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“Hell no,” Emery yelled back.

The accent. It was all wrong for Miami. Which meant the Russians had found them. They had a four-man team if they'd brought the whole contingent. If Emery were in their position, he'd place two at either end of the hall, cutting off any escape. Emery's crew would take shots from the front and rear trying to escape. Holing up in the unit was fine and all, but they were sitting ducks if the Russians decided to close in and finish the job, though this wasn't their style. They were quiet, efficient, and wiped their prey off the face of the planet. The whole situation was shit.

“We want the girl. She is our prize,” a different voice called out.

“Too bad you aren't getting her.” Emery wasn't giving up Tori unless he was dead, and that wasn't happening. Not now that he knew he had a chance with her. It couldn't end so soon.

“Your friend won't last long with a gut wound. Nasty business.” It had to be Matvei talking to them. He had an easy manner of speaking, heavy on the accent. He sounded bored.

“The clerk?” Tori whispered.

Emery shook his head. If the hit team was making such a bold move against them, they wouldn't leave witnesses to call the cops. They were on their own.

“Call Smith.” She mouthed more than whispered.

The detective was good, but this was over his pay grade. Emery shook his head. They were better in this alone than with more casualties and an hours-long siege. If they didn't get Kathy to a hospital soon, she'd die. No amount of field training could save her. She needed help.

The whisper of footsteps drew nearer.

If he reached out to shoot, they'd pull the trigger before he could.

They were fucked. No two ways about it. The door wouldn't save them, and the walls weren't reinforced. Maybe if they were in a cinder-block outdoor unit it might offer them some protection, but they were sitting ducks in here with just a few sheets of drywall to protect them.

Kathy groaned again. CJ muttered to her while he pressed his hands to the seeping wound at her stomach. Her sounds of pain sliced Emery to the bone. He loved these people better than family, and now he had to choose.

“What do we do?” Tori asked.

There was a chance these people only wanted Tori. The one thing he cared about. The one person he couldn't give up. For Kathy to survive, they needed to stand down, but he couldn't.

Movement in the hall grabbed his attention. Emery lifted his gun, but a hand knocked it away. A male figure filled the door, dark hair and eyes, the heavy Russian brow. In that split second, he sneered. Tori stumbled back, lifting her gun. CJ yelled. Emery dropped his shoulder and rammed the figure into the door frame. The smaller man grunted as Emery lifted him off his feet. Something cracked against his back. Pain licked up and down his spine. A fist connected with his temple and the world flashed black for a moment and his limbs felt heavy.

“Don't! Don't hurt him. You want me, not him.” Tori backed up, her hands in the air.

Another hard object smashed into his head and he dropped to the ground. Before he could push up, the muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of his head.

“Do. Not. Move.” The accent was thick. Matvei.

For a few seconds, no one moved. The only sound was Kathy's whimpers and labored breathing. Emery tilted his head to the side, just enough so he could see Tori. She'd been forced to drop her gun. She stood, her face into the wall, one arm twisted up behind her by the youngest member of the hit team. The one that was active on social media. Emery was tempted to tell him thank you for the tip-offs, but now wasn't the time. The bastard had a gun to Tori's head

He was going to die. Emery had never pulled the trigger hoping to kill someone, but this time, he wanted the son of a bitch to die for threatening Tori.

Matvei was average. His height, build, coloring, all of it. He was a man who faded into the background, unnoticed until it was too late. It was one of the reasons why he was so deadly. And now that deadly gaze was focused on Emery.

“Our job was only her, but you are a problem.” Matvei gestured with the gun in his hand at Emery and CJ. “Tie them up. Call that Canales and tell him we have something he wants.”

“If you're going to kill us, why not do it now?” CJ snarled as his hands were wrenched away from Kathy.

The hit men offered no answer. Why would they? They had all the power—right now. But not for long. The anger moved lower, deeper in Emery's chest, turning into a white-hot burn. This wasn't over. Tori wasn't dead. He couldn't let that happen.

* * *

Tori paced the length of their cell, which any other time might be called a pitch-black storage container on a cargo ship. This whole thing was out of a bad action flick.

The hit team hadn't killed them. Instead, they'd taken the four of them in a van out to the big marina in Miami, onto a ship, and locked them up. The hit team had gagged and bound them, but hadn't worried about blindfolds. Probably because they anticipated killing Tori and the others before too long, but they wanted something from her first. Something she wouldn't give them.

Kathy groaned, louder. In the darkness it was easy to forget the others were there, but not for long. The Russians were giving Emery, CJ, and Kathy to the Eleventh as a favor so they'd look the other way about trespassing on their turf. The others didn't know. They didn't speak Russian. But Tori did.

“What were they saying earlier?” Emery's whisper was barely audible.

She hugged her arms around her and blinked into the darkness.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“Bad.” Her voice cracked. “They're giving you three to the Eleventh and Evers. They talk about Evers and Canales interchangeably. They're all in on it, somehow.”

“And you?”

“What do you think?”

Tori glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the labored breathing and murmurs.

The last time she'd gotten a glimpse of Kathy, the woman was almost entirely covered in her own blood. A gut wound wasn't an instant death shot like in TV or the movies. It was a slow, painful end if the blood loss didn't kill her first. Without immediate medical care infection would set in. Busted intestines would turn septic. Without a doctor, Kathy would die. It might already be too late.

Tori turned toward the couple and her heart hurt. She could hear the scuff of CJ on the ground next to Kathy and the soft, whispered words for her ears alone. CJ hadn't cried or begged the hit team for help. He'd held her hand, muttering to his wife, keeping his focus on her.

If Tori thought that giving Matvei what he wanted would stop this nightmare, she'd consider it. The truth was, if she did, she would be putting their deaths in the fast lane. The longer she held out, the more chance they had to survive.

They all knew the outcome of this situation was grim. Unless the FBI stormed the building with every agent on the East Coast, there was a very good chance they weren't all coming out of this situation alive. Matvei's team was brought in to efficiently take people out of the way as if they'd simply stopped being and vanished.

Tears sprang to Tori's eyes. God, this was so unfair. All CJ and Kathy had been trying to do was help her, and now Kathy was dying. Tori reached out blindly, feeling for Emery. Her palm met the hard wall of his chest. His hand covered hers and she edged closer. She wanted to hug him, to bury her face in his chest, but it wasn't the time for that. Besides, if the Russians thought he was anything but someone she worked with, they might hurt him for the fun of making her beg.

“Can we do anything?” she whispered.

“No.” His answer was quiet.

“Emery, I need to ask you to do something.” Tori turned her back on CJ and Kathy, hoping against hope that nothing she said would be overheard. Chances were, she was about to die, and if the last thing she did was get a message to her sister, that would have to be good enough.

“What is it?” Emery asked after a moment.

She wanted to crawl inside his head, figure out what he was thinking. She only knew Matvei's reputation. Emery had no doubt studied the man if he thought he was a threat. She wanted to know what he knew. But she couldn't.

“Evers, the Eleventh, they won't kill you immediately. They'll want information, right? You can get away. Get away. And . . . Tell Roni to pass the ketchup. I know it sounds weird, but I need you to do this, please?” She leaned her head toward Emery in an effort to make as little noise as possible.

“Why?” Emery's voice was more of a rumble she felt than heard.

“I can't tell you. Please, please trust me.”

“I don't know what you're doing, but we need to focus on how to get out of here.”

“Emery, please?” Tori didn't want to die, but if that was going to happen, she didn't want anyone else to die with her. This was the only way.

“Then tell me what it means.”

“I can't.”

Kathy's whimper turned into a pained whine. CJ's voice rose, continuing to try to calm her, but damn. They were running out of time in a bad way.

“We've got to do something.” Tori couldn't stand here and watch Kathy die.

“They're waiting on something or someone,” Emery said.

“We force their hand.”

“How?”

“I don't know. Help me think of something.”

“Step back,” someone yelled through the door.

Tori held her hands out to her sides as the door opened, casting a long rectangle of light into their prison. The hammer of a gun clicked.

“Bitch. Step out here or I'll put a bullet between pretty boy's eyes.” The man's voice was cold, lifeless, and she had no doubt he'd do it.

“No,” Emery growled.

“What do you want?” She sidestepped Emery, hands up.

“Out here. Now.” The man holding the gun spoke. There was another behind the swinging door and two others, including Matvei, a dozen paces away.

She could refuse. It wasn't like she didn't already know what they wanted—and that she would not be playing ball with them. But she needed confirmation. To know the truth.

“Okay. I'm cooperating.” She took a step out of the cargo container and onto the deck of the ship.

“Stand back,” the man holding the gun said to Emery.

Tori winced as the door swung shut behind her. She dropped her hands, keenly aware of the gun and the fact that she knew what they wanted. They couldn't get it if she died. At least not easily. If she were killed, Roni would run. She'd go to ground, hide, change her identity; she'd survive, and these bastards wouldn't get what they wanted. As long as Emery passed her message on. If he didn't, well, she had no idea what would erupt, but she'd still be dead.

“Viktoriya Iradokovia.” Matvei strolled toward her, thumbs in his belt.

Tori resisted the urge to shiver. She hadn't been called Viktoriya in ages. So long that it felt foreign to think of herself with that name.

She concentrated on keeping her breathing even, body loose. Matvei couldn't know he scared the piss out of her.

He came to a stop directly in front of her, hands at his sides. The dim lighting cast his face in shadow, but she could fill in the holes from the pictures Emery had shown her. Lifeless eyes. Short hair. A nose that had been broken a few too many times.

“Where is your father, Viktoriya?”

“Dead,” she replied with a shrug.

“We know that is a lie. Where is he?”

“I can tell you where we buried him if you want to go visit.”

Matvei laughed, a rusty sound that spoke of little use.

“I've been there. I know that isn't him in the ground.” Matvei's mocking grin was terrifying. He looked more like an animal baring teeth than a human smiling. What was worse was that he was right. Whoever was in the grave wasn't her father. “I'll cut you a deal. We only care about your
otets
. Tell us where he is and you can go free.”

“Right, and you didn't just sell us out to a car gang or anything?”

“We can handle them.”

“My dad is dead.”

“We both know you're lying. He's alive and working for Cuba. Where is he?”

Shit. She had no way to confirm if Matvei was right or not. Even if she could, all she would do is cement her death and those of the people she loved.

“I'm not going to tell you anything,” Tori said, drawing on every drop of bravado in her body. Roni was better at bluffing than she was.

“Then it looks like we have a transaction to make.” Matvei nodded to his companions. “We will chat later.”

She glared daggers at the man. He still wore a holster over his shoulders. If she could get the gun, she'd put a bullet through his skull and not even feel remorse. He'd shot Kathy, and he'd kill them all given the opportunity.

Chapter Fifteen

“What did he want?” Emery stared at the bit of space Tori had occupied. She was there, but he couldn't see her, though he could recall every feature of her face, the tiny mole by her temple, the freckles that were too often covered with dirt. He hadn't been able to hear everything Matvei had said to Tori. Hell, most of it didn't make sense. He was hoping Tori could shed some light on what they were facing.

He felt Tori's breath on his neck. She'd stepped in close without him realizing it.

“They're probably going to keep me. Torture me.” She pitched her voice quieter, for his ears alone. “They're still selling you guys to Evers's people, I think. You could probably get away once you're out of here. Somewhere between the cargo container and the parking lot. I don't know if you could do it with Kathy though.”

“We're going to get out of this.” He didn't know how, not really. Not yet. But he would make sure they did.

“Emery, I need you to please give that message to my sister. Please.” Her voice was barely audible.

“Not unless you tell me why.”

She sighed. Her hands pressed against his chest and her head came to rest on his shoulder.

“My father is alive.”

For a second he had to ask himself if he'd heard her barely there admission, or if he'd made it up.

“What?” He canted his head toward hers.

“He's alive and if Roni doesn't tell him to stay away, he'll die, too. I don't want them to get me and him. Please?”

“Yeah.” What else was he supposed to say?

Nothing he'd read or heard indicated anyone suspected Alexander Iradokovia to still be among the living. It was a shocking admission.

Voices from outside the container broke the moment. Tori squeezed him tight as several loud people approached their position.

Tori squeezed him tight. Like she was saying good-bye.

Hell no.

They would get through this.

Metal scraped against metal as the door once more swung open. He blinked and shoved Tori behind him. Several people aimed high-powered flashlights in his eyes.

“Hands against the wall,” a new voice ordered. It was an older, seasoned speaker.

“Emery . . .”

He turned toward the wall and flattened his hands against the cool metal.

“I'm coming back for you,” he promised Tori. White dots swam in his vision from the LED flashlights.

“Who the hell is he?”

Emery knew that voice. Canales. The street thug stepped into the container and peered at Emery's face.

Emery kept his gaze forward. Raibel Canales wouldn't know him on sight, and that was exactly the way Emery liked things.

“This is the guy that was at the plant a few days ago. The one we followed.” That voice. Emery remembered it. It was the punk kid who'd made him at Greenworks.

“He matters. Bring him and the other two,” the faceless man in charge said.

Canales kept his gun pointed at Emery while the kid patted him down fast.

“You sure I can't convince you to part with the girl?”

“
Nyet
.” Matvei chuckled.

“Can't blame me for trying. Come on. Get them.”

Hands grasped Emery's bicep, pulling him out of the container. He swung his head, searching for Tori, and found her with her back against the opposite wall, one of the Russians standing guard with a gun to her temple. Beyond her, CJ had Kathy in his arms. She groaned when she should be screaming. That wasn't a good sign.

“Move.” Canales shoved Emery out of the container.

His feet landed on the cargo ship's deck and he glanced around, taking in the new additions. Besides Matvei and his two other companions not holding a gun on Tori, there were maybe five Eleventh drivers Emery knew on sight, four thugs he'd make sure to acquaint himself with later, and an older man in slacks and a polo shirt who appeared as though they'd ruined his golf game.

Emery didn't recognize him at all, which worried him.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The Geezer shook Matvei's hand before gesturing at the security detail. “Bring them.”

Canales walked at Emery's back, shoving him every couple of strides. They were still on the cargo ship, but it was easily two football fields long, stacked two and three high with containers in neat rows, which meant the ship must be in the middle of unloading or loading since they would eventually go four and five high.

Emery couldn't get off this ship without Tori. If he let Canales march him onto the dock, he'd never see her again. From the marina, the hit team could take her anywhere, alive or dead.

He let his pace lag. CJ was easily a dozen yards or so behind them, and that was before they made a right and a left. Darkness had closed in and even the starlight above couldn't provide much illumination.

The old man's detail marched onward without a backward glance.

Now or never.

It was Emery—a trained FBI operative—against three assholes who couldn't keep their pants above their knees. Canales was the only one that worried Emery. Not horrible odds, but he was unarmed. All it would take was a ricochet, not even a lucky shot.

Tori was worth it.

He slowed a bit more until he felt the press of Canales's gun against his lower back. The others didn't even have weapons drawn, probably expecting their presence to be enough to keep him cowed. They had no idea he was an actual threat.

Emery stepped with his right and pivoted to his left, whipping his hand back to grab Canales's wrist and shoved the gun aside. The gun went off, the bang reverberating off the metal with a deafening boom. The other two flinched and ducked their heads while Emery delivered a hard right punch to Canales's jaw. The gang leader staggered back, releasing the weapon into Emery's hand.

“Yo, get him,” the youngest thug yelled.

The third, closest gang member brought his gun up.

Emery didn't flinch or think, he shot the guy in the shoulder. He couldn't spare another bullet if he was going to take Tori back.

He turned and sprinted back the way they'd come, diving left at the first opportunity. The cargo containers were stacked and organized in rows. It wouldn't be hard to figure out where he was going, so he had to use the shadows and momentary confusion to his benefit.

“Daniel, he's coming for you,” Canales bellowed, closer than before.

“He shot me,” the downed driver said over and over again.

Too many of these kids got involved with the Eleventh out of some misguided sense of community, never giving consideration to the danger. The kid was lucky. Emery could have killed him, but chose not to. Besides, they'd be more distracted dealing with an injured friend than a dead one.

So much for the element of surprise.

The containers formed horizontal rows, with enough space for a forklift on either side. He crept from the shadows of one to the next, watching for CJ's group.

“Where is he?” a voice Emery didn't recognize yelled from what sounded like the next row.

Emery slowed his pace, pressing his back against the end of the container, and peered around.

“He's close,” Canales replied.

CJ crouched on the ground, shrouded in darkness, with Kathy laid across his thighs. He had an Eleventh driver on either side, both looking in the direction Canales had taken him. They weren't looking behind them.

Emery blew out a breath. The odds were stacked against them. It didn't take a complex program to calculate that. They were outmanned with no supplies or backup. He emptied his lungs, inhaled deeply and took a half step away from the container, lifting his gun.

He aimed, blew out a breath, and squeezed the trigger.

The first guy arched his back, blood gurgling as he fell forward.

Emery adjusted and fired while the second stared at his downed friend. CJ reached for the man's gun as he hit his knees, falling across the dead man. Coldness settled over Emery. Death was not normally his department, but for his crew and their lives, he'd go there.

“Stop right there.” CJ aimed the gun at someone Emery couldn't see.

He jogged toward CJ, close to the opposite shipping container, until he could see who they were facing.

It was Raibel Canales.

Emery aimed at the leader of the Eleventh Street gang.

“Where's your friends?” he asked.

“I've got you covered,” CJ said.

Emery stepped out into the open and jerked a second gun out of Canales's hand.

“Got a new boss now? Give me your keys.” Emery held out his hand. They'd need a ride out of here. He wanted Canales dead, but he couldn't shoot him without cause.

“I ain't answerin' to nobody, punk.” Canales sneered.

“Yeah. I see that. Keys. Now.”

Canales unsnapped the hook that held the keys on his belt and tossed them over, glaring daggers at Emery. He'd have to watch his back from now on. The Eleventh would have him in their crosshairs for this.

“On your knees. Now.” Emery glanced over Canales's shoulder, but it appeared the Geezer and his security detail had cut and run.

“If you're going to do me, do me.” Canales spread his arms.

“Get. On. Your. Knees.”

Canales tipped his chin up, managing to keep his sneer in place. He lowered to one knee, then the other.

Emery could kill Canales and solve several of their problems all at once. But that wasn't his way. He believed injustice, and right now killing Canales would be an assassination.

He grabbed the man's shoulder and brought the butt of the gun down on the back of his head. Canales slumped forward and Emery didn't ease his fall.

“CJ—”

“Go. I've got a gun and this guy's keys. Find Tori.” CJ gathered Kathy to his chest.

She wasn't making a sound. Dread settled in the pit of Emery's stomach. Were they too late? Maybe for Kathy, but hopefully not for Tori.

He tucked the second gun in his waistband while keeping the first at the ready, and jogged back the way they'd come, keeping his eyes peeled for Matvei and his boys. There was no way they hadn't heard the gunfire, so either they were setting up to take Emery and the others out, or they were making their exit.

The container that had been their prison waited for Emery, open and empty.

“Fuck,” he muttered, turning in place, scanning the possible avenues of escape.

They could be anywhere.

A distant, metallic bang—in the opposite direction from where he'd come—grabbed his attention. Emery's whole body went on alert. He jogged ahead, winding his way through the containers, listening for more clues to where they'd taken Tori.

“
Poluchit' yeye!
”

He sprinted toward the voices. Footsteps thundered toward him.

Emery stopped, listening to the disorienting thumps, trying to figure out which direction they were coming from.

“
Idi syuda!
”

Emery dodged to his left, striking off down a path that led to a right angle turn. The only light was from the moon and stars. Shadows seemed to move in the corners of his eyes, but he only focused on the deck ahead of him.

A female voice cried out.

The sound was close.

Emery slowed, edging around a corner.

Tori was on her knees, Matvei's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back.

Hell no.

Emery squeezed the trigger, once, twice, pouring his rage into those bullets.

Matvei's arms windmilled backward, his jaw dropped, and his body went slack. He glanced down at the crimson splotches of color blossoming on his shirt and dropped to his knees. “Center mass” shots. The bullets probably clipped his lungs or heart. He'd die, suffocating in his own blood within moments. It wasn't long enough. The bastard deserved to feel every bit of pain he'd caused others.

Tori scrambled to her feet and backed up. Emery rushed to her side and grabbed her arm.

“Oh my God,” Tori said.

The chill that had wrapped around Emery's body intensified. Killing was a necessary evil. It didn't mean he liked it, but if it was Tori or Matvei, Tori would win out every single time.

Matvei picked his head up, staring around him in the sightless way of a man facing death.

Tori strode to Matvei and knelt next to him. Death rattled his lungs. She lifted his shoulder and drew his second gun from the shoulder holster, wiping it off on the dead man's shirt.

Someone close by yelled, “Matvei?”

“Come on. Now.” Emery gestured back the way he'd come.

“CJ?” She started jogging, keeping just a hair behind him, allowing Emery to lead the way.

“They should be off the boat now.” At least he hoped so.

He took a right and a left, pushing them faster. His stride faltered. Someone yelled in the distance.

“Do you know where we're going?” Tori swung her head left and right as they came to another intersection.

“Off this boat.”

“Great. Glad we have a plan. What happened?”

“The old guy's security detail hustled him out of here, left Canales and two boys with me. I gave them the slip, got CJ and Kathy free and came after you.” Those were the only details that mattered.

“I didn't know you could shoot.”

“They did teach me how at Quantico.”

Any second, what was left of the hit team would sort themselves out and come after them. They needed to be gone before then.