Page 97 of Marked
Damn it.
I look at Markus. His lips are pursed, brows narrowed. “Any change of wind ...” I mutter.
“They will smell us,” he finishes.
The crunch of gravel has both of us crouching as several dark cars pull out to the very edge of the lot. Headlights illuminate the ship and the supplier below. The men crane their heads back, eyes flinty and expressions carefully blank.
Doors open all along the vehicles and men in suits climb from the dark depths. Ear pieces thread around the backs of their necks.
“Gentlemen.” The voice is heavily accented Russian. And not Vlad/Draven.
I still.
A tall man climbs from the center SUV, his dark hair carefully gelled away from a strong face and tied in a neat tail. His suit is impeccable, and his dress shoes glint in the light all around.
He spreads his arms wide.
The burly fellow, with too much gold around his neck, walks over the platform. They embrace, amicable voices lowering as they speak in hushed tones.
His men carry the trunks closer, and the groups seem to converge. I wait.
“Come, open the trunks,” the Russian says with a smile.
The wolves flip the locks and the lids raise.
“Tell me someone has visual,” I breathe over the mics.
Static crackles in my ear.
“Too many, Cap.”
I swear under my breath.
“Fuck it. Move out,” I call.
The night comes alive as men pour from every area of the dock. They converge down from the buildings and up from under the pier. Weapons rise from the waiting criminals, and fall just as fast.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Russian bellows, pushing forward.
My arms never wavers as my Glocks level with his face. “Turn the trunks, asshole.” They remain still. “Now!”
He eyes me and jerks his chin.
A few men on their side grasps the handles and spin then around.
Weapons bulge from the interior. Shotguns, AR-15s, and more handguns than I can count.
But there isn’t an ounce of Brightex between them. That feeling of dread grows.
Seems our informant was right about a deal, but wrong about what kind.
Chapter 43
Lilah
The theater screen fades to black, and I stretch. Raina breathes softly next to me on the bed of blankets and pillows we scrounged. Her hands are pressed protectively to her flat stomach, and I reach over to tug an afghan tighter around her slim frame. Sometime around the Notebook she fell asleep. Though the movie continued, I no longer paid attention.
Watching Caine make faces at the screen during all the sappy parts was more entertaining.
