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He glances over. “You could get out and wave it around in the air like the other idiots.”
I shove the phone back into my pocket and glare at the traffic instead. “Paige let Emma go off with their cousin,” I continue. “I don’t like it, but she told me a Rover would follow them.”
“She’s finally learning,” replies Dmitri.
I understand why she took Emma out. The girl hated me for a solid day, but now she and Viktor are keeping a distance. I’m glad she has accepted my decision. Definitely quicker than Paige would have.
The girl is smart, brave, and willing to take a risk. And she is willing to be like us. I also want the best for Emma, but Paige and I have different ideas on how to obtain it.
“So,” After a pause, Dmitri asks. “Wwhy don’t you like Kenney Grant?”
“He may be her family and a cop, but I’ve learned to look under the surface. He’s too proud to help others without expecting something in return. I see it in his face. Those eyes are like that of a rat—watchful and shifty, and his smile is so tight it could crack.”
“Crooked?” asks Dmitri. “Or just disillusioned?”
“Neither,” I answer. “He’s a power-hungry bastard. He just happened to choose the law while we chose the Bratva.”
“The Bratva chose us.” Dmitri keeps his eyes straight ahead. “Do you think he might convince Paige to run?”
I laugh. “Even if she wanted to leave, she wouldn’t run tohim. He’s a smug bastard. He’ll remind her twenty times a day—‘I told you so.’”
Our laughter is cut short when a loud rumble fills the air. Nothing is moving in front of us, but a dark SUV roars up the shoulder from behind. The SUV races past the stopped vehicles with ease, leaving a cloud of loose gravel and dirt in its wake. Inside the vehicle are several men in dark clothes with eyes fixed on us.
I recognize the faces of Karamazov’s men inside the SUV. Where there is one SUV, there will be more. The truck accident must be a trap. If they reach us, it won’t be to ask if we need assistance.
Dmitri stiffens beside me. “We need to move.”
We reach for our guns as the windows on the approaching SUV lower. Using the lights, Dmitri signals the other Rover and then quickly steps on the gas. They follow us over the rough incline toward the trees. The Rovers dodge the narrowly spaced trees as we head for cover.
The one SUV is soon followed by three more racing up the rocky incline after us.
“Definitely Igor’s men!” shouts Dmitri as I aim my gun. “Retribution came fast.”
Viktor’s kill was in line for promotion to brigadier in the Karamazov Bratva. A man who showed promise but was too full of pride and praise to practice caution. He might have lived longer if his bedroom window had been locked.
No bullets are fired. For now.
Only the crunching sound of tires rolling over tree roots is heard as a few copycats follow us in their trucks and SUVs. These people assume we know a way out and foolishly tail us, forming a shield between our enemies and us. Igor’s men push their SUVs but lose traction as the cars struggle on the rocks. They can’t go any farther and pursue us on foot when they see we’re blocked by the trees.
We have no choice but to get out and fight.
Gunshots echo around the woods, and the foolish drivers try to back down the hill, causing more chaos. I hold off shooting for a few seconds, hoping to give them a chance to flee. But Igor’s men aren’t as merciful and open fire without remorse.
Bullets fly and slam into the trees between us. We dodge and shoot, trying to free the Rovers. Shouts and curses are traded between us as we make a deadly spectacle of ourselves. Shots ring out like firecrackers in July as foolish people leave the safety of their cars to watch the show.
“What was Igor thinking?” I swear and take a shot. “We have plenty of witnesses now.”
“If they live. We might be able to get through,” says Dmitri, “But we’ll have to ram a fence.”
I look at the tall wooden fence obscuring the view of a manicured lawn from the Thruway.
“Do it,” I tell him.
Igor’s men are in hot pursuit, firing shots in our direction as we try to make an escape. Amidst the chaos, Seryozha slumps over behind the wheel of the Rover with a grimace of pain on his face. A trickle of blood trails down his temple, staining his white collar. His face is still, and his eyes are vacant from the impact of the bullet.
We toss his limp body into the back. Accounting for losses will have to wait.
Gunfire follows as we ram the fence. The fence groans, then splinters in an eruption of wood, and we speed away down a narrow driveway. Soon, the chaos we left behind is muffled by the ambient sounds of suburbia. The anger of losing another man makes my heart pound against my chest as I yank off my tie. I blame myself for being fooled.
