Page 62 of Sin Wager
I close the window and reach for my phone to call it in, and Vadim answers on the second ring.
"The numbers are ready," I tell him. "I've sent word through the staff and those who are loyal to us are ready. We're baiting her with a forty-thousand-dollar cash payout. There's no way she can resist."
"When?"
"It's going down tonight…" My body is coiled to strike. I've watched what this crew has done long enough to know the only way to get them to back off is with blood. I won't stand around and watch them spill more of it.
"Make it clean, Misha. I'm counting on you to keep this track profitable…" Vadim has given me enough leash to choke myself and sometimes, it feels like he's hoping I do. But that's the nature of this family and the beast of the organization we run. Things line up, or they are forced in a new direction.
"Understood," I grunt, then I end the call and lean back in my chair, studying the ceiling stains from roof leaks and neglect. The trap is set. Now I wait for rats to crawl out of their holes.
Twenty minutes pass before my phone buzzes and interrupts my careful analyzation of the plan. Nikolai's name appears on the screen, and I consider letting it ring. If my plan works, we'll have finished the task he's been ordered to make sure I complete. But if I ignore him, he may show up in the middle of it and be caught off guard.
The fixer's voice grates through my skull even when he isn't speaking.
"Barinov?"
"Misha, I hear interesting rumors about emergency payouts." So the news is filtering through the networks. Good. It means by now, Sonya has heard of the fake win and will already be putting her plan to come collect into motion. An amount that large, she won't trust to just anyone.
"Rumors travel fast," I tell him, and my fingers tap lightly on the desk.
"Too fast. This feels reckless." Nikolai isn't wrong, but I don't have time to explain my reasoning to him.
I light a cigarette and blow smoke toward the window. "Reckless gets results."
"Dead bookies get nothing. The family will grow tired of your methods, Misha. We discussed alternatives to your current arrangement."
His veiled threat is spoken loud and clear. I'm easily replaceable. But I know that order doesn't come from my nephew, which gives me a hint of leverage over this hired hand who thinks he can push me around.
"Alternatives cost more than solutions," I say.
"Not always. Some problems solve themselves when the right pressure is applied. Your woman, for instance. Replaceable. Expendable."
My grip tightens on the phone, knuckles going white. "Careful, Nikolai."
"Careful is what keeps us alive. Tonight had better produce answers, or we start asking different questions."
The line goes dead, and I set the phone down and finish my cigarette, letting nicotine burn through my lungs while rage burns through my veins. Nikolai is playing his games, but tonight I play mine.
I call Gregor first, then Thom with simple instructions—parking, positions, clear fields of fire, radio silence until bullets fly. All of it is routine stuff. They know their business and stakes. Both of them understand that survival means shooting first and asking questions later.
By six o'clock, shadows consume the track's back lot and I find Vera in the equipment barn, oiling saddle leather. She works with focus like she's trying to block out the world, buther hands show a tiny tremor. I hate putting her in harm's way, but it's the only option we have. Sonya would see anything else coming from a mile away, and even as it is, she may suspect Vera now. Sonya knows something is happening between us.
"We move in ten minutes," I tell her.
Her green eyes find mine, searching for reassurance I cannot give. "The drop?"
"The trap." I hand her a canvas bag stuffed with newspaper and play money. "This goes nowhere near the real exchange. You stay close to me, do exactly what I say, and we both walk away."
She nods, but I can see the apprehension in her posture. Fear creeps through even the bravest façades when death starts circling.
We walk to my car under falling darkness. The track grounds are quiet on this side of the property, but the stands roar with spectators cheering on horses in their heats. The parking deck is five levels of shadows and blind corners. Perfect hunting ground for predators who think they hold the advantage, but desperately difficult to defend against without knowing where the enemy may be.
I park on level two and kill the engine. Above us, fluorescent lights flicker against oil-stained concrete, casting irregular pools of sickly yellow wherever the bulbs aren't broken or burnt out. The structure feels abandoned despite cars scattered across multiple levels.
"Remember," I tell Vera, "you stay behind me. You do not run unless I tell you to run. You do not speak unless I tell you to speak."
"I understand," she says, almost a whisper. I can feel her anxious tension. Her eyes flick nervously from my face to the dark entrance in the far corner of the garage where we expect Sonya to materialize.
