Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(49)

Definitely not her jumping on me that way.

“I may stop wearing shirts around the house altogether if I can expect the same result.”

“You do that. And we’ll see.”

“Done.” I lean in and kiss her. “I have to go. I won’t be back before morning.”

I turn to leave but stop at hearing her say my name. It hits me in the chest whenever she does that because I know it hurts her, but she keeps on, no matter what I say.

“Be careful.”

“I will.” I kiss her forehead. “Message me when Lena comes back from day care.”

She nods, places her hand on my chest, and traces a shape of a heart with the tip of her finger.

“I love you, too, baby.” I take her face in my palms and touch my nose to hers. “You can’t imagine how much.”





*


It takes us six hours to organize everything and to put all the men in place. Dimitri, Yuri, and three of the soldiers are waiting at one rest stop, while Denis, Ivan, and Kostya with two more soldiers are waiting at the second stop. We’re not sure at which of those two stops Bruno’s driver will choose to stay the night, so we had to split our forces, which leaves us shorthanded. Pavel had to stay to keep his eye on the clubs, and with Anton still at the hospital, I had to bring Sergei with me as a backup to trail the transport truck.

Having Sergei on a field mission is always a disaster just waiting to happen. He was banned from field duty last year after he blew up the whole Irish warehouse, leaving only ashes behind. I have no idea what Roman was thinking when he sent him into the field a few months back while we were fighting the Italians. The man is a fucking ticking bomb. If I didn’t know already, I never would have guessed that the two of them are half-brothers.

No one except for Roman and Maxim knows what Sergei did before he came to the Bratva, but I have my suspicions. Everyone in our circle has to be proficient with a gun and a rifle. Sergei is proficient with every single weapon he has ever come in contact with—a sniper rifle, heavy assault rifles, even grenade launchers. He is also a specialist in all kinds of explosives, homemade and professionally made. A military-trained killing machine, probably black ops.

“Remember what we agreed on,” I say. “The guys will handle the driver. You rig the truck and wait until I get the girl out. Do not deviate from the plan. And don’t blow the fucking truck up while I’m still inside, Sergei.”

“You are edgy tonight.”

“I want to get this over with as quickly as possible. My wife is waiting for me to come home, and she will want me to be in one piece.”

“Still can’t believe you are married.”

“Well, maybe you should try it.”

He looks at the road in front of us for a few moments before answering. “I already tried it. Didn’t end well.”

I still. I had no idea Sergei was married. “What happened?”

“I killed her.” He leans back in the seat and lights a cigarette. “Right after she tried to slice my neck.”

“Shit, Sergei.”

“Yup. With my own knife. Can you believe that shit?” He blows out a cloud of smoke and focuses on the truck a few yards in front of us.

I look at him and note the dark circles under his eyes. “You aren’t sleeping. Again.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

The truck gives the right-turn signal and takes the exit. Sergei calls Dimitri.

“He’s off the highway and heading your way. ETA seven minutes,” he barks, throws the phone on the dash, and leans back in his seat, his mouth widening in a smug smile. “I missed the action, you know?”

I know that smile. We are fucked.





*


“Shit!” I jam the crowbar under the truck’s cargo doors again and start lifting them up, but the mechanism that should keep the thing from sliding back down doesn’t work.

“Sergei! Are you done?”

His voice comes from under the truck. “Just one more.”

“You put enough of that shit to blow up the whole damn street. Leave it and come here, the door is jammed.”

Sergei rolls out from under the truck and comes to my side.

“Just keep it there, I’ll get the girl,” he says, turns on the flashlight on his phone, and jumps up into the truck.

I hear his footsteps moving further inside, then the sound of boxes being moved.

“Is she there?” I ask.

“I can’t find her. Are you sure she’s . . . oh, fuck!”

There are some more rustling noises and things being moved.

“Sergei?”

“I’ve got her. Shit, she’s in a bad shape.” His steps come closer. “Hold that door.”

I press down on the crowbar, lifting the door higher, then grab the bottom and heft it over my head so Sergei can carry the girl out. Holding a limp female body in his arms, he ducks under the partially raised door and jumps down off the truck. There is no way to see the woman’s features, because her tangled hair is all over her face. What I can see are her torn shorts and shirt, and one thin arm hanging limply. She’s skin and bones.

“I’ll call Varya and tell her to bring the doc.” I let the truck door fall back down. “We can meet them at the safe house.”