“Ciel?” I pulled back the hammer of my own gun, double-checked the extra magazines I had in my pockets, and made sure the knife on my thigh was secure.
“Already monitoring the police feeds,” he responded. “Ten minutes out. They’ll beat the Russians here.”
“Well, fuck,” Cas said. Then we both opened our doors and slipped out of the car. “Let’s hurry the fuck up.”
The South Americans’ car was parked haphazardly in front, partially mounted over the curb. Motorcycles fanned out around it. It looked like a mini assault on the Russian business.
“That style of motorcycle is frequently used by the Alacrán in Colombia. Stay on alert,” Ciel warned. When Obi found Ciel, he’d been left for dead after being attacked by a cartel in his hometown. Was this the same one? Is that how he knew who they were?
“Copy.”
The whole street looked run-down. The shops on the ground floor next door were closed and boarded up. Apartments sat above the entire strip, but even those looked abandoned. A bodega sat on the corner, and I could see patrons hiding inside.
The street was darker than it should be. Even the streetlights had been shot out.
I looked over to where Cas had ducked behind the open door of our armored vehicle. For a moment, I considered leaving. We could let the cops show up to handle them.
No. We were part of the alliance. This was the time to send a message and show the South Americans they’d face the consequences for coming after us.
“Cops are eight minutes out,” Ciel said in my ear.
We didn’t have time to hesitate.
“I see two guys hiding behind those motorcycles,” said Caspian.
“The rest must be inside.”
I jerked my head toward the two we could see. “Take out them first. Then we’ll head inside the building and finish the rest of them. We’ll bolt after that.”
We couldn’t protect the Makarov’s product from being confiscated by the police, but we could eliminate the threats.
Caspian nodded. “I’ll take the one on the right; you take the one on the left.”
Together, we crept around our SUV. Shots rang out as we simultaneously took out the two men hanging outside. They didn’t even turn around before they dropped.
But attacking them drew the attention of some who must have been hiding right inside the laundromat’s doors. Two heads poked out, and gunshots rang out. Caspian and I ducked behind another car while shots slammed into the metal.
They started shouting at each other in Spanish. I peeked around. All it took was a moment of being distracted for me to find my shot.
One dropped, and the other retreated farther inside.
I sprinted after him. My boots crunched broken glass.
More gunshots, and I jerked backward, pressing my back against the outer brick wall. Caspian still crouched behind the car, but he had a better view than me. He held up two fingers and then pointed to the left of the entrance.
More yelling in Spanish.
“Ciel? Are you picking anything up?”
“They’re saying to grab what product they can and get out of there,” he responded. “They’re going out the back.”
“Shit.” Caspian hopped over one of the fallen motorcycles. “Tell Makarov to come around the back. We’ll follow them.”
“Done.”
Caspian approached from the other side. I ducked inside the broken door, stepping carefully over the glass so I didn’t make too much noise. Covering my back, the two of us cleared the entryway.
The front of the business was indeed a laundromat. Rows of washers and dryers covered the left and right walls, with a counter, and a register against the back wall.
