Chapter 150 Nikolai
I pressed my back against the cold concrete wall and studied my surroundings. The basement was damp and dark, with only a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Crates and boxes were stacked against the far wall. A single door led to the stairs. No windows. No other exits.
I was trapped.
The guards watched me with blank expressions. Professionals. Hired killers. Men who had done this a hundred times before. They stood in a loose semicircle around me, guns loose in their hands but ready.
"Sit down," one of them said. He was big, bald, with a scar running from his ear to his jaw. "Boss said no trouble."
"I need to use the bathroom," I said.
"Use the corner."
"I need to make a call."
"No calls."
I looked at each of them in turn, memorizing their faces, their stances, their weaknesses. The scarred one was the leader. Confident. Arrogant. He stood closest to me, which made him vulnerable. The others hung back, watching him for cues.
"How much is Alexander paying you?" I asked.
"None of your business."
"Whatever it is, I will double it. Triple it. Name your price."
The scarred guard laughed. "You have no money, Markov. Everyone knows you lost everything. Your empire is gone. Your men are dead. You are nothing."
"I am still Nikolai Markov. My name still means something. My connections still exist. I can make you rich men. Or I can make you dead men. The choice is yours."
Another guard shifted uncomfortably. He was younger, thinner, with nervous eyes that darted around the room. He looked like a man who had never killed before. A man who was in over his head.
"What is your name?" I asked him.
The young guard looked at me, startled. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because I want to remember the face of the man who helped me escape. The man who will be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams."
"Shut up," the scarred guard growled. He stepped closer, raising his gun. "One more word and I will put a bullet in your knee."
"For what?" I smiled. "Alexander gave you orders not to hurt me. He needs me alive as leverage. If you shoot me, he will shoot you. You know that."
The scarred guard's jaw tightened. He knew I was right.
I looked back at the young guard. "Ten million rubles. Cash. Hidden in a safe house outside the city. Only I know the location. Help me get out of here, and it is yours. You can disappear. Start a new life. Never work for men like Alexander again."
The young guard swallowed hard. His eyes flickered to the scarred guard, then back to me. I could see the calculation happening behind his eyes. Fear. Greed. Desperation.
"You are lying," he said.
"I never lie about money. Money is the only thing I have ever been honest about."
The scarred guard grabbed the young man's shoulder. "Do not listen to him. He is trying to get inside your head."
"Is it working?" I asked.
The young guard pulled away. He walked to the corner of the basement, his hands shaking. The other guards watched him, confused. The scarred guard's face turned red with anger.
"Get back here," he ordered.
"No." The young guard's voice was quiet but firm. "I have been working for Alexander for three years. He has never paid me on time. He has never thanked me. He treats me like garbage. I am done."
The scarred guard raised his gun. "You are a traitor."
"I am a survivor."
Two of the other guards exchanged glances. They were wavering. I could see it in their eyes. Alexander had chosen these men poorly. They were not loyal. They were just paid. And everyone had a price.
"Fifteen million," I said. "For each of you. Split however you want. I do not care. Just let me out of here."
The scarred guard looked at his men. Saw the doubt on their faces. He lowered his gun.
"Fine," he said. "But if you are lying, if there is no money, I will kill you myself. Slowly."
"I am not lying."
They untied my hands. The young guard gave me his gun. The scarred guard unlocked the basement door. We crept up the stairs, silent as shadows, moving toward the exit.
The warehouse was empty. Alexander had taken most of his men with him to the estate. Only a few remained outside, smoking cigarettes and leaning against cars.
"Follow me," the young guard whispered.
He led us through a maze of corridors, past broken windows and rusted machinery, until we reached a side door. The night air hit my face. Cold. Fresh. Free.
But as we stepped outside, alarms started blaring.
Lights flooded the yard. Men shouted. Guns fired.
The young guard screamed and fell, blood pouring from his chest. Another guard dropped beside him, his head snapped back by a bullet. The scarred guard grabbed my arm and pulled me behind a stack of barrels.
"They knew," he hissed. "Alexander knew we would betray him. He left men waiting."
Bullets tore through the metal barrels. Sparks flew. The scarred guard raised his gun and fired back, taking down two of Alexander's men. But more kept coming.
"We have to run," I said.
"There is nowhere to run."
He was right. We were surrounded. The yard was open. The fences were high. Alexander's men were everywhere.
The scarred guard grabbed my shirt and shoved me toward a gap in the fence. "Go. I will cover you."
"What about you?"
"I am already dead. Go!"
I ran. Bullets whistled past my ears. The scarred guard screamed behind me, his gun still firing, his voice growing weaker with each shot.
I reached the fence. Climbed over. Dropped to the ground on the other side.
Behind me, the gunfire stopped. Then I heard a single gunshot. Then silence.
I looked back. The scarred guard lay in a pool of blood, his eyes open, staring at the sky.
The others were dead too. The young guard. The two who had wavered. All of them. Shot to death in the yard.
I turned and ran into the darkness. My lungs burned. My legs screamed.
But I kept running.
I had escaped. But the men who had helped me were dead.
Because of me. Like everyone else.