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“Money first,” Anto said.
My eyebrow went higher. “You’ll get it. After my associate has tested your product.”
Anto blinked at me. “Money first,” he repeated.
I snorted, shaking my head. “Are you saying you don’t think I’m good for it?”
“I’m saying you don’t touch the product unless we have our money.”
“Well then, we don’t touch your product.” I turned, headed for the door but froze when I heard a gun cock. I turned to look at Anto. “Really? Are you sure you want to go down like that?”
He gave me a lopsided smile. “I’m the one with the gun,boss.” His eyes slid to Kirill who was standing to my left. His hands were down by his sides. I guess from Anto’s point of view, we were unarmed and unprepared.
I sighed, looking defeated. “What do you—” I drew the gun from my holster and shot the two snipers above us, while Kirill shot the gun out of Anto's hands. Before I could unholster my other gun, my men shot the other three. A shot was fired, and I felt a punch in my arm, causing me to jerk backwards. I knew what that meant.
I'd been hit.
The shooter had emerged from somewhere behind Anto’s sofa. Unfortunately, Kirill shot him before I could lift my arm. That’s when all hell broke loose. We dove for cover as six more men appeared with automatic weapons. Propping my injured arm against the table, I aimed for their heads, taking two out while my men took care of the other four.
It wasn’t a clean massacre, and I wasn’t the only one who got hurt. Carlson, one of my foot soldiers, was shot in the neck. I could see him bleeding out. Reaching for my phone, I called the driver.
“John Connor,” I said and hung up, then rolled across the room, scooping up Carlson with me. It was our code, alerting the driver that we were coming in hot and probably hurt.
Kirill followed, covering my six, while the rest made sure the exit was clear. The SUV was waiting outside, all four doors open. One advantage to us of the narrow alleyway was the lack of places to post gunmen. I threw Carlson inside and dove in after him. Jedi, our resident medic, was waiting for us.
He pulled Carlson into the back seat and began working on him.
Kirill turned to me. “What about you? You need help? Is any of that blood yours?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I growled. “It’s just a graze.”
I knew if I said I’d been shot too, then Jedi would attend to me first. Carlson was clearly in critical condition. He needed it more.
We drove to my compound in Brighton Beach where Carlson was taken to the medical wing. The other two cars parked on either side of mine and the men alighted… carrying the three bags of cocaine from Anto.
I smiled. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
“I figured we paid for it, might as well take it,” Kirill said with a proud smirk.
I grinned. “Did we pay for it though?”
His expression went cold as his gaze landed on my arm. “They shot you. Hell yeah, we paid for it.”
I looked away, disconcerted by his fervor. Clearing my throat, I instructed the men to take the product to storage right away. “Then take the day off. It’s been a long night.”
“Yes, Papa,” they said before taking off.
I sighed, looking back at Kirill. “Check on Carlson. Make sure he lives.”
Kirill nodded and took off after the medic and his patient. I stood by the door, looking up at the three-story mansion. True, it was my home base, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. Not without my mother and sister. It was just a big empty house that echoed with memories that haunted me.
I strolled over to the garage and retrieved my sister’s BMW convertible. Now that she was off learning to be a computer engineer in Russia, I was left to drive it now and then to make sure it stayed in peak condition. She hadn’t been to visit in a while, and I missed her. She was one of the only two people I genuinely liked.
I drove to the club, my arm throbbing rhythmically. It was a clean shot with an entry and exit wound and at least the blood had clotted enough that the wounds were sealed.
It hurt like a motherfucker though.
Parking the beamer in the underground garage, I went up to my office and grabbed a bottle of whisky. I was tempted to pour it over my wound like I was in an Old Western, but it hurt to lift my arm. So, I just flopped on the sofa and drank from the bottle instead.
