“Who do you think comes out on top?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I led Erick away from the garage, down a side street, and angled toward the parked SUV. “So long as there’s chaos for the next few weeks. It’ll keep Darren and the others distracted.”
“And after? You get your revenge, but at what price?”
I stopped and faced him. My most trusted friend and most loyal soldier. “After doesn’t mean anything to me, not until Oisin is dead.”
“You know I’m only asking because I care if you live or die.”
“You better. It’s your job.”
He grinned. “You don’t make it easy.”
“No, I really don’t.” I hesitated, then squeezed his arm. “When the dust settles, we’ll deal with the fallout. Darren will be the most aggressive, but I’ll find a way to handle it. The others might back his play, and if they do, then we’ll get knocked down a peg. We’ve survived worse and we’ll survive this.”
“I trust you boss, even if I shouldn’t.”
“Take me home. I have a wife waiting.”
He rolled his eyes but got into the car.
The sirens screamed louder and louder, drowning out the scattered echoes of gunfire.
26
Erick
Roman wiped his hands on a towel and stepped out of the car. His clothes were stained red and he sighed as he headed toward the house.
“Check with Roza and send feelers out to the other Oligarchs,” he said, waving as he walked up the steps. He moved slowly, like a weight pressed down on his shoulders.
The weight of the fucking world.
That was one reason I didn’t envy my employer.
“Will do, boss. I’m sure they’re on the verge of losing their shit.”
“A war should keep them busy for a while.” He disappeared into the house and down into his ridiculous bunker.
Any other guy, and I’d think he was overly paranoid.
Nobody needed a bunker. Except for maybe the President, but even he probably wasn’t important enough. There were lots of slimy politicians that could take the President’s place if he got whacked.
There were no other Roman in this world.
And I would bet my fanciest knife that more people wanted my boss dead than the leader of the free world.
Which made my job that much harder, and that much more rewarding.
That was another reason I didn’t envy him.
One of my men, a young guy named Rocco, came running up from the side security shed with his rifle bouncing against his chest. He was sweating, out of shape, and his eyes bugged out ever so slightly.
Which wasn’t a good sign.
“Erick, oh shit,” he said, huffing and puffing. This guy was a fucking former Marine, did several tours of Iraq, and was an all-around bad ass dude, and there he was gasping for air like he couldn’t run a mile.
I was going to have to mandate cardio for these lazy bastards.
“You sound like you smoke a pack a day. You’re out of shape.”
“I know. Fuck, I’m getting fat. It’s this fucking job.”
“Yeah, blame the job. What’s going on?”
“We got an intruder.”
That sent ice down my spine.
See, Roman, he’s very good at what he does.
He’s the face of the business. He’s out there signing deals, paying off mafia families, moving shipments of weapons around the Middle East, bribing Sultans, making nice with blue-blood royalty, that sort of shit.
But I was everything behind the scenes.
I worked hard to keep Roman’s dealings off the radar. The Oligarchs are secretive by nature—they’re a bunch of uber-wealthy, stupidly-powerful men that like to play God and influence geopolitics for the hell of it, so yeah, it’s in their interest to keep their names out of the media—and I’m the one that makes sure it happens for Roman.
Which means nobody knows where his bunker is located.
Only the people I vet and hire.
And Roza, but she barely counts.
In all the years I’ve known Roman, we’ve never had a leak. There was an intruder one time, but it was some drunk local kid searching for a place to piss. I put the fear of death in that little bastard and he won’t be talking to anyone or returning anytime soon.
This wasn’t the same thing. I could see it in Rocco’s expression.
He was spooked, and Marines didn’t spook easy.
“Take me to him.”
Rocco turned on his heel and strode off. I followed down the drive, along a blacktop pathway that I was sure Roman had never once stepped foot on, and into a small side room that was built to resemble a fancy detached garage.
Inside was a security fortress. The grounds were wired and covered in cameras top to bottom. An ant didn’t shit without me knowing about it. Several of my guys sat around looking at monitors, pretending to be busy—which was bullshit, but I appreciated the hustle. Rocco took me down a short side hallway, and into a small interrogation closet.
The man was young, mid-twenties, with a gaunt face and dark hair. He looked at me with no expression at all. Mikey, another one of my contractors, sat across from him smoking a cigarette.