Chapter 63 63
The car slowed as they neared the industrial edge of the city — gray warehouses, rusted fences, graffiti scrawled across concrete walls.
“This is it,” Petre murmured, cutting the engine. “You go in alone. They’ll kill him if they see me.”
Stefan nodded, already checking the earpiece. “Stay close. I’ll need extraction once I’ve got him.”
He opened the door and stepped out into the biting cold. The street smelled of oil and rain. His boots echoed against the wet ground as he made his way toward the warehouse, blending into the shadows.
He reached the side entrance and crouched, scanning the lock. It was cheap — easy to pick. He slipped a tool from his pocket, worked the mechanism for a few seconds, and heard the faint click of success.
The door creaked open.
Inside, the air was thick and damp. He could hear faint voices in another language, the sound of footsteps echoing across the concrete floor. Stefan moved silently between stacks of old crates, his senses sharpened.
And then — he heard it.
A voice. Weak, hoarse, but familiar.
“Stefan…”
His breath caught. Reese.
He turned toward the sound, and his pulse kicked hard in his chest.
But before he could take another step, a sudden metallic click echoed through the dark — the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him.
“Drop it,” a voice ordered in accented English.
Stefan froze. His jaw clenched as he slowly raised his hands.
He didn’t need to turn to know — the trap had been set long before he ever landed in Bucharest.
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“Drop it,” the voice repeated, harsher this time, closer.
Stefan didn’t move for a heartbeat. He'd not come all this way to die. He inhaled slowly, forcing his racing pulse under control. Then, with deliberate calm, he bent and set the gun down on the damp concrete floor.
“Good,” the man said behind him. “Now turn around. Slowly.”
Stefan turned, and three armed men emerged from the shadows. Their faces were half-hidden under black hoods, but he recognized the insignia stitched into one of their jackets — a red serpent curling around a dagger.
He knew that mark. He’d seen it two years ago — on the arm of a man named Davor, leader of a smuggling ring he and Reese had taken down in Prague. Davor’s entire network had gone dark after the operation. Apparently, not dark enough.
“Well,” Stefan said coolly, “if this is a reunion, you could’ve sent an invitation.”
The man at the front laughed — sharp and cold. “You always had jokes, Detective Maynard.”
Stefan’s muscles tightened. “You’ve got the wrong idea or should I say you're too late. I’m not a detective anymore.”
The man’s smirk deepened. “You’ll always be one to us. You made enemies, detective. Important ones. The kind who don’t forget. You took everything from my brother. You and that bastard partner of yours.”
“Where’s Reese?” Stefan asked, voice low, controlled. He wasn't going to stand here all day listening to this idiot talk without getting what he came for, or at least knowing that Reese was still alive.
The man chuckled. “Always so direct, aren't you?” He gestured toward the far end of the warehouse. “You want to see him? Fine.”
He jerked his chin toward the shadows, and another man dragged Reese into view.
He was barely conscious, wrists bound, a bruise spreading across his jaw. His clothes were torn and his left arm hung awkwardly at his side — dislocated or broken, Stefan couldn’t tell, but the sight twisted something deep in his chest.
“What do you want?” he asked tightly.
The man smiled wider. “What makes you think we want anything? You walked right into our home, Maynard. You made this easy.”
“Let him go,” Stefan demanded.
“Not yet.” The man circled him slowly, like a predator savoring the kill.
Stefan’s gaze flicked briefly to Reese, who looked like he needed immediate medical attention and knew he had to act fast, then back to the leader. “I swear to God—”
“You’ll what?” the man interrupted, voice mocking. “Shoot me? You came here alone. Noble, yes. Stupid, definitely. Your partner tried to convince us you wouldn't show, but I knew better. Stubborn man like you who's so big on integrity? I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. I guess he was wrong about the extent to which you cared about him. Isn't that sweet?”
Stefan didn’t answer. He shifted slightly, testing the distance between himself and the nearest crate. He could lunge, maybe take one of them out, but not all three. Not with Reese down.
“You remember Davor? My brother? He bled out in front of me while you stood there watching.” the man continued.
Stefan’s jaw clenched. “He killed a girl, and three border agents. He made his choice.”
The man’s expression hardened. “And now you’ll make yours.”
He lifted his gun and aimed it at Reese. “Who goes first?”
For a moment, silence filled the air — heavy, tense. Stefan’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. Then, without warning, he moved.
He lunged sideways, grabbing the nearest crate and kicking it toward the men. The gunfire erupted instantly — loud, deafening cracks that shattered the stillness. He dove behind cover, grabbed his weapon off the floor, and returned fire.
The men shouted in Romanian, spreading out. One fell as Stefan’s shot found its mark; another cursed and ducked behind a steel pillar.
Stefan’s body moved on instinct — duck, aim, fire, move. The warehouse rang with echoes of chaos. He crawled toward Reese, who was slumped against a support beam as the leader of the gang cursed in another language, barking orders. He grabbed Reese by the collar, and dragged him behind a forklift.
“Can you walk?” Stefan hissed.
Reese blinked weakly. “You idiot… you shouldn't have come. You couldn’t just retire quietly, could you?”
Stefan smirked, reloading. “You always did have terrible timing.” He shot back, looping an arm around him. Then he glanced toward the exit — twenty yards away, wide open but exposed. “On my signal, we move.”
“You’re insane,” Reese muttered.
“Probably.”
He threw a metal pipe across the floor. It clattered loudly, drawing fire. In the chaos, Stefan grabbed Reese and bolted. They made it halfway when a shout echoed — and pain exploded in Stefan’s shoulder. He stumbled but didn’t stop.
They made it halfway to the exit when a figure stepped out from the smoke — the leader, gun raised.
“Don’t!” he barked.
Stefan froze, shielding Reese behind him.
The man smirked. “You’re good, Maynard. I’ll give you that. But you’re not leaving Bucharest alive.”