He shook his head as he turned off the car. “No. You stay with me.”
That meant staying with him as he got out, because he wouldn’t take the backseat in this matter. He intended to follow through with overseeing this transaction, just like he did at others. Maksim wasn’t like my brother, lording over the men beneath him from the comfort of his home. Instead, Maksim showed the Bratva men that they could see him in the field, taking the same risks as them.
I got out and fell into step at his side. I wasn’t armed, but at this moment where I felt jittery with that trapped feeling of being watched, I wished that I had a gun.
That sixth sense of unease was already too much to deny, to ignore. Adrenaline was charging through me and addling my mind.
Dean parked nearby, and the van continued through the dilapidated scene. Growling revs of its engine quieted as it throttled down. It slowed near another building then when still.
Men filed out of a building immediately. One leader, a short and stocky guy, barked orders at the grunt workers to load the van.
I didn’t lower my guard, and I didn’t speak up or interfere. I was too tense for small talk. Maksim wasn’t in the mood to chat with the Colombians either.
Dean stood at the back of the van, watching the cargo be loaded. As every crate was moved through the assembly line of the grunt workers’ hands, he nodded his approval at the contents inside.
No one raised any guns. No one shouted or accused anyone of acting out of line. As far as transfers went, this one was without a single hiccup.
It was over with in minutes, and Dean confirmed it complete with a short, no-nonsense exchange with the Colombian runners.
“That’s it?” Maksim muttered under his breath, only loud enough for me to hear as I stood by his side.
I glanced at him, knowing that any physical movement could be interpreted as a tell.
“I guess so,” I replied neutrally.
A couple more moments later, we were all retreating to our vehicles. Protocol dictated that the backup cars stayed off untilwe were all ready to depart, both the Colombians to head south and for us to return to the north.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t miss a step. No one did. Like we’d rehearsed this millions of times, the members of the Bratva side got in the van and cars and we turned onto the highway.
Checking the mirrors became an obsessive habit as Maksim fell into place in the lineup. Ahead of the van, with Dean behind it, we moved as a cohesive convoy.
“I was under the impression that something was about to go to hell,” Maksim admitted, his brow furrowed as he, too, checked his mirrors.
“Me too.”
“That went as smoothly as I could have expect?—”
A hard crash sent us spinning. Loud scrapes and bangs of metal on metal filled my ears. Startled and off-balance from the impact from the driver’s side, I held my breath and clutched the armrest.
“Fuck!” Maksim gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white with how strongly he clutched it and tried to steer it so we wouldn’t fully spin out and smack into anyone else. He shot his other arm out to barricade me, as if the seat belt would fail in its purpose.
Another loud screeching metal crash followed. It came from behind us, and even though we couldn’t be sure which was which as our car went airborne, spinning into the air, I knew that the others had been hit too.
I hadn’t noticed the cars hiding behind that copse of trees. They hadn’t been there on the way south. But that had to have beenwhere they’d come from. Replaying the mental map in my mind as I squeezed my eyes shut, I knew that we’d been set up, after all.
Not on the way down here.
But on the return trip.
They’d come in to lie in wait for us to pass so they could ambush us and hit us.
I tensed and clung to Maksim as the car rolled on the hot earth. Dust billowed up. It clouded around us as the car lost all of its momentum and rocked on its springs. Right side up, with the windows shattered and the frame busted yet intact.
We were both inside, alive. Staring at each other with that immediate worry that the other could be lost or hurt.
“The van.” I blurted it as I looked past him through the mangled opening of where the driver’s window had been.
A truck was backing up to ram into the van again. It lay on its side, and the Bratva man was trying to crawl out the passenger window.
