Page 78 of Savage Don

But I’ve been in tougher spots before, and I soon made it clear that I was the one in charge.

A few busted heads later, and I had weeded out the weak from the strong. The stubborn were the first to die. The rest were left alive—at least, until they’d given me what I wanted.

And, boy, did those pigs squeal.

Iskhak Artuzov had gone to Russia for some private business. But he was already on his way back, due to arrive in New York on a regular old commercial flight at noon today.

After I visited the bar, I called Maksim. He checked to make sure that all of these stories could be corroborated.

Turns out, I had beaten the truth out of these supposed street toughs.

Leonard Blackburn—the alias Artuzov was using—was due to arrive at JFK at midday.

I pull up outside the airport about ten minutes early.

Immediately, I rip out my phone and call Maksim.

“Is everything going as planned?” I ask, keeping my car running. We’ve already paid off enough traffic cops in the area to keep me idling for the next week if I wanted to.

“Everything is going even better than planned. We already have the fucker. I have a gun to his back as we speak. Of course, we’re trying to keep shit discreet, but I have him moving to where you’re supposed to be parked, and we’re moving fast.”

“I’m already here,” I perk up. Looking out of my passenger window, I spot Maksim and a familiar looking old Russian pushing through a set of rotating doors. “Get him in the back and let’s get out of here.”

“Sure thing, this place is too fucking busy for—wait, what the fuck was…” Out of nowhere Maksim’s words start to slur into nothingness.

“What the fuck’s happening? Are you alright?”

He doesn’t have to answer for me to see that he’s not. As soon as Maksim and Artuzov step out from the revolving doors, Maksim drops to the ground.

Without any hesitation, Artuzov takes off.

Fucking hell.

A knot twists in my gut as I push my way out of my car and through the crowd that’s quickly gathering around my fallen comrade.

Artuzov is getting away, but he’s old and I’m confident I’ll be able to catch up. Maksim’s health is more important. What the fuck happened to him?

“Hey, buddy, are you alright?” I ask, kneeling down next to him.

“He must have stuck me with some nerve agent,” Maksim slurs. The left side of his face looks like it’s melting. Fucking hell.. “I can’t fucking move.”

“Shit,” I grumble, looking around for help. Our men should be here for back up, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they can’t get through the growing circle of onlookers.

“Someone call an ambulance!” I hear a voice shout.

No. That’s the last thing someone like Maksim needs. Men like us can’t risk being checked into any kind of system. We may never get out, no matter how many crooked connections we have.

“I’m getting you out of here,” I growl. Slipping my hand under his arm, I bring him to his feet. But he’s too weak to stand on his own. I’ll have to drag him back to my car.

So, that’s exactly what I do.

“No. fuck that,” Maksim mumbles, using all of his energy to get those words out. “Go get him. That bastard needs to pay.”

But I’ve already opened the passenger door on my Bentley and shoved him inside.

That’s when some of our men finally decide to show up. “Boss, what’s wrong?”

“The old soviet spy must have kept some poison on him. Here, take my keys and get Maksim to one of our doctors. I need to go after that bastard. Did you see which where he went?”