Boxed In
Boxed In
Inside the bulletproof SUV, the air was thick with tension and the sharp smell of gun oil. Carla kept her weapon ready, the two King’s Gold men flanking her doing the same. No one moved to open a door. Stepping out would be suicide. Carolina sat rigid in the back seat, jaw tight, but her voice stayed level when she spoke.
“Give me a gun. If these idiots think I'm going to go down without a fight, then they're sorely mistaken.”
Carla passed one back without hesitation. Carolina checked it with practiced hands and kept it low, out of sight of the windows. All they had to do now was wait and see what their enemies planned to do, knowing they were inside an impenetrable vehicle.
Outside, the seven Black Sailors opened fire. Rounds hammered the SUV in a continuous roar. The vehicle shuddered under the impact. The windshield starred and cracked in a spiderweb of white lines, but the glass held. Bulletproof plating absorbed the rest. The noise inside was deafening—metallic thunder that made conversation almost impossible.
Carla shoved the driver aside and took the wheel. She intended to do something, instead of just sitting there like a duck waiting to be shot at by hunters. When a brief lull opened, she cracked the window just enough, leaned out, and fired two precise shots. One of the Sailors dropped. Return fire forced her to yank the window shut again. Glass fragments and the smell of burnt powder filled the cabin. That was all she could do. There was no way that little trick was going to work again.
The Sailors kept shooting. The SUV rocked harder. Carolina’s voice cut through the noise.
“It's only a matter of time before they break into the car and do away with all of us. Get us out of here, Carla. Now.”
Carla turned the car on and stomped the accelerator. The heavy vehicle lurched forward and slammed into the car blocking the front. Metal screamed and scratched. She threw it into reverse and smashed the car behind them. Both blocking vehicles shifted, but did not give enough space. They remained trapped in the narrow street, engines roaring, tires smoking against the asphalt.
She tried yet again, hitting the two cars with all the force she could muster. However, they were boxed in and weren't getting out that way. The gunfire suddenly stopped. Carolina wondered why the Sailors stopped shooting, but the answer to her inquisition was soon to be revealed to her.
A door opened on one of the Black Sailors’ cars. Damien Winchester stepped out, weapon in hand, and walked forward until he stood a short distance from Carolina’s window. His voice carried clearly as he said his piece.
“Come out, Carolina Rossi. It's time you answered for the crimes against my family. Surrender yourself and your men live. Refuse, and I end this the hard way.”
Carolina did not move. She met his eyes through the cracked glass and said nothing. She was definitely not stepping out or surrendering. Not now, not ever, and most especially not to a child she was many years older than. She saw him as insignificant, just the same way she'd viewed Andreas Cimaro the first day she met him one on one.
Damien’s mouth tightened. “You have ten seconds to surrender.”
He counted down out loud. With each number he reached, the tension grew and Carla kept surveying around, looking for a way to escape before the countdown would be over.
When Damien eventually got to zero, he signaled one of his men. The man reached into a vehicle and came out with a rocket launcher, handing it over. Damien settled the weapon on his shoulder and aimed it squarely at the SUV.
"Holy shit! He's gonna blast us away. We gotta get out of here." Carla yelled, but there was nothing she could do.
Just as his finger tightened around the trigger, the screech of tires tore through the street. Multiple cars skidded into position and reached the scene of the attack. Doors flew open. The King’s Knights poured out, already firing their guns before their feet even touched the ground. Rounds sparked off the Black Sailors’ vehicles. Damien and his men scrambled for cover behind their cars as the new firefight erupted.
.
.
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In the London safe house, Bastian walked the ground-floor hallway with restless energy. His shoulders were tight, his mind still turning over the new reality of belonging to Boris Milkovich’s world. He stepped into the living room and stopped short when he saw what was now proving to be a constant scene in his new life.
Boris sat with three of his lieutenants around the low table, maps and phones spread between them. Their voices were low and purposeful—plans for something large. Boris looked up and locked eyes with Bastian.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't my dear son-in-law. The one who captured my daughter's heart, eloped with her and married her without my consent."
Boris said those words with a smile, but there was nothing humorous about his tone. He was still not fond of Bastian yet, and it would take a lot before he'd warm up to him.
Bastian cleared his throat nervously. “Father-in-law.”
Boris studied him for a moment. “Where is Svetlana? I want to see both of you. Now.”
“She should be up in the room. I’ll go get her,” Bastian said. He turned and climbed the stairs two at a time, heart still beating too fast. In the bedroom, he crossed to the closed bathroom door and knocked.
“Svet? You all right?”
Her voice came through the wood, steady but distant. “I’m fine. I’ll be out soon.”
“Your father wants to see us.”
“I understand. Give me a minute.”
Inside the bathroom, Svetlana sat on the closed toilet lid, elbows on her knees. In her hand was a plastic pregnancy test.
The two lines were clear and unmistakable. Positive. She stared at the result without blinking, the quiet of the small room pressing in around her. She did not look happy.
"Fuck!"