Page 62 of Maximum Bet

“We’re almost there,” Leo calls. “Just stay still.”

After a minute, we stop, and Leo climbs out, parting with a “Good luck.”

Once he’s out, and Nico makes a U-turn, the atmosphere shifts. I run through each step of our plan, searching for any misstep that could turn fatal.

I’m stuck on one thing . . . I want to debilitate Kozlova and Perez, not just cause them a headache.

I want their planes destroyed.

In my head, I start altering the plan. As long as Marco is willing to listen, I think we can achieve my goal. It won’t be easy, but if we succeed, it will be worth it.

If we don’t?

I’ve got a decent life insurance policy.

Within five minutes, we stop at the airport’s main gate. Nico rolls down the driver’s side window and speaks with the guard. Without fanfare, he’s waved through, and we head toward the main building.

“Okay, guys,” Nico says when he pulls into a space. “This is where Leo told me to park. There are only a few other cars nearby. But be careful because it’s the middle of the day and there’s not a lot of cover.”

“Thanks,” I say before Nico exits the car, and Marco and I are left to execute the plan.

Marco instantly throws the boxes off and uncurls himself. “Mother fucker, that was uncomfortable.”

Joining him, I stretch, then start collecting the items we need.

“Wait,” Marco says as he picks up a canister of gasoline and his blow torch. “How the fuck are we carrying all this?”

“Fuck.” My brows dip as I curse us for forgetting a major factor.

From our spots, sitting in the back of the SUV, we search the car for anything we can use to transport the offending items.

“Hold on,” I say, climbing over the back seat. “We have luggage!”

Marco attempts to join me but gets his foot stuck behind a headrest.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, twisting to remove the headrest and help my not-so-agile brother. “Here.” I hand him his suitcase. “Empty this and load it with supplies.”

I grab Nico’s suitcase because I really don’t want to have to re-pack mine. I’m kind of an asshole. A collection of clothing and his laptop fall to the floor of the car, and I join Marco in packing the bags.

“Ready?” Marco asks once he’s zipped his suitcase. He reaches for the door handle, but I grab his arm to stop him.

“Change of plans.”

He cocks his head, eyes squinted, making him look like a confused gorilla.

“We need to incapacitate Kozlova and Perez, right?”

“Yeah,” Marco drawls.

“Just setting the outside of a building on fire isn’t going to accomplish that.”

He drops his arm and turns toward me. “Okay, so what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to hope to God none of the men in that hangar recognize us, and we’re going to pretend to be lost tourists.” I raise my brows and gesture toward the suitcases that will perfectly accentuate the act.

“How about . . .” Marco grins. “Drunken lost tourists.”

I side-eye him briefly, then think over his suggestion. “Actually, that might work.”