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Alexei was not a man of many words or even emotions. It disturbed me to see him so expressive and shifting in his chair like an excited little kid.
“We’re expecting supplies from-"
“Ricochet? Yes, it arrived yesterday. We had Mark sign it to fudge the legality.”
“Oh, okay,” I said slowly. Then I quietly leaned my arm against the black leather swivel chair and waved my hand. “You know suspense isn't exactly my thing, Alexei, so if you don't want to spit it out, I’m fucking busy.”
“Boss, you'll like this,” he said and pulled out his smartphone. On the screen was a live satellite view of a map, and pinned on it was an establishment that looked abandoned in a notorious criminal district.
I raised my head and arched a brow, not sure what to make of it. “And this is supposed to be fucking what?”
“His location,” he rushed out.
I sighed, straightened up, and rubbed my temple as I rested my arm on the chair. “Unless I’m suddenly a fucking mind reader...”
“Connor Farrel. We've tracked him down,” Alexei cleared his throat and ran his slender fingers through his dark blond hair as he spoke a little more firmly. He must have been so excited that he let his emotions get the better of him. I couldn’t blame him; finding Connor was like a step towards success.
I stared at him, mouth agape. “Connor? But how?”
Alexei zoomed in on the map and I took a closer look. “I’m not sure how Dimitriv found him,” he said as I continued to focus on the satellite image of the streets and buildings. “We tried to track him down with some underground spies, but the bastard was a lot smarter than we thought. Then Dimitriv came into the job, and with a few clues, he used his tech magic, and now... we’ve got him.”
Elated, I dropped the glass on the table and grabbed my jacket from the chair. Alexei eyed me closely, shot to his feet, and resumed his place at my side as we rushed out.
“Get the men ready,” I ordered.
“Already on it, boss,” he said. “We've already got a car on the way to the location.”
I grinned. “Perfect. Now the bastard can't trick us anymore. Have Vladimir’s team surround the building. Wait,” I paused in my steps and turned to Alexei. “What the fuck is he doing in this hellhole of a place? Have you checked it out? It could be a trap. I wouldn’t put it past the old bastard to pull a stunt like that.”
Alexei’s head bobbed up and down. “That's what I thought, too, and that’s why I did all the necessary checks. Yes, it’s strange that he’s hanging around such a run-down neighborhood, but the bar is still open.”
I took a minute to analyze before deciding to move forward with the plan. My jaw twitched; I didn’t care. We would take him down whether he was surrounded or not. We were fully prepared.
“We need a lot of weapons.”
I began to walk faster, and Alexei lined up next to me, talking on the phone and barking orders before we entered the elevator. The ride down seemed to take forever, and my feet tapped
restlessly on the floor. Every second and every minute counted, and my patience was hanging by a thread.
When we finally arrived at the private underground parking garage, our men were standing ready in sleek black cars with their engines revved, waiting for the final order.
“We’re off,” Alexei said into his phone, placed it on the dashboard, and started the engine. Our car sped off first and the others followed close behind.
The moment felt almost surreal; one moment I was thinking about how to catch the Irish bastard, and the next I was in the car on the way to his location. Connor and his damn gang had nothing on the Bratva; they were much weaker, had less business, and not nearly as many men as we did. But they were smart and knew how to navigate the system, do damage, and not get caught. Too bad they ran out of luck.
I relaxed in the car seat, gripping the cold steel of my silver gun, and grinned.
“Now, I’m finally going to get my hands on you, you bastard.”
Chapter 3 - Grace
Clouds of dust gathered on the windshield and around the car, and I heard the crunch of small gravel under the tires as the Uber driver stepped on the gas pedal. After a few more unpleasant bumps, the car stopped abruptly, and we both stared out of the window.
“Are you sure that's the right place, ma’am?” He glanced over his shoulder and gave me a strange look. I didn’t blame him; if I were him, I'd stare at myself the same way.
I looked back down at the screen of my cell phone to read the text again. Then I lifted my head and gave him a quick nod. “I guess so,” I replied dryly, but the middle-aged driver still seemed uncomfortable.
He shook his head. “Listen, ma’am. I know it’s none of my business, but if it gets suspicious, you call 911 and get out of here. These are not friendly neighborhoods.”
