All I can think isoh, fuck. Now what am I going to do? Fadir has me. I've been caught.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Crates stamped with Cyrillic letters are stacked in rows. Fadir stands in the middle of it all, face going from surprise to fury in the space of a heartbeat.
“Anja?” His voice is soft, but dangerous. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The man holding me has a thick neck and knuckles scarred, probably from being one of Fadir's enforcers. When he shoves me forward, I stumble, barely catching myself. I hold my chin up even though my legs are jelly.
“Letting you gaslight me is one thing,” I spit. “But this? You’re not a businessman. You’re agoddamnmonster!”
“You were told to stay put. Spying now? With that sharp tongue of yours? You’re going to regret ever sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, sweetheart.” Fadir’s jaw tightens. He steps close enough that I can see the vein throbbing at his temple.
He raises his hand, and I wince, knowing what is coming. The slap is already connecting with my cheek when the warehouse door explodes open with a metallic bang.
A man fills the doorway.
He’s tall with broad shoulders under a black coat that looks expensive enough to pay my old rent for a year. Dark brown hair, slightly damp from the rain, falling just long enough to brush his forehead.
His chocolate brown eyes lock on mine for a split second, and he appears calm, almost bored, like he’s done this a hundred times. A gun rests loose in his right hand, not pointed at anyone, just visible. The threat doesn’t need aiming.
“Building’s wired,” he says, voice low and even, like he’s discussing the weather. “Explosives set. On my command, they detonate... in ninety seconds unless I walk out of here with the girl.”
“Sokolov…” Fadir’s face drains of color.
The man… Alexey, I learned later, doesn’t wait. He crosses the concrete in three strides, wraps one large hand around my upper arm, and pulls me toward the door. His grip is firm, but not bruising. Steady. Like he’s done this before, too.
I should be scared of being whisked away. But I'm actually full of thankfulness knowing Fadir won't be able to touch me again tonight. My hand instinctively goes to my cheek where his hand struck me.
Fadir’s men reach for weapons, but their boss’s voice cracks out, panicked. “Stand down! Everybody stand down, youduraks!”
I’m half-dragged, half-stumbling out into the rain. My heart is a jackhammer in my throat. Behind us, Fadir’s shouting something about consequences, but the words blur under the rush of blood in my ears and the steady rhythm of the stranger’s boots on wet pavement.
He doesn’t speak until we reach a sleek black SUV parked at the curb. He opens the passenger door, guides me inside with that same calm pressure, then he circles the front of the vehicle and slides behind the wheel.
“Who the hell are you?” I’m shaking so hard my teeth click.
He starts the engine. The headlights cut through the downpour, washing the warehouse in cold white.
“Alexey Sokolov,” he says, pulling away from the curb smooth as silk. “And you’re safe now.”
Safe.
The word feels like a lie and a lifeline at the same time. I clutch the seatbelt like it’s the only real thing left while staringat the city lights streaking past, as the man who just wired a building with explosives drives me into the night.
It’s all surreal.
Behind us, Fadir’s world is already starting to burn. I just don’t know yet that mine is about to burn with it.
Chapter 2 - Alexey
The warehouse district smells of wet concrete and diesel long after the rain stops. I sit in my black SUV two blocks away, the engine off, and watch the green dot on my tablet pulse steadily inside the building.
Weeks of patient surveillance have finally converged here with Fadir Klem’s latest attempt to carve out territory from what belonged to the Sokolovs. He thinks he is clever, moving product through shell companies and legitimate charity fronts. He has no idea how thoroughly I have already mapped every weak thread in his web.
My phone buzzes once. Andrei’s text,Charges placed. Remote trigger ready. Your call.
I don’t reply. Not yet. Tonight is supposed to be the first clean cut, to sabotage the incoming shipment, then plant enough evidence to make his own suppliers nervous, and begin the slow public erosion of his reputation.
Nothing flashy. Nothing that required raising my voice. That is never my style. Let Tikhon handle the thunder; I preferred the quiet blade that bled a man dry over months.
