Wildblood

Chapter 17

17

Kai

Kai stared down at the message he’d just sent.

I’m working.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. Not that it mattered; he still felt like a piece of shit. Dishonesty was cowardice, and Kai hated backing down from an opponent—especially when it was the asshole staring back at him in the mirror. When had he lost his balls to his blunders? He’d always been a fuck-up—never pretended otherwise—but chasing a squandered prize around the city like some indentured errand boy stung more than just his ego. He was risking Miya’s trust.

“Fuck.” He let his arm flop to his side. He wanted to whip the damn phone into the ether, but he couldn’t afford to smash another one. Instead, he switched it to airplane mode and secured it in a zippered pocket in his cargo pants. Bringing a cellphone to a B he didn’t want to get caught and expose his idiot employer—or himself. He didn’t even know what he was looking for. Trying to wrangle it out of Sergei was useless; the little turd kept insisting Kai would know it on sight, as if that was supposed to help. How the hell was he supposed to strategize if he couldn’t plan for the size of the thing he was stealing? Was it a coin? A fancy pen? Nuclear codes? Some garish sculpture that belonged in a museum?

Grumbling indignantly, Kai stalked to one corner of the building, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned casually against the bricks. Grains of mortar bit into his bare shoulder as he listened for movement inside. He’d left his jacket behind—it rustled too much and would restrict him in a fight—and opted instead for a black tank. He probably should’ve worn a long-sleeved T-shirt for more camouflage, but he really couldn’t be bothered with the sweat stains. His hunting knife would’ve also made life easier, but then he’d be tempted to stab people, so he resisted taking it along.

The guys guarding the forgery were a neutral party—unaffiliated with Bratva’s inter-faction squabbles. That was, after all, how Pyotr and Zverev’s employer wound up beefing over a mystery prize.

Kai’s breathing stilled as he counted the hired goons by the cadence of their gaits, each one unique. For those who stood at rest, he waited for the shuffling of clothes or the clank of weapons. They’d be armed to the teeth if they were guarding something important.

Four…five—one of them was asleep—six bodies to incapacitate. The napper was seated close to the window, and the others were making the rounds. The warehouse interior wasn’t just open floor; judging by the pattern of footfalls, there were hallways and smaller rooms—offices, perhaps? It would’ve been easy to hide illegal merch, making the space an ideal criminal outpost but difficult to guard. Too many tight corners, too many shadows to obscure a threat. Perfect for a well-practiced hunter.

Kai knew better than to smash the bars on the window and wake up the snoring bear. Slipping past, he rounded the building and found a back door with a flickering overhead lamp. Eventually, someone would step out for a smoke break. Snatching up a pebble, Kai whipped it at the light fixture and shattered the bulb, leaving the rear of the depot in complete darkness.

He waited, picking under his fingernails as he rested against the wall around the corner. No more than fifteen minutes went by before the lock unlatched with a loud clunk and the door screeched open. Gravel crunched under heavy boots. A deep voice muttered some vague complaint about the plumbing, and the sound of a fly coming undone raised Kai’s eyebrow.

Of course he’d have to knock the bastard out while he was taking a leak.

Kai pivoted off the wall and glided forward. He avoided the pebbles, landing only where the ground was clean enough to cushion his steps. Pressing his palm to the back of the man’s head, Kai hooked an elbow around his victim’s throat and locked him in a chokehold. The mobster thrashed, but Kai’s palm on his scalp pushed him into a constricting elbow—jaws around the jugular. With a pathetic gargle, the man flapped his arms in a wild attempt to thwack Kai in the face, but it reaped only an apathetic eye roll as Kai thrust a knee into the back of the fucker’s thigh and buckled his leg. A regular human crashing into him was like a tricycle running into a truck. The guard’s resistance ebbed, his dick still flopping in the breeze as he pawed at his assailant’s arm once, twice, and then went limp, his weight sagging in Kai’s not-so-loving hold.

Kai dragged the man’s comatose body several feet from the door and deposited him in the muck next to a dumpster. Then, dusting off his hands, he strolled right into the building and found himself in a dimly lit forked corridor. The navy linoleum floor was at odds with the crumbling brick walls—eighties décor clashing with the industrial revolution. The walls dipped into shadows every few yards. On his right, the hall expanded into an empty shop floor, and the way ahead tapered into a narrow line of doors. The forgery, he guessed, was stashed away in one of those rooms. Kai ducked into the corridor leading to the shop floor where he anticipated scant patrols. He peaked around the corner and was greeted by gruff laughter leaking from one of the rooms midway down the hall. Light flickered from under the door, spilling onto the scuffed-up tiles. The guards who’d been wandering around minutes earlier must’ve congregated in their makeshift breakroom.

A groan echoed from further down the hall, and the man who’d been dozing by the window rose clumsily to his feet. Judging by his silhouette, he was built from iron and steroids.

Kai retreated against the wall and waited as Big Boris—that’s what he was calling him now—started down the corridor with lumbering strides. His advance was torturously slow, but eventually, he reached the juncture where the end of his night awaited. At a whopping seven feet tall, he’d require a…different approach.

Kai darted out into the open like a possum in front of a minivan. Keeping his center of gravity low, he drew his elbow back for an uppercut. All the usual targets—kidneys, liver, sternum—were too well-padded; he’d have to go for the low-hanging fruit. Literally. With a sharp exhale, Kai struck the man square between the thighs, his fist connecting with the only squishy bits left on him. The air left Big Boris in a heaving jerk, and he doubled over with a pained rasp. Quick to exploit the opportunity, Kai spun onto his opponent’s back and straddled him.

“Giddy up, big man,” he sneered under his breath, then clapped his palms over the muscle-head’s ears with a muffled smack.

Disoriented and concussed, the guard wobbled like a two-legged stool, then toppled, barely giving Kai enough time to break the fall. He scooped an arm around Big Boris’s collarbone to stop him from crashing against the linoleum, then set him down with a strained grunt.

Now for the rest of the goon squad.

Kai heard cheering from their rumpus room. He guessed they’d cracked open a bottle of booze and were deep in a game of cards, unconcerned with consequences. They were likely some small-time gang clamoring for favor, and once they sold the forgery to Zverev’s employer, they’d be swimming in cash.

What could possibly be worth so much? Paying Zverev to win a fight just for the right to purchase an obscure relic off some smarmy thugs seemed like a batshit business decision. Then again, the same could be said for Pyotr. Sergei had been ready to pay Kai double to win his match against Zverev, and all that would’ve afforded Pyotr was a transaction. It made Kai wonder if this wasn’t business at all. Maybe it was personal.

But he wasn’t here to speculate about a mobster’s motivations. All he had to do was retrieve what he’d lost, and he was so fucking close. The rest of his obstacles were crowded in one spot—ideal for a brawl but not for stealth. He had to ensure none of them saw his face.

Stalking along the wall, Kai kept out of the scant rays of light peeking through the cracks in the door. The men shuffled in their chairs, muttering and cursing through their game. Kai counted four seated around a table, accounting for all six guards he’d scoped out.

Chair legs scraped the tiles.

“Where you going?” one of the men asked.

Cards slapped onto the table. “I lost, and my legs hurt from sitting. I’m going for a walk.”

He had no idea how brief his walk would be.

As soon as he stepped through the door, Kai snatched him from his periphery, clamped a hand over his mouth, and dragged him away. The gangster reached for a pistol holstered at his side, but Kai hammered his fingers and grabbed it first.

“Thanks,” he said, then struck the guard’s temple with the butt of the weapon. The man slackened in Kai’s grasp, blood trickling down his face. After easing him to the floor, Kai unloaded the firearm, dropped the magazine, then strode up to the door and kicked it open. Before the others could turn, he flung the gun at the light fixture, shattering the bulb.

Darkness swallowed the room. Men shouted, chairs tumbled over, and panic thickened the air as they scrambled to gather their bearings. Switchblades flicked open and safeties released, but the wolf was too fast. Kai lunged through the blackness and grabbed the man closest to the door. Palm braced against his target’s skull, Kai whipped an elbow across his jaw and knocked him out cold. He shoved the dead weight into a goon fumbling next to him, and as the second guard caught his friend, Kai push-kicked him into the table. Wood snapped, and the iron-like odor of lacerated flesh, sweetened by the guards’ wild terror, filled the air. All they saw was a hazy silhouette while Kai remained unaffected. His eyes were sharper, his sense of smell, touch, and hearing heightened as their fear soaked into his skin, waking the predator in him. Sometimes, the scent of blood wasn’t enough.

Sometimes, he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

He whirled on the last guard when a deafening crack erupted in the small room. Kai’s face twisted into a grimace, his ears ringing as a sharp pain lanced the left side of his core, and he staggered back a step. Wetness spilled through his shirt and onto his hand as he pressed against the wound.

A slow, creeping rage needled Kai’s skin. He hated gun-toting, trigger-happy shit lickers more than piss in his whiskey. They were the bane of his life—the reason he’d lost a piece of himself before he was old enough to know wholeness. They were the scourge that’d forced Miya from Black Hollow and shattered her faith in her own kin.

“Motherfucker!” Kai hurled a nearby chair at his assailant. Wood splintered, and the man yelped on impact. Dropping his gun, he fell to one knee.

Kai kicked the firearm out of reach, grabbed the thug by the back of the neck, and yanked him up to the tips of his toes, the movement reaping an agonized wail. With bruising pressure, he dug his fingertips in for emphasis, then slammed the man face-first into the wall, the crunch of bone accompanied by the wet smack of flesh on grout. Blood ricocheted off the bricks and spattered over Kai’s face. He didn’t even flinch as red oozed down his cheek, then dripped from his jaw onto the floor.

“Where’s the forgery?” Kai snarled, the words sounding feral even to him.

The man gave a pathetic whimper. Tears streamed down his face, his gums framed with crimson as his arms hung limply at his sides. “R-room…e-end of the hall,” he stammered, copper-laced drool dribbling down his chin.

With a tight-lipped huff, Kai threw the man to the floor and punted him goodnight. Everyone who’d patrolled that night would wake up with a killer hangover, and it wouldn’t be from the liquor. Confident he’d remained a blur of shadow and teeth, Kai made his way to the last door.

What he saw, however, made him pause. The door was locked from the outside with three industrial deadbolts. If the forgery was important, wouldn’t they lock it from the inside to keep people out?

Kai rested his fingers on the turn piece. Hackles raised, every cell in his body screamed that this was wrong. Who the hell installed a deadbolt on the outside of a room where valuables were held? Was it a vault or a prison cell?

What were they trying to keep in?

Kai leaned closer, and a heartbeat echoed his own on the other side of the door, mimicking the rapid thrum behind his chest wall. It was faint, and only when his breath halted could he home in on the barely perceptible pulse.

A thousand invisible pinpricks invaded him, every instinct revolting against the possibility of what lay ahead. The animal in him knew better than to fuck around and find out, but he’d never been just an animal. His abdomen ached from the gunshot wound, and even though the bleeding had slowed, he needed to dig the bullet out soon to avoid infection.

Retreating wasn’t an option. Kai rarely got second chances, and when he did, there were strings attached—so many fucking strings. A single misstep would garrot him. The forgery was the fishline around his throat, and the only way to cut himself loose was to open the damn door and find it.

Kai turned the locks. Each bolt shot back into the wood with a reverberating snap, leaving only a flimsy latch between the wolf and his ominous boon—a trojan horse in the middle of a wreckage. His hand, still slick with blood, drifted to the knob.

Turning his wrist, Kai gave the door a small shove.

The room swelled with darkness that spilled into the hall, devouring what meagre light illuminated the crumbling brick and cheap linoleum. It sprawled outward as though yawning after a long sleep, and when it reached the ceiling, the overhead lamp flickered, then fizzled out with a faint buzz.

Kai wasn’t sure if it was an invitation or a warning, but it was unnatural—a living thing that didn’t bend to physical laws. Not that it mattered; he was at home wherever night descended, in whatever shape it took, and he would accept any secrets it cared to impart.

He stepped past the threshold, and the darkness welcomed him inside.