Darling Wildfire (Red Rabbit #2)

86

THERON

MOSCOW, RUSSIA

We were fresh off a job as we pulled into the loading bay of a NorTac warehouse in Moscow.

The blood and dirt had barely dried on us as we all climbed out. Nyx popped the trunk and I walked around, tearing off my vest and tactical gear with a sigh of relief. I frowned as I watched Atlas round the vehicle.

“That probably needs stitches,”

I said, nodding to a nasty gash on his jaw from where someone had caught him with brass knuckles.

“Yeah, hurts like a bitch,”

he grumbled. He pulled off his gear, followed by his t-shirt and looked down at the bruises littering his ribs. “Probably a broken rib too.”

“Need to work out those abs more,”

Viktor teased.

“At least I have abs,”

Atlas fired back.

Viktor’s twin, Konstantine, appeared around the other side of the car and chuckled as he socked Viktor playfully in his stomach that very much already had a six pack.

“I’ve told him he needs to follow my workouts.”

Viktor replied in Russian which turned into good natured bickering between the two of them. Or at least I thought it was good natured—my Russian was still elementary at best.

As the years passed, together with Nyx and Atlas, we built up Northern Tactical to be a global enterprise. Lachlan and West joined us full time and a few years later, we were operating heavily in Syria and that’s where the rest of our team rounded out.

Knox Taylor—Macy’s husband—we found rotting away in a Syrian prison. I’d sent someone back to check on Macy a few years after our escape. She’d avoided Vetticus although she did say that he terrorized the area for a few months, convinced we were hiding out somewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about her missing husband and as thanks for helping us, I decided to put some resources into trying to locate him. After we rescued him, he moved Macy to New York and became a part of our team.

After that, we were hired to do a security job in Syria. The Russians attacked and that’s how we met the Volkov Brothers. They were taken prisoner during the attack and I decided on a whim to break them out. Well, it wasn’t a whim. I knew who they were and I knew I wanted that favor owed to me when I got back to the states. They were Bratva royalty and having the Russian mob owe me a favor was very appealing.

Once we’d stripped off all our gear, we headed into the warehouse, Viktor and Kon led the way towards the most recent shipment ready for one of our Russian contractors. Demetrius was standing at a pallet with a gun case open on top of the merchandise. He turned at our arrival.

“Privet, droog moy,”

he grinned, greeting me warmly.

When I’d met Demetrius Volkov, I’d just killed his previous arms supplier and inserted myself as the replacement. Demetrius wasn’t too happy about that and was going to kill me when the twins arrived just in time and told their brother who I was. At the time, Demetrius was the new leader of the Bratva and although he grudgingly accepted the terms of our agreement then, over the years we ended up becoming close and partnering on many ventures—of which included dealing illegal weapons.

“What do you think?” I asked.

I picked up the gun and checked it before handing it to Demetrius to look over.

“I think these new modifications are exactly what the client is looking for,” he said.

“Good—those pallets over there should be the rounds requested.”

“We have a truck arriving in an hour,”

Viktor said after a brief conversation with one of the workers nearby.

Now that business was settled, Demetrius gestured for the guns to be secured and walked with me towards the entrance of the loading bay.

“How long are you here for?”

Demetrius asked.

“We fly back to London tomorrow afternoon.”

“Then I insist you come out with me tonight,”

he said. “I want to show you the club and run some ideas by Nyx and Atlas.”

Later, back in our hotel room, I was getting ready to head out to meet everyone for dinner when my phone rang with an unknown number.

“North,”

I answered.

“Hey buddy.”

“Knight,”

I said, recognizing the voice. “You back in civilization?”

“Yup—phone was a casualty of the job, this is my new number so save it, yeah?”

“How did the job go?”

“Pretty smooth—got everyone out alive. Listen, I’m on my way to Paris and I need you to meet me there.”

“What’s in Paris.”

“Have you heard of Gabriel Griffin? Deathwing? I met him a few months ago. Fucking freak of nature, man. Our teams collided during an op and when I tell you I’ve never seen someone as psychotic as him, well, maybe you—but anyway, he called me just now and said he needed to get into contact with you. Urgently.”

“What for?”

“He wouldn’t tell me over the phone. He deals with anti-trafficking organizations. He’s making a name for himself as the angel of death—cheesy, but whatever. We don’t choose our reps, you know? He comes in and basically annihilates these rings. If he has something he wants to show you—I’d go. Immediately because it’s probably important.”

“Alright, I can leave tomorrow AM. Text me the meetup details.”

“I’ll come get you from the airport.”

“Even better.”