You’re a stranger to most organizations in this city. Some of these families have been around for generations. People are out to get you."

Vlad's eyes harden briefly before he nods, acknowledging my point. He looks around, sizing up the situation once more. "Fine. But we are sticking together. And if you see an opening, take it. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I grind out between clenched teeth. "And you need to follow my lead."

"Alright," he agrees.

We edge along the wall slowly, crouching low, our weapons ready. When we reach another corner, we halt to a stop and I scan the empty space between the buildings we need to cross. Then I’m counting down from five in my head before we make a break for it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

We spring into action, running toward the cover of the next structure. A round is fired off at us. The bullets soar through the air, buzzing past our ears. The entire building vibrates with the impact of gunshots as we reach it and drop on our asses. I’m thankful for that Kevlar Ivan gave me. Vlad is breathing hard and loud, but his grasp on his Glock is tight and certain. He curses again in Russian, moving his head to the edge.

Before we both know it, another ra-ta-ta-ta comes from the opposite direction. I react instantly, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him to the ground as an angry round bursts just above us. The wall spits tiny stones onto my back. The vest protects me from most of it. Vlad’s body hits the rough ground with a thud, and I roll on top of him, shielding his form.

We lie there like this for a brief moment until an answering gunfire puts a stop to the wave of enemy bullets.

"That is not what I hired you for, McKenna," Vlad gasps out between ragged breaths when the night quiets around us. "You are supposed to be protecting my brother, not me. That shit is making a dent in my ribs."

I grunt out in response, "I saw an opportunity. I took it." I remove myself from his body. "You’re welcome. And I'll send you an invoice."

He pushes off the ground, all dust and a pissed-off expression. "We will have a conversation when Sasha is back home, safe and sound."

Oh, I’m sure as hell, we will. And I don’t know if I’m looking forward to it.