Fifty-Eight

Mikhail

Rurik, Anton, and I stand in the center of a secure warehouse in Port Newark. Anton's jumpy gaze scans the vast, cavernous space where a shipment recently left for Rotterdam. Rows of empty metal shelves line the concrete walls, stretching up to the high ceiling while the floor is covered with grimy dirt. The smell of damp concrete hangs in the stale air with a faint hint of oil. Trusted workers hose down the floor and aim the soapy gray water toward the drains.

The security cameras' red lights blink rhythmically, but my gaze is on the man zip-tied to the metal folding chair. Rurik cracks his knuckles as he eyes the man hunched over in the chair while Anton stands at attention with his eyes on me. This isolated place is perfect for what we have planned.

I took it easy on Maria. I let her beauty and innocence interfere with my head. I've allowed her to play me and given her too much freedom. I want to punish her for keeping secrets, but she's not here.

This man will pay the pric